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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: 6285183" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Chapter 70: Third Time's the Charm</strong></p><p></p><p>Introduction</p><p>This story hour is from "Third Time's the Charm" from Cthulhu Brittannica Steve Spisak. You can read more about Delta Green at <a href="http://www.delta-green.com" target="_blank">http://www.delta-green.com</a>. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!</p><p></p><p>Our cast of characters includes:</p><p></p><p>• Game Master: Michael Tresca (<a href="http://michael.tresca.net" target="_blank">http://michael.tresca.net</a>)</p><p>• Sebastian “Caprice” Creed (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by Bill Countiss</p><p></p><p>When Bill's work schedule changed so that he couldn't play, we considered just killing his character off. But then I had a better idea – what if I ran a campaign by email that just dealt with what happened to him? It wouldn't end well, of course – he still couldn't get his schedule to work – but as I discovered I've run campaigns long enough for Matt to leave for Australia and then return to the States three years later. Never count anyone out for long!</p><p></p><p>What's fascinating about this scenario is how I was able to manipulate the tension because there was only text descriptions. Particularly because the protagonist begins playing blind, it's very difficult to play this scenario as if the characters were blind unless you have complete control of your surroundings. I don't know about you, but there's no way I could have an audio-silent room – be it birds outside, people in the house, or just other players making noise. </p><p></p><p>In email, the only noise is in your head. </p><p></p><p>Defining Moment: Caprice finally tears off his blindfold. </p><p></p><p>Relevant Media</p><p> Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: <a href="http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014" target="_blank">http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014</a> </p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/cthulhu.jpg" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":cth:" title="Call of Cthulhu :cth:" data-shortname=":cth:" /></p><p> </p><p>Prologue</p><p></p><p>BRICHESTER, ENGLAND— The meager offices of SANE (Students Against Nuclear Energy) were located in a seedy part of downtown Brichester. The small office was manned by a handful of young men and women of college or university age, and was well-stocked with boxes of flyers, buttons, pamphlets, and various anti-nuclear paraphernalia. </p><p></p><p>Fiona paced like a general commanding her troops at the SANE office. "This is Tim. He'll give us the technological skills we need to get in."</p><p></p><p>At first Hammer thought she was pointing at a tall, lanky guy with glasses. But then he stepped aside to make way for a precocious fourteen year-old. "Whasssup?" he says, peering at them through hair that concealed his eyes. </p><p></p><p>“This kid?” asked Hammer.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean ruffled Tim’s hair. “You can’t just be Tim. We’re going to need to give you a code name so you can be a secret agent like us.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re not even secret agents anymore,” Archive corrected him. </p><p></p><p>Fiona snorted. "He don't look like much, but he's a crack hacker. We just need to get Tim into here." She pointed to a map on the wall of a manor hour and its surroundings. "This is Kilmaur Manor. It's officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust on sixty-seven acres of land. We've tracked the CEO Walter Cargill to here. It's his home." She tapped several black-and-white pictures of Cargill entering the manor house. "But here's the thing – he never leaves it. We have confirmed reports of him entering the manor and appearing within an hour at the Berkeley Nuclear Reactor. It's simply not possible he drove there, and no vehicles – including aircraft – exited his home."</p><p></p><p>Tim coughed. "Yeah, so uh, we think he's got a portal or something."</p><p></p><p>Fiona frowned at Tim. "He's right. It's got to be some kind of magic. We consider Cargill a primary target. It's also the last place Guppy was seen. If we get him, we'll find Guppy."</p><p></p><p>"Thing is," said Tim, "we'll have under five minutes after you enter the manor before security shows up. Everyone there carries a gun. Even the gardener."</p><p></p><p>"The only way out," said Fiona, "is through the portal – assuming it exists. Or else…" she drew her pistol and checked the chamber. "We shoot our way out."</p><p></p><p>“You sure you’re up for this Mrs. Jenkins?” asked Jim-Bean. “This could get messy.”</p><p></p><p>Mrs. Jenkins hefted a submachine gun, loaded it, and cocked it. “You better believe it.”</p><p> </p><p>Satisfied, Jim-Bean turned to Tim. “How about you? Got a handle?” </p><p></p><p>Tim shot him a broad smile. “Sexwax69, dude!”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean stifled a laugh. “Sexwax it is!”</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/cthulhu.jpg" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":cth:" title="Call of Cthulhu :cth:" data-shortname=":cth:" /></p><p> </p><p>Part 1 – Kilmaur Manor</p><p>There were no books about Kilmaur Manor itself, but William Thomas Sangster’s Notes on Witchcraft in Monmouthshire, Gloucester- shire and the Berkeley Region-available at many libraries or certain used book stores-contained a relevant passage that Archive dug up. </p><p></p><p>Kilmaur Manor was officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust as a historic landmark, but it was not open to the public. The Trust received almost 95 percent of its funding from Severn Aerospace, which declared the trust as a charitable tax deduction. </p><p></p><p>The manor was set in the middle of sixty-seven acres of land and could not be seen from the driveway that approached the front gate. </p><p></p><p>Kilmaur Manor stood alone. There were no farms nearby, nor were there any other homes. The manor was set a half mile back from the main road amid wooded grounds, barely visible from the road. A graveled drive led to the manor. </p><p></p><p>Though the building was repaired and updated in the last year, it still showed its age. A balcony ran the length of the roof on one side, and a gravel path led from a modern garage to the double doors of the home.</p><p></p><p>The manor was updated with all the modern conveniences, but a painstaking restoration ensured that the building retained much of its original appearance, both inside and out. Cargill tried not to upset the simple elegance of the house with such items as big-screen television sets and digital clocks, preferring instead more traditional furnishings.</p><p></p><p>Archive, Hammer, Jim-Bean, Fiona, Mrs. Jenkins and Sexwax snuck up to the brush. A security vehicle with two armed guards rumbled past. They had deactivated the electrified fence, sniffed out the booby traps, and had the surveillance on a perpetual loop. </p><p></p><p>“On my mark¬—“ began Hammer.</p><p></p><p>“Go!” shouted Jim-Bean. He sprinted towards the manor.</p><p></p><p>“What the…” Hammer swore and followed after the obvious trail of people sprinting from the brush.</p><p></p><p>“What?” Jim-Bean shouted over his shoulder. “The coast is clear!”</p><p></p><p>Just then a branch smashed just behind Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>On closer inspection it wasn’t a branch at all but a tall, ropy thing that was roughly in the shape of a tree. It roared in frustration at having missed its prey, and more tentacles from the writhing top of it swung down to try again. This time they smashed through the glass windows in front of the manor.</p><p></p><p>Shrugging as if to say, “See?” Jim-bean dove through the broken glass. The others followed soon after. </p><p></p><p>The main hallway was unusually wide and two stories high; a balcony overlooked the hall. The hardwood floor shined as though recently polished. At the far end was a double staircase, one flight leading up to the left and the other to the right. Various paintings hang upon the walls. There were also various items of archaeological interest here: Egyptian vases, Greek pottery shards, Roman coins, and African fetishes. The chandeliers that hung from the upper ceiling used conventional incandescent bulbs, but the fixtures have been crafted to resemble authentic seventeenth century pieces.</p><p>Closer examination revealed that the paintings were Kilmaur family portraits-Theodore, Emerson, Emily, along with some aunts and uncles-as well as Cargill’s family. </p><p></p><p>Writhing tentacles smashed their way through windows and burst open doors. The thing was doing more damage to the manor than they were. </p><p></p><p>“Basement!” shouted Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>The basement floor was a mixture of concrete and flagstones. This room had a few pieces of broken furniture lying about that couldn’t be restored.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, Agent Raphael appeared, sword in hand. "Wait," he said, his other fist clutching a Hand of Glory. "I want to make a deal."</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean pulled up short. “Since when you do want to talk?”</p><p></p><p>Hammer didn’t lower his Glocks. “Talk fast. That thing outside is going to tear this place apart looking for us.”</p><p></p><p>"The Shaggai have been on this planet for centuries; we are not guests but prisoners, trapped here by the Earth’s unusually high levels of ozone. Only the destruction of the ozone layer will allow us to escape; twice in recent years, at Three Mile Island and at Chernobyl, we have attempted to punch a hole in the ozone layer by causing a full-scale nuclear disaster. On both occasions, however, something went awry and we failed to open the hole. Now a third attempt is about to be made, in the Severn Valley." </p><p>“So you’re trying to set off a nuclear meltdown?” asked Archive.</p><p></p><p>"Cargill purchased the decommissioned Berkeley nuclear power facility. Using L‘gy’hxians to work on the reactor and Xiclotlans as guards, Cargill invited other Shaggai to help complete the project. They were brought together under the guise of the Berkeley Revitalization Conference, in London. His team assembled, Cargill has been modifying the plant. He plans to create an explosive reaction when an Xada-Hagla is summoned into the reactor core. The explosion will allow our temple ship to escape the Earth once and for all."</p><p></p><p>“So Cargill is one of those brain-spiders,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>"Cargill is one of the Elders,” corrected Raphael. “I am not. The earthborn Shan plan to stay and fight to protect our home. I will tune the teleporter in the next room to the reactor if you give me back the three enchanted blades you have in your possession. They are critical in our war against PISCES. If not…" He gestures with the mechanistic hand in his grip, "There are many other JAGUAR strike teams converging on here any moment. They're led by Sarah Moore. She was from our psychic class, you'll recall. She was the most powerful of all – more powerful than you, than me, than Knightsbridge. You'll never make it out alive."</p><p></p><p>“I remember her,” said Jim-Bean. “Lots of fire. Bad news.”</p><p></p><p>“He just wants his blade back,” said Archive, who happened to wield the enchanted cross-blade he found in the cultist mansion when they encountered Eihort. “I don’t trust him.”</p><p></p><p>“We don’t have a lot of time here,” said Raphael. “Make your choice.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine.” Jim-Bean threw Knightbridge’s sword to Raphael, who deftly snatched it out of the air. </p><p></p><p>Hammer frowned and threw Raphael back his own sword.</p><p></p><p>Archive hesitated. </p><p></p><p>“Archive…” said Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>With a sigh Archive handed the cross-bladed sword over to Raphael too. </p><p></p><p>“Follow me. We’ve wasted enough time already.”</p><p></p><p>They entered a modem furnace room that hummed away in one corner. Raphael searched the ground until he found an uneven flagstone. He pried it up, revealing a switch. He flicked the switch and the adjacent flagstones depressed and shifted, revealing an opening. </p><p></p><p>The passage, while manmade, was not made with the same tools or materials as the basement, and was much older. A slippery flight of steps was cut out of the natural rock; the passage wound down and opened up into a roughly circular room with an odd silvery disk situated on the floor. The disk was four feet across, and sat within a pentacle carved into the rock. At each point of the pentacle was a pedestal, almost three feet tall. The top surface of each pedestal was made of the same silvery material from which the disk was made. </p><p></p><p>“This is a shan teleportation device,” said Raphael. He stood at the center of the disk and stepped on a symbol. An electronic keypad snaked up. “Put your hands on the pedestals.”</p><p></p><p> “I’m tuning it to the coordinates.” Raphael tapped several keys, all of them in an alien language. The sound of radio chatter echoed down the passage. “They’re coming.” He turned and drew Knightsbridge’s sword and his own. “Go. I’ll try to buy you some time.”</p><p></p><p>“You’d better pay attention,” Hammer told Sexwax. “Because you’re going to need to reverse this to get us out.”</p><p></p><p>“Uh…” was all Sexwas squeaked out before they were teleported into the Berkeley nuclear reactor. </p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/cthulhu.jpg" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":cth:" title="Call of Cthulhu :cth:" data-shortname=":cth:" /></p><p> </p><p>Part 2 – Berkeley Reactor</p><p>They appeared in a flash inside a small room. Hammer pointed at the intricate symbols on a keyboard identical to the one Raphael had used. “Get acquainted” he said to Sexwax. There was a rack of NBC suits nearby. “Everyone else, suit up.”</p><p></p><p>Klaxons and lights whirled around them. Mrs. Jenkins shrugged on a NBC suit. Then she glanced up at the black-and-white monitor. “Oh dear…”</p><p></p><p>An odd, multi-limbed, squat humanoid was walking in and out of the reactor core, its body glowing with radioactive energy. </p><p></p><p>“They’ve already started.” Fiona pointed at another monitor. Four people in radiation suits stood high above the reactor itself, raising their arms and lowering them in a ritualistic fashion. Their faces were concealed behind masks. </p><p></p><p>Across all the monitors was a reactor core meltdown warning. Seconds clicked down from five minutes.</p><p></p><p>“We’re going to have to lower the fuel rods manually.” Fiona smashed safety glass where an axe was stored. “If we can cut the ropes holding the cooling rods over the reactor I think we can stop it.”</p><p></p><p>“Okay. We’ll try to give you cover.” She pressed the access button and entered the reactor room, h separated area behind radiation-proof glass and metal. Red flashing lights and an iridescent blue glowed within.</p><p></p><p>The first airlock door opened, admitting them¸ and then closed behind them as the second door opened. Inside blue crackling energy flickered below. In a gas-cooled reactor like Berkeley’s, gas was normally pumped through the reactor and became hot; that gas in turn heated water which boiled into steam. The steam drove the turbines, which produced electricity. The gas returned to the reactor, cooler than it left, and was reheated, so that the cycle continued. The water was pumped to and from the local waterways, and was never in direct contact with the core. Now that the plant was not producing electricity, the turbines lay idle. The Shan were perverting the energy for other purposes.</p><p></p><p>Before they could make their way across the scaffolding, a square, squat thing clambered up the sheer surface of the interior of the reactor and onto the scaffolding. Hammer didn’t dare try to use his Glocks and they were tucked inside his suit anyway. He doubted bullets could penetrate its metallic hide. It was all blade and claws with no discernible face. </p><p></p><p>“Archive!” shouted Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“On it.” Archive stepped forward and presented the Elder Sign, or tried to anyway. He couldn’t lift the amulet outside of the NBC suit and feared irradiating it. So instead he recited the ritual and hoped for the best. </p><p></p><p>The glowing red spot on Archive’s chest flared to life. The thing reacted instantly, scuttling back down into the reactor like a chastised crab. </p><p></p><p>Fiona ran over to the multitudinous ropes supporting the graphite rods above and began hacking away. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean concentrated and one of the cultists flew off the balcony to his doom. Hammer charged another and knocked him to the ground. They were swinging what looked like graphite rods as weapons, and he rolled backwards just as one of the rod nearly clocked him in the head.</p><p></p><p>Cargill rose up in the air, levitating, and pointed at Jim-Bean. Jim-Bean rose up too, his psychic match…then they both collapsed onto the scaffolding, their energies spent.</p><p></p><p>Hammer kicked the cultist who was struggling to his feet and knocked him over the ledge. He went down screaming.</p><p></p><p>“You’re too late!” shouted Cargill, clinging to the edge of the scaffolding. “Xada-Hagla needs sacrifices!” Cackling madly, he let go of the railing and disappeared into the flashing mists below.</p><p></p><p>“There!” Mrs. Jenkins pointed at the ceiling. The graphite rods were supported by dozens of ropes. Far too many for Fiona to cut down in time.</p><p></p><p>“I’ve got this,” said Jim-Bean. But the structure was massive and even his formidable telekinesis would be sorely tested. He began to concentrate.</p><p></p><p>Then something clambered up from below, much bigger than the alien guardian Archive had turned. It was an enormous clam shell, scuttling on dozens of chitinous legs. </p><p></p><p>Mrs. Jenkins picked up the graphite rods dropped by the three cultists. “Go!” she shouted. “I’ll teach this bastard not to mess with the Jenkins!”</p><p></p><p>The others needed no further encouragement. They knew she had come to this place to die, one way or the other.</p><p></p><p>The graphite rods above shuddered as Jim-Bean’s telekinetic grip snapped rope after rope. </p><p></p><p>The clam shell started to open.</p><p></p><p>Hammer, Archive, and Fiona ran for the door. Hammer mashed the button. The airlock sequence took time to open.</p><p></p><p>The shell opened enough that a glowing green light emanated from it. What look like malevolent eyes at first soon uncoiled as long, sticky tentacles. Some reached for Mrs. Jenkins, others reached for Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>“Come on!” shouted Mrs. Jenkins. She batted at one of the tentacles as it reached past her for Jim-Bean. It reacted like a snake, whipping around her and lifting her up. She screamed. </p><p></p><p>The other tentacles continued to snake towards Jim-Bean as the control rods shuddered above. Despite the pain, Mrs. Jenkins managed to lift the three graphite rods and hurled them into the clam shell, straight into the malevolent face. </p><p></p><p>The reaction was instantaneous. All the tentacles jerked backwards, mere feet from Jim-Bean. He walked backwards as he stretched out one hand, giving the control rods above one final push. Then he turned and ran.</p><p></p><p>Inside the airlock, he smashed the button. It winched closed just as the spiny structure of control rods fell into the open shell. </p><p></p><p>The door on the other side opened. Jim-Bean joined the others. “I hope that portal is ready!” he tore off his helmet as he ran.</p><p></p><p>Sexwax looked uncertain, which didn’t encourage him. “I think I’ve got it working right.” </p><p></p><p>They all reached the pedestals as the reactor behind them glowed unbearably bright. </p><p></p><p>“You think?” shouted Jim-Bean. It was the last word he got out before the portal activated. </p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/cthulhu.jpg" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":cth:" title="Call of Cthulhu :cth:" data-shortname=":cth:" /></p><p> </p><p>Conclusion</p><p>Fiona went through first, then Jim-Bean, then Hammer. Sexwax, by necessity of his role as navigator, was last. </p><p></p><p>The portal opened a second too late. He hadn’t been wearing a NBC suit and wouldn’t have been able to tap the keys if he had. Blinded, flesh melting, he collapsed. </p><p></p><p>“Made it,” he gasped.</p><p></p><p>Fiona sobbed. “Oh Tim. I’m so sorry.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m a secret agent…now?” he croaked, unable to see whom he was talking to.</p><p></p><p>“Sure kid,” said Hammer mournfully. “One of the best.”</p><p></p><p>“Awe…” he coughed up blood. “Awesome.” Then he expired. </p><p></p><p>“Where are we?” asked Archive.</p><p></p><p>“Pagamos,” said Fiona, looking around. “Shan Central.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 6285183, member: 3285"] [b]Chapter 70: Third Time's the Charm[/b] Introduction This story hour is from "Third Time's the Charm" from Cthulhu Brittannica Steve Spisak. You can read more about Delta Green at [url]http://www.delta-green.com[/url]. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers! Our cast of characters includes: • Game Master: Michael Tresca ([url]http://michael.tresca.net[/url]) • Sebastian “Caprice” Creed (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by Bill Countiss When Bill's work schedule changed so that he couldn't play, we considered just killing his character off. But then I had a better idea – what if I ran a campaign by email that just dealt with what happened to him? It wouldn't end well, of course – he still couldn't get his schedule to work – but as I discovered I've run campaigns long enough for Matt to leave for Australia and then return to the States three years later. Never count anyone out for long! What's fascinating about this scenario is how I was able to manipulate the tension because there was only text descriptions. Particularly because the protagonist begins playing blind, it's very difficult to play this scenario as if the characters were blind unless you have complete control of your surroundings. I don't know about you, but there's no way I could have an audio-silent room – be it birds outside, people in the house, or just other players making noise. In email, the only noise is in your head. Defining Moment: Caprice finally tears off his blindfold. Relevant Media Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: [url]http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014[/url] :cth: Prologue BRICHESTER, ENGLAND— The meager offices of SANE (Students Against Nuclear Energy) were located in a seedy part of downtown Brichester. The small office was manned by a handful of young men and women of college or university age, and was well-stocked with boxes of flyers, buttons, pamphlets, and various anti-nuclear paraphernalia. Fiona paced like a general commanding her troops at the SANE office. "This is Tim. He'll give us the technological skills we need to get in." At first Hammer thought she was pointing at a tall, lanky guy with glasses. But then he stepped aside to make way for a precocious fourteen year-old. "Whasssup?" he says, peering at them through hair that concealed his eyes. “This kid?” asked Hammer. Jim-Bean ruffled Tim’s hair. “You can’t just be Tim. We’re going to need to give you a code name so you can be a secret agent like us.” “We’re not even secret agents anymore,” Archive corrected him. Fiona snorted. "He don't look like much, but he's a crack hacker. We just need to get Tim into here." She pointed to a map on the wall of a manor hour and its surroundings. "This is Kilmaur Manor. It's officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust on sixty-seven acres of land. We've tracked the CEO Walter Cargill to here. It's his home." She tapped several black-and-white pictures of Cargill entering the manor house. "But here's the thing – he never leaves it. We have confirmed reports of him entering the manor and appearing within an hour at the Berkeley Nuclear Reactor. It's simply not possible he drove there, and no vehicles – including aircraft – exited his home." Tim coughed. "Yeah, so uh, we think he's got a portal or something." Fiona frowned at Tim. "He's right. It's got to be some kind of magic. We consider Cargill a primary target. It's also the last place Guppy was seen. If we get him, we'll find Guppy." "Thing is," said Tim, "we'll have under five minutes after you enter the manor before security shows up. Everyone there carries a gun. Even the gardener." "The only way out," said Fiona, "is through the portal – assuming it exists. Or else…" she drew her pistol and checked the chamber. "We shoot our way out." “You sure you’re up for this Mrs. Jenkins?” asked Jim-Bean. “This could get messy.” Mrs. Jenkins hefted a submachine gun, loaded it, and cocked it. “You better believe it.” Satisfied, Jim-Bean turned to Tim. “How about you? Got a handle?” Tim shot him a broad smile. “Sexwax69, dude!” Jim-Bean stifled a laugh. “Sexwax it is!” :cth: Part 1 – Kilmaur Manor There were no books about Kilmaur Manor itself, but William Thomas Sangster’s Notes on Witchcraft in Monmouthshire, Gloucester- shire and the Berkeley Region-available at many libraries or certain used book stores-contained a relevant passage that Archive dug up. Kilmaur Manor was officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust as a historic landmark, but it was not open to the public. The Trust received almost 95 percent of its funding from Severn Aerospace, which declared the trust as a charitable tax deduction. The manor was set in the middle of sixty-seven acres of land and could not be seen from the driveway that approached the front gate. Kilmaur Manor stood alone. There were no farms nearby, nor were there any other homes. The manor was set a half mile back from the main road amid wooded grounds, barely visible from the road. A graveled drive led to the manor. Though the building was repaired and updated in the last year, it still showed its age. A balcony ran the length of the roof on one side, and a gravel path led from a modern garage to the double doors of the home. The manor was updated with all the modern conveniences, but a painstaking restoration ensured that the building retained much of its original appearance, both inside and out. Cargill tried not to upset the simple elegance of the house with such items as big-screen television sets and digital clocks, preferring instead more traditional furnishings. Archive, Hammer, Jim-Bean, Fiona, Mrs. Jenkins and Sexwax snuck up to the brush. A security vehicle with two armed guards rumbled past. They had deactivated the electrified fence, sniffed out the booby traps, and had the surveillance on a perpetual loop. “On my mark¬—“ began Hammer. “Go!” shouted Jim-Bean. He sprinted towards the manor. “What the…” Hammer swore and followed after the obvious trail of people sprinting from the brush. “What?” Jim-Bean shouted over his shoulder. “The coast is clear!” Just then a branch smashed just behind Jim-Bean. On closer inspection it wasn’t a branch at all but a tall, ropy thing that was roughly in the shape of a tree. It roared in frustration at having missed its prey, and more tentacles from the writhing top of it swung down to try again. This time they smashed through the glass windows in front of the manor. Shrugging as if to say, “See?” Jim-bean dove through the broken glass. The others followed soon after. The main hallway was unusually wide and two stories high; a balcony overlooked the hall. The hardwood floor shined as though recently polished. At the far end was a double staircase, one flight leading up to the left and the other to the right. Various paintings hang upon the walls. There were also various items of archaeological interest here: Egyptian vases, Greek pottery shards, Roman coins, and African fetishes. The chandeliers that hung from the upper ceiling used conventional incandescent bulbs, but the fixtures have been crafted to resemble authentic seventeenth century pieces. Closer examination revealed that the paintings were Kilmaur family portraits-Theodore, Emerson, Emily, along with some aunts and uncles-as well as Cargill’s family. Writhing tentacles smashed their way through windows and burst open doors. The thing was doing more damage to the manor than they were. “Basement!” shouted Jim-Bean. The basement floor was a mixture of concrete and flagstones. This room had a few pieces of broken furniture lying about that couldn’t be restored. Suddenly, Agent Raphael appeared, sword in hand. "Wait," he said, his other fist clutching a Hand of Glory. "I want to make a deal." Jim-Bean pulled up short. “Since when you do want to talk?” Hammer didn’t lower his Glocks. “Talk fast. That thing outside is going to tear this place apart looking for us.” "The Shaggai have been on this planet for centuries; we are not guests but prisoners, trapped here by the Earth’s unusually high levels of ozone. Only the destruction of the ozone layer will allow us to escape; twice in recent years, at Three Mile Island and at Chernobyl, we have attempted to punch a hole in the ozone layer by causing a full-scale nuclear disaster. On both occasions, however, something went awry and we failed to open the hole. Now a third attempt is about to be made, in the Severn Valley." “So you’re trying to set off a nuclear meltdown?” asked Archive. "Cargill purchased the decommissioned Berkeley nuclear power facility. Using L‘gy’hxians to work on the reactor and Xiclotlans as guards, Cargill invited other Shaggai to help complete the project. They were brought together under the guise of the Berkeley Revitalization Conference, in London. His team assembled, Cargill has been modifying the plant. He plans to create an explosive reaction when an Xada-Hagla is summoned into the reactor core. The explosion will allow our temple ship to escape the Earth once and for all." “So Cargill is one of those brain-spiders,” said Hammer. "Cargill is one of the Elders,” corrected Raphael. “I am not. The earthborn Shan plan to stay and fight to protect our home. I will tune the teleporter in the next room to the reactor if you give me back the three enchanted blades you have in your possession. They are critical in our war against PISCES. If not…" He gestures with the mechanistic hand in his grip, "There are many other JAGUAR strike teams converging on here any moment. They're led by Sarah Moore. She was from our psychic class, you'll recall. She was the most powerful of all – more powerful than you, than me, than Knightsbridge. You'll never make it out alive." “I remember her,” said Jim-Bean. “Lots of fire. Bad news.” “He just wants his blade back,” said Archive, who happened to wield the enchanted cross-blade he found in the cultist mansion when they encountered Eihort. “I don’t trust him.” “We don’t have a lot of time here,” said Raphael. “Make your choice.” “Fine.” Jim-Bean threw Knightbridge’s sword to Raphael, who deftly snatched it out of the air. Hammer frowned and threw Raphael back his own sword. Archive hesitated. “Archive…” said Jim-Bean. With a sigh Archive handed the cross-bladed sword over to Raphael too. “Follow me. We’ve wasted enough time already.” They entered a modem furnace room that hummed away in one corner. Raphael searched the ground until he found an uneven flagstone. He pried it up, revealing a switch. He flicked the switch and the adjacent flagstones depressed and shifted, revealing an opening. The passage, while manmade, was not made with the same tools or materials as the basement, and was much older. A slippery flight of steps was cut out of the natural rock; the passage wound down and opened up into a roughly circular room with an odd silvery disk situated on the floor. The disk was four feet across, and sat within a pentacle carved into the rock. At each point of the pentacle was a pedestal, almost three feet tall. The top surface of each pedestal was made of the same silvery material from which the disk was made. “This is a shan teleportation device,” said Raphael. He stood at the center of the disk and stepped on a symbol. An electronic keypad snaked up. “Put your hands on the pedestals.” “I’m tuning it to the coordinates.” Raphael tapped several keys, all of them in an alien language. The sound of radio chatter echoed down the passage. “They’re coming.” He turned and drew Knightsbridge’s sword and his own. “Go. I’ll try to buy you some time.” “You’d better pay attention,” Hammer told Sexwax. “Because you’re going to need to reverse this to get us out.” “Uh…” was all Sexwas squeaked out before they were teleported into the Berkeley nuclear reactor. :cth: Part 2 – Berkeley Reactor They appeared in a flash inside a small room. Hammer pointed at the intricate symbols on a keyboard identical to the one Raphael had used. “Get acquainted” he said to Sexwax. There was a rack of NBC suits nearby. “Everyone else, suit up.” Klaxons and lights whirled around them. Mrs. Jenkins shrugged on a NBC suit. Then she glanced up at the black-and-white monitor. “Oh dear…” An odd, multi-limbed, squat humanoid was walking in and out of the reactor core, its body glowing with radioactive energy. “They’ve already started.” Fiona pointed at another monitor. Four people in radiation suits stood high above the reactor itself, raising their arms and lowering them in a ritualistic fashion. Their faces were concealed behind masks. Across all the monitors was a reactor core meltdown warning. Seconds clicked down from five minutes. “We’re going to have to lower the fuel rods manually.” Fiona smashed safety glass where an axe was stored. “If we can cut the ropes holding the cooling rods over the reactor I think we can stop it.” “Okay. We’ll try to give you cover.” She pressed the access button and entered the reactor room, h separated area behind radiation-proof glass and metal. Red flashing lights and an iridescent blue glowed within. The first airlock door opened, admitting them¸ and then closed behind them as the second door opened. Inside blue crackling energy flickered below. In a gas-cooled reactor like Berkeley’s, gas was normally pumped through the reactor and became hot; that gas in turn heated water which boiled into steam. The steam drove the turbines, which produced electricity. The gas returned to the reactor, cooler than it left, and was reheated, so that the cycle continued. The water was pumped to and from the local waterways, and was never in direct contact with the core. Now that the plant was not producing electricity, the turbines lay idle. The Shan were perverting the energy for other purposes. Before they could make their way across the scaffolding, a square, squat thing clambered up the sheer surface of the interior of the reactor and onto the scaffolding. Hammer didn’t dare try to use his Glocks and they were tucked inside his suit anyway. He doubted bullets could penetrate its metallic hide. It was all blade and claws with no discernible face. “Archive!” shouted Hammer. “On it.” Archive stepped forward and presented the Elder Sign, or tried to anyway. He couldn’t lift the amulet outside of the NBC suit and feared irradiating it. So instead he recited the ritual and hoped for the best. The glowing red spot on Archive’s chest flared to life. The thing reacted instantly, scuttling back down into the reactor like a chastised crab. Fiona ran over to the multitudinous ropes supporting the graphite rods above and began hacking away. Jim-Bean concentrated and one of the cultists flew off the balcony to his doom. Hammer charged another and knocked him to the ground. They were swinging what looked like graphite rods as weapons, and he rolled backwards just as one of the rod nearly clocked him in the head. Cargill rose up in the air, levitating, and pointed at Jim-Bean. Jim-Bean rose up too, his psychic match…then they both collapsed onto the scaffolding, their energies spent. Hammer kicked the cultist who was struggling to his feet and knocked him over the ledge. He went down screaming. “You’re too late!” shouted Cargill, clinging to the edge of the scaffolding. “Xada-Hagla needs sacrifices!” Cackling madly, he let go of the railing and disappeared into the flashing mists below. “There!” Mrs. Jenkins pointed at the ceiling. The graphite rods were supported by dozens of ropes. Far too many for Fiona to cut down in time. “I’ve got this,” said Jim-Bean. But the structure was massive and even his formidable telekinesis would be sorely tested. He began to concentrate. Then something clambered up from below, much bigger than the alien guardian Archive had turned. It was an enormous clam shell, scuttling on dozens of chitinous legs. Mrs. Jenkins picked up the graphite rods dropped by the three cultists. “Go!” she shouted. “I’ll teach this bastard not to mess with the Jenkins!” The others needed no further encouragement. They knew she had come to this place to die, one way or the other. The graphite rods above shuddered as Jim-Bean’s telekinetic grip snapped rope after rope. The clam shell started to open. Hammer, Archive, and Fiona ran for the door. Hammer mashed the button. The airlock sequence took time to open. The shell opened enough that a glowing green light emanated from it. What look like malevolent eyes at first soon uncoiled as long, sticky tentacles. Some reached for Mrs. Jenkins, others reached for Jim-Bean. “Come on!” shouted Mrs. Jenkins. She batted at one of the tentacles as it reached past her for Jim-Bean. It reacted like a snake, whipping around her and lifting her up. She screamed. The other tentacles continued to snake towards Jim-Bean as the control rods shuddered above. Despite the pain, Mrs. Jenkins managed to lift the three graphite rods and hurled them into the clam shell, straight into the malevolent face. The reaction was instantaneous. All the tentacles jerked backwards, mere feet from Jim-Bean. He walked backwards as he stretched out one hand, giving the control rods above one final push. Then he turned and ran. Inside the airlock, he smashed the button. It winched closed just as the spiny structure of control rods fell into the open shell. The door on the other side opened. Jim-Bean joined the others. “I hope that portal is ready!” he tore off his helmet as he ran. Sexwax looked uncertain, which didn’t encourage him. “I think I’ve got it working right.” They all reached the pedestals as the reactor behind them glowed unbearably bright. “You think?” shouted Jim-Bean. It was the last word he got out before the portal activated. :cth: Conclusion Fiona went through first, then Jim-Bean, then Hammer. Sexwax, by necessity of his role as navigator, was last. The portal opened a second too late. He hadn’t been wearing a NBC suit and wouldn’t have been able to tap the keys if he had. Blinded, flesh melting, he collapsed. “Made it,” he gasped. Fiona sobbed. “Oh Tim. I’m so sorry.” “I’m a secret agent…now?” he croaked, unable to see whom he was talking to. “Sure kid,” said Hammer mournfully. “One of the best.” “Awe…” he coughed up blood. “Awesome.” Then he expired. “Where are we?” asked Archive. “Pagamos,” said Fiona, looking around. “Shan Central.” [/QUOTE]
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