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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4066100" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Lethal Legacy: Part 1 – Miskatonic University</strong></p><p></p><p>ARKHAM, MA – Archive looked at his Cistron critically. “Miskatonic University?”</p><p></p><p>“Miskatonic University?” asked Jim-Bean. “You don’t mess with that place. Why do we have to go there?”</p><p></p><p>“Something about a stolen mummy,” said Blade, recovered from his burns. Both he and Guppy had been in and out of Arkham Hospital for a week. </p><p></p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with Miskatonic University,” said Archive. “I got my degree in archaeology there.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re supposed to meet with Dr. Joseph Bread,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“If we get a chance, I’d like to meet with Randy Kalms after this,” said Archive. “He contacted me about the events at the Paradise Theater. Said that he was connecting the dots on cults, something about a grand conspiracy theory.”</p><p></p><p>Hammer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”</p><p></p><p>“Me neither,” said Archive. “But the only way to find out what he’s really doing is to talk to him myself.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re here,” said Blade. He parked the van and they got out. </p><p></p><p>The campus looked much like any Ivy League school, attractive but reserved. It was meant to inspire learning and a certain educational reputation. To Jim-Bean, it just looked creepy.</p><p></p><p>Dr. Bread was a tall, excitable young man with dark curly hair and glasses, given to emphatic gestures. </p><p></p><p>“Hi,” said Hammer, shaking the man’s hand. “We’re with the National Trust—“</p><p></p><p>Dr. Bread looked like past him at Archive. “Joe? Joe Fontaine!” He laughed, released Hammer’s hand in mid-shake, and walked over to Archive. “It’s been forever!”</p><p></p><p>Archive sheepishly took Dr. Bread’s hand and pumped it. “It’s good to see you too.”</p><p></p><p>“The last time I saw you was at…why, at the Dean’s annual Garden Tea!” He threw an arm around Archive. “What have you been up to?”</p><p></p><p>“I’ve been busy. I freelance…” Hammer shot him a glare but Archive kept talking. “I advise on possible occult investigations like this one.”</p><p></p><p>“I feel a lot better knowing you’re on the job, Joe.” He brought them to the door of Miskatonic University’s archaeology department. It was closed by police tape. A university security guard stood beside the door and held up the tape so they could pass into the room. </p><p></p><p>“This exhibit concerns Dynastic Egypt,” said Bread. At one side of the room, past pottery, bronze jewelry with cloisonné work, dove nets, and a fine collection of adzes, rested a sarcophagus. The heavy protective glass top had been unscrewed and moved aside. </p><p></p><p>Hammer snapped on plastic gloves. “Mind if I look around?”</p><p></p><p>“By all means.” Bread stepped out of the way.</p><p></p><p>The sarcophagus was empty inside, except for random dirt and a few scraps of crumbling linen. </p><p></p><p>“The police came and went,” said Bread. “They weren’t much interested, I’m afraid. The theft has student prank written all over it.”</p><p></p><p>Archive nodded. “Anything unique about this mummy?”</p><p></p><p>Bread shook his head. “Thousands of mummies from ancient days have been found in Egypt and elsewhere. This one was utterly unremarkable. Of interest, certainly, since all old things are, but of nominal value. Like most, it was male and dated to the Old Kingdom.”</p><p></p><p>“The period of the third through sixth dynasties,” said Archive. “And the era when the first pyramids were raised.”</p><p></p><p>Bread smiled. “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”</p><p></p><p>Archive rubbed some crumbling pits of the sarcophagus between his fingers. “It seems to be crumbling?”</p><p></p><p>Bread blushed a little. “It’s a leftover from a student fair a few years ago. Papier-mâché. Not stone at all. Too heavy. Stone would go right through the floor. Good job though, isn’t it?”</p><p></p><p>“Do you think the mummy is still on campus?” asked Guppy.</p><p></p><p>Bread nodded. “Yes. Odd time of year for a prank, though. Pranks usually happen when the weather’s decent. Imagine toting a mummy about in a cold rain such as we’ve had.” He paused, then murmured, “God, I hope they wrapped it in something!”</p><p></p><p>“This place was locked though, right?” asked Blade.</p><p></p><p>”Of course. The doors to the exhibit are regularly locked at 6 p.m., as are the department offices. Weekdays, an hourly security patrol of the building begins at that time, until 7 a.m.”</p><p></p><p>“Can we see the security cameras?” asked Hammer.</p><p></p><p>“Certainly. They’re quite odd in themselves.” Bread took them to a security office where an obliging guard ran the tapes. </p><p></p><p>At about 5:45 p.m., a tall, thin man about forty years old entered the exhibit room, looked about, then left. He wore a raincoat and a balaclava. He returned ten minutes later, reached up, and neatly sprayed the lens of the visible camera with black spray paint without showing his face. </p><p></p><p>“In the exhibit, there’s one camera in plain sight,” said Bread. “That’s the dummy. There are actually two real cameras, hidden at opposite ends of the room.”</p><p></p><p>He then put down the spray can and made some curious signs with his hands. His lips moved as well, but of course, no sound was recorded. </p><p></p><p>“Invisibility spell,” muttered Archive.</p><p></p><p>“Hmm?” asked Bread.</p><p></p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p></p><p>The intruder sat on a bench and opened a magazine from his pocket. A close examination deciphered the smeary title: Black Goat Quarterly. A large pentangle decorated the front cover of the thin little magazine.</p><p></p><p>At 6:10 p.m., a guard arrived, looked about indifferently, and utterly ignored the sitting man who was reading. The guard turned out the lights, but the man on the bench made a gesture, and the guard turned the lights back on again. The man continued to read. The guard locked the door and departed. </p><p></p><p>“Sam Knowles was the guard,” said Bread. “He’s been reliable for more than fifteen years. He knows the security arrangements in the room. He remembers nothing of this, except that he closed the room as he always does. When he closed it, he swore there was no one there.”</p><p></p><p>At 7:05 p.m., just after the guard had looked in again and passed on, the man on the bench rose and walked briskly to the mummy. He took out a bag from under his raincoat and lay it aside. Again he made brisk, convoluted gestures. A moment later all the screws popped out of the glass lid. He carefully slid the heavy glass off the sarcophagus, then slipped the open bag under and around the mummy. He turned off the lights, then opened the door from the inside and closed it behind him carefully.</p><p></p><p>“A witness who passed the building last night described a tall, thin man in a balaclava who exited the building carrying a bag,” added Bread. “The time matches the time on the tapes.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy plugged the video recorder into the Cistron. A picture of the man appeared on the team’s other Cistrons.</p><p></p><p>“This gentlemen is not a member of the campus community,” Bread said firmly. “Security had already searched our ID library. We have no match. But this guy probably hangs out with some campus group. He sure doesn’t look like a frat man.”</p><p></p><p>“Not a frat man,” said Archive, “but a fan of the occult.”</p><p></p><p>“Right,” said Hammer. “It’s time to visit the publisher of Black Goat Quarterly.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4066100, member: 3285"] [b]Lethal Legacy: Part 1 – Miskatonic University[/b] ARKHAM, MA – Archive looked at his Cistron critically. “Miskatonic University?” “Miskatonic University?” asked Jim-Bean. “You don’t mess with that place. Why do we have to go there?” “Something about a stolen mummy,” said Blade, recovered from his burns. Both he and Guppy had been in and out of Arkham Hospital for a week. “There’s nothing wrong with Miskatonic University,” said Archive. “I got my degree in archaeology there.” “We’re supposed to meet with Dr. Joseph Bread,” said Hammer. “If we get a chance, I’d like to meet with Randy Kalms after this,” said Archive. “He contacted me about the events at the Paradise Theater. Said that he was connecting the dots on cults, something about a grand conspiracy theory.” Hammer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like the sound of that.” “Me neither,” said Archive. “But the only way to find out what he’s really doing is to talk to him myself.” “We’re here,” said Blade. He parked the van and they got out. The campus looked much like any Ivy League school, attractive but reserved. It was meant to inspire learning and a certain educational reputation. To Jim-Bean, it just looked creepy. Dr. Bread was a tall, excitable young man with dark curly hair and glasses, given to emphatic gestures. “Hi,” said Hammer, shaking the man’s hand. “We’re with the National Trust—“ Dr. Bread looked like past him at Archive. “Joe? Joe Fontaine!” He laughed, released Hammer’s hand in mid-shake, and walked over to Archive. “It’s been forever!” Archive sheepishly took Dr. Bread’s hand and pumped it. “It’s good to see you too.” “The last time I saw you was at…why, at the Dean’s annual Garden Tea!” He threw an arm around Archive. “What have you been up to?” “I’ve been busy. I freelance…” Hammer shot him a glare but Archive kept talking. “I advise on possible occult investigations like this one.” “I feel a lot better knowing you’re on the job, Joe.” He brought them to the door of Miskatonic University’s archaeology department. It was closed by police tape. A university security guard stood beside the door and held up the tape so they could pass into the room. “This exhibit concerns Dynastic Egypt,” said Bread. At one side of the room, past pottery, bronze jewelry with cloisonné work, dove nets, and a fine collection of adzes, rested a sarcophagus. The heavy protective glass top had been unscrewed and moved aside. Hammer snapped on plastic gloves. “Mind if I look around?” “By all means.” Bread stepped out of the way. The sarcophagus was empty inside, except for random dirt and a few scraps of crumbling linen. “The police came and went,” said Bread. “They weren’t much interested, I’m afraid. The theft has student prank written all over it.” Archive nodded. “Anything unique about this mummy?” Bread shook his head. “Thousands of mummies from ancient days have been found in Egypt and elsewhere. This one was utterly unremarkable. Of interest, certainly, since all old things are, but of nominal value. Like most, it was male and dated to the Old Kingdom.” “The period of the third through sixth dynasties,” said Archive. “And the era when the first pyramids were raised.” Bread smiled. “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your touch.” Archive rubbed some crumbling pits of the sarcophagus between his fingers. “It seems to be crumbling?” Bread blushed a little. “It’s a leftover from a student fair a few years ago. Papier-mâché. Not stone at all. Too heavy. Stone would go right through the floor. Good job though, isn’t it?” “Do you think the mummy is still on campus?” asked Guppy. Bread nodded. “Yes. Odd time of year for a prank, though. Pranks usually happen when the weather’s decent. Imagine toting a mummy about in a cold rain such as we’ve had.” He paused, then murmured, “God, I hope they wrapped it in something!” “This place was locked though, right?” asked Blade. ”Of course. The doors to the exhibit are regularly locked at 6 p.m., as are the department offices. Weekdays, an hourly security patrol of the building begins at that time, until 7 a.m.” “Can we see the security cameras?” asked Hammer. “Certainly. They’re quite odd in themselves.” Bread took them to a security office where an obliging guard ran the tapes. At about 5:45 p.m., a tall, thin man about forty years old entered the exhibit room, looked about, then left. He wore a raincoat and a balaclava. He returned ten minutes later, reached up, and neatly sprayed the lens of the visible camera with black spray paint without showing his face. “In the exhibit, there’s one camera in plain sight,” said Bread. “That’s the dummy. There are actually two real cameras, hidden at opposite ends of the room.” He then put down the spray can and made some curious signs with his hands. His lips moved as well, but of course, no sound was recorded. “Invisibility spell,” muttered Archive. “Hmm?” asked Bread. “Nothing.” The intruder sat on a bench and opened a magazine from his pocket. A close examination deciphered the smeary title: Black Goat Quarterly. A large pentangle decorated the front cover of the thin little magazine. At 6:10 p.m., a guard arrived, looked about indifferently, and utterly ignored the sitting man who was reading. The guard turned out the lights, but the man on the bench made a gesture, and the guard turned the lights back on again. The man continued to read. The guard locked the door and departed. “Sam Knowles was the guard,” said Bread. “He’s been reliable for more than fifteen years. He knows the security arrangements in the room. He remembers nothing of this, except that he closed the room as he always does. When he closed it, he swore there was no one there.” At 7:05 p.m., just after the guard had looked in again and passed on, the man on the bench rose and walked briskly to the mummy. He took out a bag from under his raincoat and lay it aside. Again he made brisk, convoluted gestures. A moment later all the screws popped out of the glass lid. He carefully slid the heavy glass off the sarcophagus, then slipped the open bag under and around the mummy. He turned off the lights, then opened the door from the inside and closed it behind him carefully. “A witness who passed the building last night described a tall, thin man in a balaclava who exited the building carrying a bag,” added Bread. “The time matches the time on the tapes.” Guppy plugged the video recorder into the Cistron. A picture of the man appeared on the team’s other Cistrons. “This gentlemen is not a member of the campus community,” Bread said firmly. “Security had already searched our ID library. We have no match. But this guy probably hangs out with some campus group. He sure doesn’t look like a frat man.” “Not a frat man,” said Archive, “but a fan of the occult.” “Right,” said Hammer. “It’s time to visit the publisher of Black Goat Quarterly.” [/QUOTE]
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