Sophistemon

Samuel blinked, then smiled. "Oh, no, I didn't forget the coffee. I just gulped it down like it was water in the desert. I'm tired, Lance." His grin widened at the barista's mock-French. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong," he told the young man. "Obscurity's for the people who can't get up and stay up -- I plan to be on top again in no time, and this round I'm going to stay there." He took the cup, tilted it to his mouth, and almost collapsed. He drank deeply, laryngeal prominence bobbing up and down, and let out an appreciative sound of pleasure. "My God, Lance," he said. "This is fantastic. We're going to have to start calling this my 'usual,' at least until you show me something even better."

Presto stared at Bailey with wide eyes, then glanced at all of the empty packets of Starlight. His mouth dropped and he was, for a moment, unable to speak. "Please," he said aloud. "Please, Alton, tell me that you didn't..." He cleared his throat and, keeping an eye on Bailey, slowly retreated until he had his back to the wall -- hopefully limiting the directions that his invisible enemy could assault him from. He raised the phone to his mouth. "Warne," he said. "I'm in the basement. There's... Bailey, he's down here with me. And someone else, someone that I can't see. Pixies, Warne! Starlight's made of Bloodpatch pixie eggs!" He pointed his wand at Alton and the silver tip glowed with arcane power. "Back off, Bailey. I've whipped you once tonight; don't make me do it again." His narrow-eyed glare shared that same glow, and accentuated the steel in his voice. "Come out of hiding," he told the voice. "Haven't you played the coward long enough?" A sly grin slid across his features. "Besides, can't you tell? This is the finale! It's time to raise the curtain and have an ending."

To that, Ethan shrugged. "Warne, everyone's got a history that they try to hide. There's a lyric I remember from a band that I can't recall that goes: 'Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future' or something like that." He grimaced. "It's from some tweenage mopey pop-band my daughter likes." He made a motion that was halfway towards sticking two fingers down his throat and faked a gag. "It's garbage. Anyway, what I'm saying is, the kid's got secrets -- but who are we to judge? I mean, have you been in a relationship in the past decade where you told the girl what you really do for a living? My wife thinks that I'm a test pilot, for God's sake." He looked down at his hands. "You know, she cried when I told her that I wasn't going to be flying missions for the Air Force anymore. She was so happy that I'd be doing something safe that she broke down and sobbed. I can't stand to tell her that I've traded a plane for a bipedal tank."

Exaccus, having you roll a Knowledge: Technology check for Doctor Deoxy would be a formality at best. Please read through the following spoilers are relay your findings to the other players as desired. DC10 DC15 DC20 DC25

Colonel Chalmers nodded, then reached over and removed the thumb drive from the player before handing it, and the folder, to Doctor Deoxy. "There you go, Doc," he said. "That's everything we have on this guy. The Boys in the Back Room have given a shot at sussing out what makes him tick, but they've come up with bupkis so far." He shrugged. "Of course, you've got more brains then all of them put together. Make no mistake, I wouldn't have brought you on board if I didn't have all the faith in the world that you'd be able to get something useful out of it." Inside the folder, beyond the ransom demands, are several high-definition photographs of the supervillain at various stages of his presentation and some notes -- most of them baseless, hysterical theorizing -- sketched out in the margins by AEGIS science personnel. "We have some facilities here for you to use if you'd like," the Colonel offers. "But that's completely up to you. Knowing you caped crusaders you've probably got your own lab hidden away somewhere that puts the end-result of millions upon millions of dollars of taxpayer funding to shame." Chalmers turned to the others. "All right, we've got Deoxy on the case and..." he checked his watch. "Just under two days to get things figured out. How do we spend that time without making the rest of us look stupid by comparison?"

That sounds like a good plan!

"Your tax-dollars at work," Stone joked, reclining in a comfortable chair. He pointed to Adept. "It doesn't take a long time of working with you to get used to that face, Warne," he said. "Something's bothering, so why not spill it? Is it Bonfire? Or the Gas-Man?" He shook his head, eyes clouding. "For me, it's Neutron. Man, I can't stand it when corporate fat-cats think that their money gives them carte blanche to ignore the laws they figure are inconvenient." He frowned, then took an angry sip of coffee. "No wonder you smoke," he added. "All of this weaving and winding bull-crap, it's a wonder we're not all alcoholics."

Sam stopped to take it all in, his eyes drawn to the tanks and their unfortunate contents. He raised his hands, white gloves still clean, and spread his fingers to show that they were empty. "It's okay," he murmured. "It's okay, I won't hurt you." Bloodpatch pixies. This was bizarre. The whole damn thing was bizarre, but this was the bizarre cherry on top of a bizarre sundae. Their presence here explained a great many things -- that Starlight increased a person's magical power and gave them vivid dreams -- but left other questions unanswered, such as the source of the nightmares and the addictive nature of the drug. So far as he knew, bloodpatch roe was pleasant, but not addictive. Presto conjured his wand and, with the other hand, drew his cellphone out of his pants pocket. He dialed Warne and waiting, hoping for the other man to pick up. "Come on," he muttered. "Come on, Warne; I know you aren't dead. This is important."

Thanks, Blarghy. I'm sorry for the wait! Presto will Take 10 on his Knowledge: Arcane Lore check and learn everything that you've offered.

Does anyone else have anything that they'd like to say, in-character, before the next GM post?

I apologize for the delay; I meant to post yesterday after work but I didn't get home until nearly midnight and I just didn't have it in me.

Chalmers snapped his thick fingers and arched one bushy eyebrow in Warne's direction. "Look at you, mister Big Ideas." He reached down to the table, took up a pen and paper, and scrawled a note. "Cut... power... remotely." He tapped a period to the paper and then pointed the pen at Doctor Deoxy. "And there we have it, folks; we'll call that one Plan A." He raised the pad. "So here's what I'm thinking so far, everyone. If the good doctor here can whip something up to track this guy (whoever he is) back to his lair (wherever it is) then that's just fine and dandy. But if he can't -- and I'm not saying that you can't, Deoxy, just that we should be prepared -- then we'll throw the switch, cut the power, and trap him in the mall with a thorough beat-down to follow." He nodded, pleased with how this slapdash group of heroes were planning things out. He looked, then, to Miracle Girl. "You're right," he said. "Tracking him has the potential to be more dangerous -- that goes without saying. But he's got hostages and we don't know their situation. If we can track him back to wherever it is they're being kept, it's better off for them in the long run. If we trap him outside of his lair and we're delayed in finding it... who knows what could happen to the people he's got stashed away? These aren't even natives of our reality, so as far as we know they might require some sort of life support to survive here. There's no telling how they're holding up, or whether or not they'll require any medical attention. The sooner we find them, the better." He smiled, moved by her concern and somewhat eager to put her mind at ease. "Besides, if we find out where he is, we have the element of surprise on our side."

@Avenger Assembled Not a problem! I'm glad to have gotten a chance to include Sea Devil; she's an awesome character. @Exaccus I didn't have Chalmers address you because you said that Deoxy was speaking in a whisper -- I'm not leaving you out. If you'd like, I could edit the post so that you were heard.

GM Lights, Camera, Action! -- Please allocate earned points to Punchline as appropriate. Presto Count Down Dreamweaver I've Got a Golden Ticket Nothing Fancy, Just Hanging Out Upgrade Irradiated Intervention

Sam blinked, shook his head, and grinned. "Oh, no, thanks! Everything's fine!" He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just a little tired; I had a long night. Any chance you could hook me up with a cup of something that'll get me going?" He chuckled. "And please, call me 'Sam,' Lance. Everyone does." He took a breath, inhaling the scent of fresh coffee and various pastries, and leaned towards the display to inspect the day's selection. "Why don't you recommend me something good?"

The questions came as quickly as Colonel Chalmers had anticipated and he raised both hands to stem the tide. "All right," he grumbled. "Pipe down. I'm gonna try and handle this in order, so bear with me." He pointed a blunt, thick-nailed finger at Sea Devil. "Strange is right; I've been with AEGIS coming up on twenty years now and it's just about the weirdest darn thing that I've ever come across, and I was here on the day the coffee machine came to life and tried to conquer Mars. To answer your first question, the Boys in the Back Room are leaning towards it being technological in nature, though nobody's been able to tell me yet how this sort of thing is possible. Alternate realities we've dealt with before, but nothing like this. As for your second question, there's no evidence uncovered so far that indicates that he's caused anyone any harm. Well, not anyone real. We're hoping that you can subdue this man before he does." The finger moved a bit to center on Adept. "Good questions, Agent Warne. No, the suspect didn't demand that anyone specific make the drop, which leads our psych-team to believe that we're dealing with someone unfamiliar with kidnapping; a hardened criminal knows to reduce the number of variables. As for determining who the suspect is, he's wearing black armor and a red cape -- he could be any one of a thousand different villains, or someone completely new; we're running the image through the database but we just don't know yet. As for the person under the armor, these are major, multi-million dollar Hollywood productions and people come and go on those projects all the time. We're working through a list of potential suspects but it numbers in the hundreds." He paused, thinking. "As for the films themselves, they're all... what do you call it when a studio remakes an old property? A rehash?" He shook his head and the word came to him. "A reboot! They're all reboots." Finally, the finger drifted over to indicate Miracle Girl. "He specified a time -- three-thirty PM -- but had no further demands. Obviously, we're going to evacuate Millennium Mall and keep emergency personnel on call in case things go south. Standard procedure, really." He dropped his hand, which had begun to cramp, to his side. "Folks, I'm going to be frank with you: I don't think this guy knows what he's doing. He's taken hostages that could net him way more than thirty million dollars, set up a meet with too many variables left unaccounted for, and... it's just a feeling that I get." His eyes narrowed. "But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't take this seriously. Remember, we might be dealing with a complete unknown and we have no idea what he's capable of doing. He's already demonstrated some pretty baffling abilities, so we should take advantage of every loophole that he's left us." He took a breath and let it out before continuing on. "All right, I think that was everyone. Are there any further questions before we move on to the strategics?"

Presto stared down the steps with a look of grim determination writ large across his face. "Well," he muttered. "I guess there there's nowhere to go from here but down." His attempt at humor did little to lighten his mood. He felt, and not for the first time, that too much was happening that he didn't understand and, what's more, he was increasingly convinced that he might not want to understand it, that it might be too gruesome to cope with, once he knew once and for all what all of the reasons were. Still. "In for a penny," he hummed to himself, and took the first step down into the bowels of the building.

The magician, seeing no danger, padded down the hallway as softly as he could manage. He turned his head this way and that, mask-enhanced eyes shining an eerie silver-blue, and searched for other doors to other rooms. If he could find the room where they made the Starlight, and destroy it at its source, this would all be over -- provided that he could convince the mastermind behind it all to stop the creation of any more. It wasn't Alton Bailey, he was sure of that. The man wasn't any sort of dullard, or at least he hadn't been, but the creation of Starlight was, Presto thought, very much beyond him. No, the person to blame for all of this was much more subtle. Samuel smirked. "Well," he whispered. "I'm not. And if I don't find you soon, I'm going to shake the foundations to smoke you out."

"Keeping them asleep," he whispered, glancing into the trash to inspect its contents. "And making them dream. But why?" And here, too, was more proof that Starlight was not so universally pleasant as its advocates claimed. Where most of the 'patients' dozed peacefully, Jenny's face was wan and fretful. He went about the room quickly, unlocking each of the captives. He might not be able to rouse them, but should they wake at some point in the near future, at least they could then free themselves. He then went about the room and slowly, carefully removed the IV needles from their forearms. If they did wake up, he didn't want them to injure themselves in a hurry to escape. What's more, it was possible that the IVs were themselves drugged. He couldn't tell, but if they were then removing them might hasten their wakefulness. Following that he turned the medical schedule over to a blank side and, using a pen conjured from his mystic pocket, wrote out a quick direction to lead the magicians to the rear door through which he'd made his entrance. If they woke before he could help them himself, he would at least make sure that they could find their way out. He set the paper down at the foot of Jenny's cot and went again to the door. He paused, looked once more into the room for anything that he might have missed, and unlocked it. Cautiously, he peered back out into the hallway.

Presto paused, uncertain for a moment before he was. He took a look back into the hallway, made sure that he was still alone, and then stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him and, seeing that it had a lock, engaged it. If this was what he thought it was, it was grotesque. He walked towards Jenny, looking about the room as he went, taking in every detail that he could. When he reached the sleeping necromancer he raised a hand to her shoulder and give it a slight shake. "Jenny?" he whispered, and the repeated himself with greater volume. "Jenny... Diego?" Her surname came to him in a flash. "Jenny, wake up." Whether or not she responded, he looked down at her cuffed hand and started searching around the room for a key, or any clue as to what was really going on in this building.

Ah, the smell. He'd been warned about the odor but had forgotten, what with everything else going on. He raised his left hand to his face to cover his nose and continued on, the wand gripped tightly and ready for action in the other. The beeping, slow and steady, drew his attention. He moved silently, all but pressing his back to the wall, and approached the source of the sound. He stood at the door-frame for moment, took a deep breath, and glanced inside.

Presto remained silent throughout the course of Warne's speech and remained so as the agent rose up into the air, demonstrating yet another 'new' abilitiy that had been previously unknown to the magician. Samuel wondered if Warne's powers were learned or innate, and then shook the jealousy from his mind. It doesn't matter, he told himself, and took a breath. Inspired by the AEGIS agent's example, he crouched down and kept close the wall, so that he might circle around the property and find another means of entry. He would look for a window, maybe, or another door -- almost any option would be preferable to making his presence known in the traditional way, through the front door, where any number of thugs might be waiting with enough guns to challenge even his magic. Stealth came unnaturally to the former criminal. Not because he was clumsy or uncoordinated -- far from it! Instead, it was his flashy nature, his self-assured flamboyance, that worked against him. To mute that instinct and go about unnoticed -- purposefully unnoticed, was a bitter pill to swallow. For a moment he considered allowing Warne to make first contact with the enemy and then enter during the confusion. He could lie and say that he'd just been in another room and there'd be no evidence against it. But he shook that thought, too, out of his head. He was better than that; he had to be. And so, he crept around the house, to the rear of the property, where he saw a small pier and boathouse, connected to the larger building by a short path that lead to a backdoor. He looked this way and that before approaching; there were no thugs in sight. "Shoddy operation," he mused, and inspected the way in. The door was locked, of course. Two spells -- one to freeze the steel to a state of brittle fragility and another to twist and break it -- got him inside.

That's great; thank you.

Fantastic. Am I allowed to dictate his method of entry, or would you like to suggest something? He's just trying to find a way in that would put him a goodly distance from any guards, so that he might take them by surprise.

I don't think it unwise, at this juncture, to roll a Stealth check just in case. Stealth Check: 1d20+7 12. Of course, when you're me, it's always unwise to roll dice for any reason whatsoever. Forget it; I have enough Hero Points that I'm going to blow one. I don't want to follow up that neat little fight by tripping over a window-sill. Stealth Check: 1d20+7 14. Okay, that's still awful but if I'm remembering correctly, when using a Hero Point to re-roll, if you roll below a 10 you get to add 10 to the result. Which gives us a 24.