Dr Archeville

"Yes indeed, I see you've ample drive," he replied, deadpan, "and found a way out of your predicament. In the future, though, I would suggest you be more careful where you place your hands -- full gloves, not fingerless ones, might let you avoid court-ing such predicaments." And then a grin broke out across his face, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Sorry, sorry, you reminded me of someone I know," he said, briefly recalling a certain brash young swordsman. "I am quite relieved to see that worked -- how do you feel now? Does this ability of yours -- a quite remarkable one, if you don't mind my saying -- does it frequently pop up like that, without your meaning it to? I, ah," he fished around in the pockets of his overalls and tool belt, "I know some people who might be able to help you, if you're interested."

"Friend! Friend!," he repeated, scrambling up to his feet and looking with a mix of awe and terror at the transforming youth. "Ohhh boy, this has never happened before, it's never spread like this... I always feared it would, but..." He held up one hand, fingers splayed wide, and waved it in Alexander's direction, "wait, no, that's not... it's you that's... oh!" Archeville had reconfigured his eyes and hand to act as an assortment of medical scanners, and now had a better idea of what was going on. "Okay, okay, your other hand, quick," he took a few steps back, just in case his proximity was a factor, "touch the pavement and absorb it, mimic it, whatever you do, that should stop you from mimicking me. And even if it doesn't, you're going to be okay, this will just be temporary. I'm a Doktor, I'm here to help," he said in his most reassuring tone. "Just stay calm, focus on the road, the asphalt, the minerals in there."

Ah, he is stopping and coming back to check on me, Archeville thought, that's a good sign. Unless he's stopping to see what can be taken off my corpse. Hrm. Best to stay cautious. "Oh, that's quite alright, young man," the repairman replied, taking the offered hand clad in fingerless gloves. He was a fairly unremarkable man, in blue overalls over an orange long-sleeved shirt, and long brown hair tied into a tight braid. His skin was fair, and his hands slightly rough. "That will teach me to look both ways before crossing the- oh!" He was halfway up when they both saw an unexpected sight. Once Alexander's fingers brushed against the man's wrist, his powers kicked in. Normally this would not be much of an issue, since mimicking flesh just meant his skin tone would shift to match that of the person he'd touched. But this man's flesh was not flesh, not entirely. Alexander's fingers metamorphosed into a weird shifting hybrid of circuitry, flesh, and metal, and the change continued up his arm and across his chest. The effect crawled up the side of his neck and jaw, down his abdomen and hip. In the blink of an eye, half his body had been transformed into this strange technorganic substance, and it did not show any sign of stopping.

"Patch" was crossing the street just as Alexander sped around the corner on his motorcycle. An outside observer would have seen the repairman be grazed by the bike as it sped by, knocking him down onto the pavement. Any locals who knew of Facsimile might think this a bit unusual, since that hero had a reputation for being a skilled driver and having a very good eye. And, indeed, Alexander had seen the figure as he was stepping off the curb, and swerved to avoid him by several inches. But this was no ordinary man. Yowza, that guy's in a hurry. Oh, hold on -- that horse stencil on the bike, I've seen that, the Knights of Anarchy. I've been meaning to look more into them, and now could be the perfect opportunity. Maybe a 'clipped pedestrian' ruse would garner their attention. All this ran through Archeville's mind in a flash, so he was able to react fast enough that Alexander saw him in his rear view mirror spin and fall into the middle of the street. Perhaps the young hero had misjudged how far he had needed to swerve to avoid the bystander?!

2019 May 17th (Friday). Evening. Cloudy, temps in high 60s/low 70s. On Shelley Road, in one of many squat gray buildings that dotted the neighborhood, was the Southside Family Medical Center. It was several blocks from the middle-class safety centered on Freedom College campus or the Jordan International Airport, and primarily served the far too numerous amount of uninsured people of Southside. They received some funding government grants and local charities, but it was not nearly enough to give adequate care to all who came through their doors. And many did come through their doors: college kids who partied too hard and didn't want any records, victims of gang shootings, and perfectly law-abiding citizens stuck in hazardous low-income jobs, whose poverty charged interest on their bodies. There was always some shortage or other of supplies, though most days they managed to make things stretch. Equipment too worn out even for West End's Trinity Hospital often wound up here, juuust functional enough to not be complete scrap. For the past few days, a "freelance technician" had been coming by to see about keeping their gear in functional order. He'd simply appeared on day a few weeks ago, in dingy overalls and a large tool belt, working at several such clinics throughout the area. The first few clinics were initially skeptical of this "Patch Menderson," but a lack of references or papers (and obviously fake name) were far from unusual in these parts, and his skills and oddly charming nature spoke for themselves. And so it was that on a May evening, as he left the struggling medical center, the path of "Patch Menderson" -- in reality Herr Doktor Viktor Archeville, working incognito and trying a new method of helping others -- crossed with one of Southside's more unusual defenders...

Davyd's panic at his current predicament faded as he saw the ease with which Miss Grue shifted, replaced with the awe of seeing a superhero in action and the thrill of wondering if he'd be able to pull off what she could do. "Right, right, just focus," he said, "just focus on- hold on..." He closed his eyes and mouth, okay, focus my thoughts, remember what I want to look like, he thought, what I had looked like. The Balloon'd Lynn began to deflate, collapsing in on itself, but her features also started fading. In moments, the large Sphere of Lynn was replaced by a roughly Davyd-sized mass of protoplasm, an indistinct, muddy hue that on closer inspection is really a scattered, glittering swirl of every color that human flesh could come in. The blob pulsed and swayed a bit, then rose up into a column, like a candle melting in reverse. Arms and legs extruded out, finer lengths sprouted from the top, and other features bubbled to the surface. His form resolved itself, as did his beige outfit. Now, Normal Human Davyd Palahniuk was standing before them. "Wow... thanks!"

Hunh, looks like I mistranslated some bits there, Archeville thought to himself. I'll need to watch that. He nodded at the apes description of the dome, "strong indeed! And shiny, too!" He leaned over slightly to one of the apes and whispered conspiratorially, "looks tasty, too. You try licking it?" He suspected the static field -- which could likely repel microbes as well as dirt -- wouldn't be enough to harm any of them, but it could be a good way to get some of their captors distracted. But before anything could come of that, the doors slid open and the voice rang out. "Hello!," he called out in response, "we are scientists come to see the great works of Lord Uplift, and perhaps join him, if he deems us worthy!"

"Nice to meet you, too!" he called out after Lulu. Davyd was a bit sad to see Lulu and Monica going their own ways, leaving him with just Corrine and Leroy. Well, I'll have more opportunities to chat with them later. And maybe I can find something likable about these two behind their facades. The Aaron Cage Gymnasium was a short walk from the greenhouse. It was large enough to hold a tournament regulation basketball court & the surrounding bleachers, as well as lockers and shower rooms for boys and girls, a weight training room, equipment storage bins, and the offices of the academy's various coaches. Davyd had neither a particular love nor hatred of exercise, but he did appreciate the large enclosed space. "So is this where we would practice with ouWHOA!" He was not expecting Leroy to do... whatever it was he'd done to his face. He recovered quickly, though, owing to a life in Freedom surrounded by weirdness. "So you're a shapeshifter, too? Cool! Maybe we can practice together?" The thought filled him with roughly equal parts joy and dread. "Maybe we- oh, wait, you're communicating... asking me... how I would exercise?" He grinned, "that's a good question! If my body's so malleable, do I even need to exercise?" He suddenly grew about half a foot in height -- still shorter than Leroy -- and swelled with muscles until he looked like a professional weightlifter. "I mean, I probably do need to, but... how? Exercise is about pushing your body to and then past its limits, right? I guess the coaches here would have a better idea than I do."

'Lots of thought rain'? the chimp's words echoed in Archeville's mind. Seeding clouds to create Darwin X-laced precipitation? Are they planning some massive distribution that would uplift animals across the country? Across the world? Even if they newly-sapient animals aren't directed by their Lord, the chaos they'd cause... He nodded, "Fair's Fair, yes indeed," he repeated to the apes, "and all of us -- animals, beasts, and men -- being smart and working together, yes? Each work together, to benefit all!" He feared this 'Lord Uplift' was including some decidedly anti-human sentiments in with his teachings, but it was best to confirm it before getting deeper in. And perhaps begin to work on subverting them. >>Worrying indeed<< he texted back to Delta's HUD, >>the construction seems focused on stealth, so there could be anything concealed within.<< Archeville pointed towards the main entrance, "ooh, that big enough for two Sqvrgh, I bet! Gruuur build this for Lord Uplift? Look like good, strong walls!"

Ah, so that's the host of this lil' shindig, Burt thought at he made his way to the bar, keeping an eye on the man offering a hand to the young lady. He sent a mental image of him to Mutt, just in case they wound up going downstairs. He then sidled up to the bar, still keeping an eye on the commotion. "Bloody brain shooter," he said, barely turning to address the bartender. It wasn't an uncommon drink: Nick had introduced it to him at a Midnighter post-scuffle wind-down. Chilled vodka & lime juice in a shot glass, with Irish cream dribbled in over the top. The acids in the lime juice caused the cream to curdle, creating little blobs of "brain" to form. It didn't do a thing for him, of course, what with no functioning metabolism, but he'd appreciated the gesture, and did admit that it looked really cool. "Soo, that's the host, yeah?," he asked the bartender, still keeping an eye on the man and the lady he was helping up, and opening his senses to see what magics might be on him. "An' this is his place? Pretty swanky. How's he afford it all? He looks like a Vegas magician, but this is a looong ways from Nevada."

"Oh, that is a good idea!" he exclaimed, "I had never considered using my abilities like that, but yeah," he smoothly morphed to match Lynn's earlier civilian appearance, his Claremont-provided outfit shifting with him, "that makes total sense!" Ironically, if not for the accident that merged Grue genetic material with him, his own mutant powers would have been the ability to imitate people, but that would have been the extent of his shapeshifting. The scientists who had helped him stabilize after the accident figured that out, but never told him, just as they'd never told him about the nature of the biomaterials that were infused into him. He stood next to Grimalkin, posing as if Miss Grue were a photographer. "Oh, yeah, I've done that, too!" he exclaimed when he saw her grow. "Um, well," his tone shifted down suddenly, "I mean... kinda... look, I'll show you." "Lynn" began to swell up, like she was puffing up her chest, but then her whole body began ballooning up, first like a desert rain frog, then more like the gum-chewing girl from that movie about the kids in the candy factory. Craaaaap In moments "Lynn" was an eight-foot-diameter sphere of stretched flesh, with pudgy hands and her head just barely poking out. "Uhh... that didn't go as I'd hoped."

"I'm trying to stay away from evil scientists," he chuckled, "but, yes, I do see your point. I had heard of some heroes who had gone out there already, like Dark Star and Supercape, and though the chances are -- pardon the wordplay -- astronomical, I may run into them on my way to CoVic Station. And once I'm there, I'm sure I can find some allies, even make some friends. If nothing else, doesn't the Freedom League still sends some members up there on routine missions, yes?" He finished his coffee and set the cup down on the table between them. "So there'd be a few more familiar faces."

So to be clear, who gets an HP for your use of GM Fiat?

Horroshow's head jerked and twitched about, looking all about for the displaced agents. He made some barely intelligible approximations of speech, "wherrre diiid theeey gooo?" Once the pink-haired punk began talking, he turned his focus to her, slowly opening and closing his taloned hands. It took a moment for her words to sink in, but once they did, he smoothly morphed back to the smiling form of Dayd Palahniuk. "Uh, yeah, about that... so those MiBs said something about you messing with the timeline, and your outfit's either very retro or very post-apocalyptic, so I'm guessing you're a time traveler. And if that's the case, well, I hate to tell you, but," he gestured to the flickering holographic displays behind them, "they're the Next-Gen, and we're... uh... not. I mean," he held his hands up defensively, "I just got here last week, I'm still learning my way around the campus."

"Hear, hear," he replied, raising his coffee cup to her, "even in the best of circumstances, public opinion can be a tricky beast to wrangle. Though from what I've seen, you've handled it with supreme grace and skill." He nodded slightly to her before taking another sip of his drink, "kudos on how you handled that one heckler at the American Orthotics and Prosthetics Association assembly last September." Redemption, yes. I have to work on redeeming myself, my image, I want to do so. But I also want to go far away, not see or be seen by anyone. Which is driving me more? Which is going to be charting my course out there? "My initial plan was to go alone," he said after half a moment's thought, "with some AI companions, and plenty of reading material and movies. And I am still leaning in that direction. Though one of my former, ah, associates... employees... ah," he shook his head, "Grimalkin, formerly of the Interceptors, she had expressed interest in accompanying me, though she has some issues that keep her Earth-bound for the moment. And in any case, I would be sure to leave behind some communicators with the League and others -- yourself included, should you want one -- so I can reach or be reached in an emergency."

Blood? Yeah, he thought towards Mutt as he looked around the room and felt that too-familiar tingle of necromantic energies, that fits with what I'm seein' here. Got some folks who I'd bet my left arm are vamps, though of a kind I don't think we've encountered afore. I'm pickin' up some necro-vibes from below, where you are, he glanced up towards the ceiling, and from the attic. And whatever's in the attic is active. He glanced around the room again, noting which ones were pinging on his necro-senses and which ones weren't. Think you can get in there, see what's lurkin' in the basement? Hopefully it's just... cast-offs, he snarled, remembering the sights of too many charnel pits filled with the failed experiments of would-be necromancers, and the real threat's upstairs, which I'll be headin' to momentarily. He made his way across the dance floor, swaying unconsciously to the beat, towards the bar and what he assumed was the kitchen beyond. Maybe there's a dumbwaiter back there I can use to get up, he thought. And that's when Casey noticed that one of those unnaturally cold attendees lurching towards her & Darlene!

Leroy's words painted a picture of his home that Davyd found quite discomforting, what with all the talk of 'battles' and 'atrocities.' Then again, a lot of our science fiction is military science fiction, so maybe his world's not so different from this one. He was about to respond to the young prince's (?!) question, when Ashley suddenly said more than she'd said during the entire tour, followed by Judy quickly walking off and Ashley going along. His work in high school theatre had made him accustomed to seeing rollercoasters of emotion, so he rolled with it, figuring that if someone needed to go see to either of the girls, one of their classmates -- someone who actually knew them -- would do so. He turned back to Leroy and was about to answer him, when Lulu spoke up, showing off her own abilities in the process. Oh, wow. After a moment of marveling at the illusory flames upon him, he at last spoke up. "Ah, yeah, I think I read that the total population of people with abilities is less than 1%, and out of those, over 99% have very minor abilities, or even things that are more nuisance than useful. So there just aren't that many of them -- er, us -- to begin with." Suddenly feeling a bit claustrophobic, Davyd turned to wards the door, "hey, where's the gym? Does it have a pool?"

So Dead Head's got Super-Senses (Magic Awareness 3 [Mental], Mental Awareness 2 [Mental]) + Enhanced Super-Senses 4 (Acute & Analytical for All Mental Senses; Flaw: Limited [Only for Necromantic Effects]) Does he pick up on anything inside the house? Or from any of the partygoers (like those atypically cold folks Miracle Girl peeped)?

At the mention of "assignment," Davyd stretch-craned his neck over towards Monica and the glowtrappers, making a sound not unlike a thick rubber band being stretched. His eyes went wide when he saw what she'd done, "wow! I had no idea you could do that! I don't think any of the other Ladies Liberty could do that!" He was only half-listening to Leroy -- by now he'd formed the opinion that the martial prince was something of a diva, and those were best handled by not feeding their need for attention -- but his ears did prick up when he heard his name. "Hrm? Ah, yes," he turned to face Leroy, head swaying slightly on his elongated neck, "well, before my accident, I'd had plans to become a make-up artist, work on horror movies or sci-fi tv shows. Now, of course," he glanced down at himself, "I don't really need any prosthetics to make myself up, but those skills are still useful. And I don't want to be the one on camera, I'd still prefer a role behind it, helping others look their best -- for whatever role they're encompassing. On the other hand," he held up his left hand, which shifted between a variety of animal claws, paws, and tentacles, "I think there could be a real market for movies and other media made with folks who have abilities. I know not everyone's able or interested in being a warrior, and may only have relatively minor abilities, but they still use those in ways that make a difference. Like Asbestos, the current chief of Freedom's fire department, who's completely fireproof." His arm and neck began returning to their normal forms and proportions, "movies can be idle entertainment, sure, but they can also make you think, presenting weighty matters in a different light. They can inspire, and they can manipulate, showing us at our best and at our worst, what we can be if we stride towards improvement," his chest puffed up as he struck a Centurion-esque pose, "or what we might become if we continue following certain dark paths. And if these movies can be made more easily, more cheaply, with actors and crew who have abilities," he shrank back and casually shrugged, "that seems to me like a good way to contribute to the world."

Archeville was a bit conflicted: on the one hand, he truly did value Miss Americana's intelligence and insight, but on the other, he had suspected that this would be her response. Did I come her for honest advice, or an echo chamber? He ignored that for now, promising himself he'd come back to it, and seek out others for their advice so he'd have many opinions to consider. "Yes, I've heard many fascinating stories of CoVic Station, and would be very interested in seeing technologies from dozens of alien worlds working together. And if I can find some that would be compatible with standard Earth technology, well," he allowed himself a small grin, "then when I return, it could be like Jason returning with the Golden Fleece."

"No," he replied with a slight grin, "I'd be using my own ship, something I've been tinkering with off and on since before I'd even joined the Freedom League Auxiliary. I'd be happy to share my schematics, if you're interested." His smile became a thin line, "as to your question, I would like to say it's just the former -- and also the possibility to work with alien tech on CoVic Station -- but," he paused to take a sip of his metal-laced coffee, "in all honesty, it would be more accurate to say it is both those things. I have put in a lot of work these past few years to rebuild and re-center myself, both physically and mentally, but the social facets..." He let out a sigh, equal parts frustration and sadness, "most of my connections and contacts have burned, it would be generous to say I'm back to square one with the business or scientific communities. Or the hero community. With all that's happened, all that I did and all that happened to me, I'm not sure there's much more I can do here."

Davyd grinned at Grimalkin's show, which was somewhat disturbing given the current configuration of his face. "That makes senses, yes," he said, nodding, then help up his hands defensively, "though I would never dream of getting into that sort of mischief! I would only use my abilities to confuse bad guys, or to sneak into villain lairs." He seemed genuine and sincere in this, or at least he was trying his best to be so. He lowered his hands, then extended one claw to each of the ladies before him, then realized what he was and smoothly shifted back so they could shake his human hands. "I am always happy to learn, though, especially from two superheroes - ah, superheroines - such as yourselves!" He gave Miss Grue a double-take, why is she telling me that?, then shrugged and flashed a fang-filled smile her way. "I, uh, think 'mentor' would keep things simplest, yes. Oh, that's right, Grue are mind-readers, too, not just shapeshifters. Hunh," he muttered, "maybe that's why they were so terrifying, they were reading people's fears..." He shook his head and looked back at Miss Grue, "well, my parents and babusya raised me to be honest, so you won't need to worry about that!"

Davyd practically leaped back, eyes widening in terror as she shifted. "You're a Grue!" Memories of the last Gruevasion were still fresh in his mind. The terrified student's skin smoothly shifted to a dark green chitinous carapace, talons sprang from his hands and feet, and a thick alligator-like tail lashed out behind him. He continued moving back, climbing backwards up the wall like an insect, as his head shifted into an arachnid horror with too many eyes and fangs. Grue. Grue! GRUE!!! GR- wait, wait, think it through. Not attacking. And with Grimalkin, a known hero. Wait -- what was that she said! Oh! Oh, of course! His hissing subsided, "Miss Grue? Miss Grue! Oh, right, yes!" His form did not change, but he slowly crawled down from the wall and looked back and forth between the two. "And you are going to help me with my powers! Wow!" He cocked his head abruptly, "wait, so you're... adopting me? I... what?"

Davyd was slowly sussing out the personalities and relationships among his impromptu tour guides & future classmates, and was a bit weirded out. Well, this is Freedom, weird things just happen here. "Back in my parent's home country," he began, trying to diffuse the situation, "and in many parts of the former Soviet Republic, and Asia, there are people known as vovchoks. Ah, 'Sleepers' is closest translation, but also 'doormice.' They are people who have powers, but never used them. Some did so because they did not want the responsibility of being a hero, nor did they have the drive to become a criminal. But most held back out of fear, for what might happen to them and their families should certain... authorities learn of their abilities." He looked around to see if they were paying attention to him instead of each other, a decidedly unusual experience for the stage techie. "But I grew up here, in Freedom, where it seems like everyone who has powers either becomes a superhero or supervillain. So I was raised with both worldviews. And so I think that," he chewed his lower lip a bit nervously, "that if you some ability, and you can use it to help others, then you should do so. But not necessarily as crime-fighting superhero, because not everyone can do that -- as an artist that inspires others, or as a scientist or teacher helping the next generation, or a construction worker... those are all good, too."

Dok is trying to worm some info out of their captors as they travel, so... Gather Information check? 1d20+6: 9 [1d20=3] Oof