Dr Archeville

So his brief contact with another dimension made him a fearless, happy-go-lucky genius? What was this other dimension? Has he tried opening portals to it again? Has anyone in his family done so?

Also, you need to tell us when you make edits -- the board does not automatically notify us when edits to a post are made.

"Thank you...," he murmured towards the thick-armed goon he did not recognize. If he was with Miss Americana, though, he must be someone trustworthy. For a femtosecond he began wondering who he might be, what his relationship with the gynoid was, but his trains of thought quickly lost steam; what did it matter? "Yes, I am sure her col... her colleagues are... are..." Another tear rolled down his cheek. He turned in his chair slightly, just enough to now stare at a spot on the northern wall. Were it not for that wall, and any other intervening structures, he'd be staring at the spot in North Bay where his Other had made its horrible manifestation, and Fulcrum sacrificed herself to stop it.

A "pop princess" with extreme luck & rose petal-shooting powers.... No. Just... no. This is not a My Little Pony game.

Yuuup.

... wallet? Or anything else in his pockets?

"No... no everything should..." he trailed off again, but soon snapped back. "Everything should have shut itself down... gone to sleep mode where possible... but... it would not hurt to verify." Any investigations would show that the small army of robots had indeed powered down and stowed many things, and were keeping the place tidy for the return of their master. Archeville's eyes suddenly widened. "Archimedes!," he exclaimed, shaking free some of the malaise for a brief moment, before slumping back down. "Archimedes... Mona's cat... will need..." His voice trailed off again, and a single tear rolled down his right cheek as the sight of Fulcrum engulfed in the Terminus explosion played over and over and over in his mind.

Archeville nodded slowly, "yes, I had heard what... what Edge did to the schloss... Schloss Wissenschaft." He sighed again, eyes scanning the floor as he remembered the history of the castle, the state it was in when he inherited it -- little more than a small tower then -- the work he'd done in renovating and expanding it, first to a sprawling estate and then into the European HQ for ArcheTech, and the brief reports he'd read of the destruction Edge had called down upon it. He did not know the full details; he had been brought to Providence shortly after the events, and had not been allowed access to much outside communication since (less distractions from his therapy), but from what he knew of Edge's abilities, he had no doubt the castle was now a crater. He was not surprised Wander had left -- even if he hadn't 'broken out' right in front of her, he doubted she'd want anything more to do with him or his company once she (inevitably) found out about his role in everything. "Wander... please... please see she gets a nice severance package... and references for... for wherever she goes..." he trailed off.

Archeville was silent for some time, lost in bad thoughts. "Yes," he said at last, "all the important projects and plans are summarized in documents on that drive. Full details are in the servers at ArcheTech. Restitution..." Another pause, then, "contingencies for restitution and survivor's funds to be paid, from both ArcheTech's holdings and my own, personal accounts, are also in place. I had hoped... I had hoped to never need those plans... but... better that have them than not." This had, in fact, been one of the driving forces behind Archeville's acquisition of wealth. Funding his own research, and being able to fund scholarships and grants for needy would-be science students, was a big part, yes, but he did also set aside some to make sure any damages his Other self inflicted (should it ever get out, despite all precautions) could be recompensed. Of course, he thought, if he had been more open and honest about his problems, he might never have needed those funds. Or find himself in this room, where the only electronics were the lights recessed into the ceiling, and the most complex moving parts were the faucets in the small personal bathroom. "What... how are the rest of the staff handling things?"

I assume Mr. Brown's corpse weighs less than 233 lbs. (a Light Load for Dead Head's Str of 24) Dead Head's Speed lets him go 10 mph/100 feet per Move Action. Moving All Out gets him to 40 mph. At that speed, he can cross 4.5 miles (the as-the-crow-flies distance between the hospital and the cemetery, based on the maps on our Wiki) in 0.1125 hours, or 6.75 minutes. Make it 9-10 to cover going down alleyways & around other obstacles.

"Aww, don't leave so soon!," Dead Head called out to he air while holding the now-inert corpse in one hand, "we wuz jes' startin' t'have fun!" Gotta move fast, don't know what this guy's already done. But cain't risk a shadow-walk; even if I could get them to work reliably, that'd scatter the trails. The animate corpse slung the inanimate one over its shoulder, and made a mad dash for Lantern Hill, covering the four and a half miles from McNider Memorial Hospital in Midtown to St. Stephen's Church & Lantern Hill Cemetery (going mostly through alleys, subway tunnels, and a few less pleasant routes) in a little under ten minutes. "Hey, Mutt!," he called out as soon as he got to the Hill, "where are ya, boy? I gots a job fer ya!" Moments later, an invisible form bounded towards Dead Head, which quickly faded into view. "Hey Dead Head! Hey! Ooh, who's that? Who? Who?," the spirit-dog barked as he leaped up on the revenant. "Well," he said as he laid the corpse down, then bega rifling through the pockets, "that's what I'm gonna need you ta help me figure out, boy. Someone else was pullin' 'his strings, I need t'find out who. You get a good whiff of 'im, boy, I'll need you to track down where 'e's been. I gotta head back to McNider's an' figure out what 'e's already done."

Unarchived at player request.

Mothballed at player request.

Archeville nodded slowly, "yes, since that is the only identity I ever really knew you by... even before Phantom and Scarab..." he trailed off with a slumping of his shoulders. "Before they erased that knowledge," he would've said. "Before they took from my mind the knowledge of all superhero secret identities I knew, and before they told you to delete any electronic records of same from all my personal servers." The decision had not been his -- it was Scarab's -- but in hindsight he did not disagree with it. The act had put some heroes at ease, fearful the Doktor may suffer a relapse (despite Phantom's assurances that the pseudonatural corruption was completely gone) and go after their loved ones; it would also serve as a gauge to how much trust he had re-earned if and when anyone ever revealed to him their secrets. He turned his head slowly, towards the (barred and alarmed) window looking out to the peaceful courtyard below, and away from (what he was sure were) the judgmental gaze of the gynoid and her thick-armed goon. "I am sorry... so... so sorry..."

Protectron was also dumbstruck by the sheer enormity of the Gorgon. It knew, as Dragonfly and the others did, on a technical/academic level, just how big it would be, but actually being on it was as big a shock to it as it was to the others. For a few picoseconds, the emotional subroutines governing fear kicked in, but Protectron quickly deactivated them -- it knew what had to be done, and had the digital clarity of mind to do it. "Suggest we go in through the injectors to reach nanite cache. Less chance of being detected than burrowing into 'skin' of Cosmic Entity 31966."

Archeville took the envelope and held it in both hands for a long moment, then mechanically worked the tape off one end. Once opened, he turned the envelope over and a small flash drive wrapped in plastic bubble wrap fell out. "They do not allow me access to a computer..." he said softly, holding the drive up. "And I know you would not access it here on your own, for fear of some lingering trap of which neither of us are aware." "Basically..." he turned his head up and looked her in the eyes for the first time, "it is yours, Miss Americana. Well, yours, and the Rhodes Foundation, with which I have worked for some years. They have the resources and networks necessary to keep my dream alive, and you are the only one mentally and morally capable of directing it all."

"I do not wish to harm you," the golden robot said as it charged towards the larger steambot, "but we must bring an end to your criminal activities.". The two collided with a resounding CLANG!, but the the larger 'bot proved too strong, too tough -- Protectron practically bounced off of it! "This steamechanoid is well-constructed," Protectron warned as it moved back out of the steambot's reach.

Let's go with something straightforward this round: charging slam, with an attempt to grapple (thanks to Improved Grab/Improved Grapple). Standard Action: Charge! Protectron's attack; Charging (+2 Att, -2 Def) and Power Attack (-2 Att, +2 Dmg); DC 26 Toughness if it hits (1d20+11=26) Free Action: Attempt to grapple Protectron's Grapple Check (1d20+17=22) Note: Improved Grab only works if opponent is no larger than your size, so if it's Large Protectron can't do it. Move Action: If it's not grappled, move back out of its reach.

"Makes sense," Dead Head mused as he studied the black-clad Grue, "seems most anythin' what was alive could become undead. What I heard them Lab folks say once, the Drones is more like robots than livin' critters anyway, so 't'wouldn't be hard to zombie-fy 'em. Don't see no reason why any sapient species couldn't have yer more free-willed types'a undead, neither." "I's a bit more concerned 'bout what them wands do, though," he nodded towards the silvery rods held by the tattooed Grue. "Might jes' fire out bolts o' energy, might be somethin' nastier -- the more advanced Grue can read minds, so the wands may let 'em do mental tricks." Phantom's comment received a remark, too. "Maybe the vultures decided to come a bit early." "So, I's thinkin' I'll jes' saunter on up an' draw they fire, and let y'all mop up. Sound good?"

+ 5 = 19 on the Reflex save Oh, IC's working again! Protectron's Toughness save, DC 25 (1d20+14=30) w00t Fort Immunity makes it immune to the Stun effect. Protectron's initiative (1d20+5=25) supercharged!

1D20+5=ERROR Hrm... + 5 = 11

Hate to say this (since it's so rarely used), but Master Plan takes more than a round to set up, it takes "at least a few minutes" (which is why it's so rarely used).

"No, you need not remind me," he murmured. "My mind, diminished as it is, still recalls everything I... we... it did." A part of him thought to object to something she had said: he did face his mental illness, that's why he had gone beyond self-medicating, gone to Scarab for telepathic help, and to Miss Americana & Dragonfly for the scans. But those objections were quickly quashed. "Yes... yes, I suppose that is for the best," he replied softly. "I do have a plan written up, in a sealed envelope in the safe in my office. I do not suppose you brought that with you, did you?"

Protectron... waits for Caradoc to fire, then moves in with his Mighty Robot Fists.

"Perhaps it is because you have not fully embraced your technopathic nature," Protectron opined in response to the rhetorical question. "Continued use of your abilities may lead to modes of thought different from those of purely organic brains." The golden robot took up position slightly ahead of and to the side of Caradoc, so as to be in position to melee with whatever steambots came their way.