Avenger Assembled

https://www.freedomplaybypost.com/start/sample-characters/sample-character-5-costumed-detective-r19/ just for ease of reference, SC, take any 20 PP of skills you like out of this build.

"I wish we knew more," admitted Scarlet, gesturing to Echohead first, and then the others, as his secretary came back with the water. "But as I said, their resistance to technology makes them hard to infiltrate. We do have evidence that they are planning some sort of demonstration, violent or otherwise, to coincide with Cardonas's appearance in Freedom City. Between the volatility of a Freedom City crowd and the availability of metahuman mercenaries, almost anything is possible." "New Jersey state police will be on-site; and Cardonas has private security he's worked with; I don't know if you're familiar with the group Iron Talon? In any event, they'll be armed and on scene as well, as is usually the case when he has public appearances. You can find more information about them in the files I've provided. If you are all in," Scarlet added, "I'm sure you'll want to spend time conferring and preparing. Is there anything else?"

Okay, drop me some rolls and we'll see what kind of attention you get!

"We're not talking kidnapping here," said Scarlet. "They have said that he will quote, 'get what's coming to him.' Which makes them sound like a bunch of children if you ask me, but if we know anything about Freedom City, it's that some children have a lot of power," he added seriously. "This kind of radicalism _is_ unusual for the EFA; but since they're so hard to infiltrate, we don't actually know much about their internal operations. We do know that the state chapter in New Jersey has a high number of metahumans and was recently disavowed by the main organization in Pennsylvania. That's why we don't have the feds involved." He handed out some more paperwork to the group, showing them hard copies of the various threatening letters - actual physical letters, sent to Cardonas. "Cardonas is here to speak at a private dinner of some of his fellow titans of industry; supposedly to do fundraising for some of his personal charities, but more likely to lay the groundwork for a Presidential run." He snorted, sounding skeptical. "People like That would make him the feds' business too...but we're not there yet. The good news is that he takes the threat seriously; the bad news is that he says the only kind of security he'll accept is metahuman. We can't force a private citizen to use security...but it could help save lives if somebody makes a play for him."

Ashley didn't get into political arguments at work. For one thing, she and many of her superhero colleagues didn't see eye-to-eye on some matters that were important but not worth fighting about with people who would one day have your back in a real crisis. For another thing, if the Patriot started talking about politics, it was one step down the road to politicizing all superheroes, even the ones that didn't sign up to be government agents and make public service announcements. And finally, maybe she'd made herself a public face of causes like Vietnamese-Americans and LGBT uniformed personnel - but she wasn't really a political person except for the things that really mattered. But one thing was true. She really hated Communists. Especially ones that hid behind revolutionary words and talk of liberation while terrorizing innocent people. A thug, even a brutal thug, was one thing - one who thought they weren't was something else entirely. Something much worse. What the hell. Play it big. She stood up from her crouch at the opened window, snapped open a sticky grenade from her belt, and threw it directly at Red Death's face. "Come and get me you dumb f_cks!" she declared before drawing her pistols.

Cool! Looks like a fun character.

Kaidan A possible future Vibora Bay Reclamation Area With great dignity, the old Japanese woman walked up the steps of the Vibora Bay Carapace Corps Security Station, her heavy wooden cane striking the stone steps in front of her like a metronome as she went. She was the subject of some attention as she went, lacking as she did the cybernetic gewgaws that even old people in the United States usually wore in their clothing these days; and her clothing itself - a high-collared shirt, kimono, and hakama - looked more suited to a costumed drama than a denizen of Vibora Bay in the late 21st century. But she was not the only eccentric old person in Florida, not by any means. The hexagonal automatic doors swung open as she approached, seeming to stutter as they said “Welcome, Unk-Obaasan,” She walked inside the station and slowly, carefully made her way to a nearby bench, mindful to place herself in between the nubbed spikes that discouraged any sleepers. She sat there, leaned on her cane, and closed her eyes behind her heavy glasses. She tuned out the screens selling Carapace products she didn’t need, ignored warnings about criminals, and let herself see. The cats moved quickly through the station, finding it a familiar pattern. Here were the biometric sensor controls, here were the humans that read them; here were the armored security suits, here were the humans that wore them. Here were the cells, there was Koneko, asleep on her bunk. She pushed it, perhaps longer than she should have - and sensed a heightened alertness in the Carapace Corps soldiers as she joined the line waiting for service. Things weren’t as easy as they had been in her youth. There were no stray cats in America anymore. - When Heikin Otoko heard the loud, firm elderly voice, for a moment he didn’t quite believe it - it had been a long time since he’d heard anyone speaking Japanese without an automatic interpreter. He set aside his game and stepped out behind the service desk, where he found an AutoHelper being shouted at by an angry Japanese woman who immediately reminded him of his great-grandmother. She was short and bent, with white hair and wrinkled skin, and her voice was loud. “<I don’t want to talk to a stupid machine! I want to talk to a person!>” A typical disorderly person was liable to be quietly put in a soft room until they calmed down but physical force with an elderly person was against company policy - and frankly tasteless to Heikin’s mind. He stepped up next to the AutoHelper, its hexagonal face downcast as it sensed the mood of its subject. “Hello, madam!” Heikin said respectfully, letting his accent color his words. “<I am sorry, the AutoHelper doesn’t speak Japanese - unless you use the translator.>” He pointed to the touch screen the old woman was striking her gnarled fist against. He checked the biometrics in her cybernetics when they made eye contact and found it a standard Model 2; the sort that many older people had gotten when the wearable devices (‘now as small as an contact lens’!) were new and found who she was easily enough; this was Hokama Nanako of Sapporo. The name coded a file and he nodded, guessing why she was there. “I speak English,” Nanako finally said, her voice thickly accented. Most people didn’t really bother learning new languages these days, not when innovations by Carapace and its competitors meant that everyone had access to portable visual and audio translators. “I am Hokama Nanako. I am here for my granddaughter, Hokama Koneko!” - The young man led Neko down the corridor off the waiting room, her cane striking the tile in front of her like a metronome as she went. She’d been surprised to see a Japanese face here, and wondered if that would make things more difficult - but from his atrocious accent and Carapace jumpsuit, she judged him an American Japanese. It was so hard to tell who was from where any more - everything had all blended together. “You know,” he was chattering easily, “This would be much easier if you carried a Carapace Card! They’re good in any country and if you link to your biometrics, you never have to worry about losing them.” “American dollars are best,” Neko said coldly. “I changed them at the airport myself.” This was actually not entirely true; she’d stopped at several dealers in oddities in Tokyo before she found American currency of the old school, the sort where the Presidents inside never spoke and that lacked sensors that could track you. “Real gold. Not like now.” Heikin smiled the way one did with an elder who was not quite in their right mind; well he was polite at least, even if he was unsubtle. He led her to a machine where she could input her hundred dollar coins and even kept smiling as she slowly, deliberately fed the coins into the machine, clink-clink-clink, until it produced the amount of money necessary for Koneko’s bail. It took some time. “I’m glad we’re the ones holding Koneko,” Heikin commented, obviously trying to make conversation. “The local authorities, the regular American police, are very strict. They wouldn’t let her out even on lease bail.” Neko turned and stared at the young man, an eyebrow raising as she said, “What exactly what she charged with?” - Koneko jumped awake in her cell when she heard her grandmother’s cane hit the energized barrier at its edge. “<Koneko! Wake up! We are leaving!>” Obaasan Musume did not look happy. “Nyeah! Obaasan!” She leaped out of the cot and onto her feet, automatically running her fingers through her thick white hair. She wasn’t particularly tall herself but she had inches on her grandmother; the young woman was closer in height to the Carapace Corp goon who was holding the keycard. “...you made it.” “And you are lucky I did!” declared Obaasan. “What did I tell you about getting mixed up in American trouble?” “I did not get mixed up in American trouble!” declared Koneko, yowling at her grandmother in a tone that would have gotten her a smack if the hexagonal barrier wasn’t still up. “I just came here to get some sun!” “Aiding and abetting terrorism is some sun!?” declared Neko, striking her cane against the ground again. “What about your work?” “All I did was organize a bail fund while I was on holiday! That’s not aiding and abetting-” Koneko looked at Heikin, who was looking properly mortified to be witnessing this kind of family argument in person rather than behind a screen, and declared “Are you going to let me out or what?” - Murmuring an apology, too polite to comment that of course a bail fund to support economic terrorists trying to stop necessary and vital lumbering operations counted as aiding and abetting, Heikin slipped in the keycard and watched as the shapely young prisoner strode out, the electric force field closing behind her with a snap - that made her leap in the air and yowl! Heikin watched, his heart in his throat, as the air seemed to ripple around Koneko - a singed white tail protruding from her backside, two tufted cat ears on top of her head, her big eyes yellow as she cradled her injured limb. “B-biomod!” he yelled, his voice cracking with surprise. “Biomod alert!” The guards further down the corridor came running, hands reaching for their weapons as he distinctly heard Koneko say “Sorry Obaasan…” There were flashes of light as stun charges rippled past him - and past Koneko, and past Nanako. What are they - what are they shooting at? He thought wildly as he looked at friends, colleagues, a lover, who were firing at nothing at all despite the holographic targeting sensors over their eyes. He looked from them to Nanako, thinking wildly that perhaps he should shield the old woman from the wild stunfire - when he saw she was no old woman. The age seemed to bleed away from her form, revealing a lean, graceful body that seemed hewn down to sharp edges of muscle and bone, white-brown hair that streamed down her back and not one, not two, not three, but a full seven writhing cat-tails behind her. He knew who this was; he followed meta-crime in Japan as a hobby, and gasped “Neko Musume!” a moment before he suddenly seemed to feel an invisible fist closing around his throat. - “Americans are fools,” said Neko thoughtfully as she stared at the choking young man - well, the man who thought he was choking anyway. “This would be impossible in Europe. They have chosen steel there, you know?” From the heart of her cane she pulled out a sword, a katana that burned with three impossible flames, and held to Heikin’s face. “But Americans think you can have steel and flesh; giving you the weaknesses of both.” There was a crash and boom as the armored troopers arrived straight through the wall, firing charges designed to take down a metahuman at their allies down the way. Of course they were, she thought with satisfaction. They could see their enemies with their human minds; minds that were still the same even if they built new eyes for themselves. She looked to Koneko and was relieved to see her grand-daughter in action, leaping from suit to suit, ripping away vital components that would keep them from being pursued in case anyone out there was more clever than she thought. The girl didn’t actually need to be told what to do most of the time, which was why her silly lapse into sentimentality here had been so frustrating. Across nearly two centuries of life, Neko mused that young people never changed. “Your father is liberating your silly boyfriend!” she added as she casually bisected an autonomous drone that had understood she was the danger but not understood all of it. “You should buy him a card!” - “I will, Obaasan!” said Koneko, pulling away a guidance system that would make for a fine profit on the black market back home. “I will buy him a card and a whole origami box!” She landed at her grandmother’s side, tucking her loot into a bag Neko helpfully provided her. “Now are we going to leave?” she asked, waving around the scene of carnage as cybernetic armored troopers cut each other down in flashes of laser and electric light, making her fur stand on end. “My tail hurts,” she admitted. “Silly girl,” said Obaasan with that grandmotherly confidence as she carved the characters of her name into the wall with the katana in between beheading another impertinent drone, “we already have.” They were just about to head out the hole left by the arriving armored group when Koneko elbowed her grandmother and said “isn’t that a little much?” “I suppose - “ Koneko was relieved to see her grandmother end the illusion that made the Carapace guard think he was choking to death, and even more relieved when his bug eyes faded and his normal breathing actually resumed without vomiting or crapping his pants. It was really disgusting when they did that. - Heikin looked up at the infamous metahuman terrorist, the living embodiment of the savage world his generation had long since hoped to leave behind, and realized his life had been spared. “...why did you come here?” he asked, his voice shaky only because he half-still-believed his trachea had been crushed. “I told you. I came here for my granddaughter.” The old woman smiled, showing her teeth as she sheathed her sword back into her cane. “I would say America can burn - but it already has. Now we are going home.” She leaned down over Heikin and he could smell the oil of the drones she’d cut apart, see the glowing yellow of her eyes, and could tell she’d eaten fish recently. “Remember - when you forget magic - you forget yourself. <Don’t let the Americans fool you, Heikin-san.>” She stood up - and suddenly a heavy anti-personnel charge tore through her chest and out the back. Heikin froze in terror and shock as he saw and smelled the blood, the gore of the gigantic, surely mortal wound, saw the old woman flinch - and then suddenly heard Koneko’s laughter. Neko smiled too; and then both women were gone like figures from a dream, leaving him clean and bloodless in a corridor full of very expensive hardware and well-trained personnel that had just torn each other to pieces. The escape of Neko Musume and her granddaughter Koneko Musume cost Carapace Corps hundreds of hours of drone work in architectural repair, psychological counseling, and hospital bills. It could have been much worse.

Okay, @Spacefurry: Cardonas is associated with private space travel and green energy, though he actually made his money in personal computing. He's one of those people that gets talked about as the future of business. The EFA are Luddite radicals who spread entirely by word of mouth; they don't even have a website. They tend to act out by sabotaging electrical substations and computer networks. Not very popular but there are some real believers out there.

Rev threw the punch, pitting the finest Detroit iron against unholy power from another place and time - and came out the winner! She heard a distinct crack as she made contact with Rick's head and felt the decidedly unusual sensations of bones and dry dead flesh giving way before her mighty blow. The head (which looked very startled) rocketed upward like the ringer at a carnival test of strength and hit the ceiling, landing back on its own neck as Rick slumped to his knees. He looked up at her with his eyes already turning red and hissed "You dirty stinking b-" but never had a chance to finish. Within seconds of the death blow, the vampire was falling apart; not helpfully turning to dust like in horror movies Lexa had seen, not remaining human either, but visibly rotting before her eyes, as if whatever time he'd stolen was being forcibly reclaimed on his corpse, aging months in the span of seconds. For a moment at least, there was no sound but the wriggling mass of decay at her feet and the drip-drip-drip of rotting blood from her fist.

Perfect! I'll get in there with the IC. (I didn't want to have you punch off somebody's head without checking!)

la cucaracha! this seems fun. a classic "teen hero who is undergoing some weird and scary body changes" archetype. wonder if you could give him an always-on area radiation effect - or is that too tragic for him?

close enough! Okay - that's enough to get past his Impervious! Tou vs 29: 10 Hm! Do you have any objection to his head popping off? (He's a vampire, it's okay to dust him morally...maybe?)

Okay, @Spacefurry@Supercape@Exaccus, roll whatever seems relevant to know about things you would like to know about.

As if summoned, their host appeared - a square-necked, middle-aged New Jersey state trooper with the markings of a high-ranking officer as he stepped inside the open office. "Well hello," he said cheerfully. "I'm Captain Mike Scarlet from Trenton, and you must be our consultants." He looked around the room, taking in the battered-looking Echohead, the inhuman Predator, and the mirror-maze that was Mirror Knight, and smiled a little too broadly. "Great. Okay, well. Why don't we all sit down and get inside; it's - dangerous out there, I guess. You okay there Echohead? Do any of you want anything? I can have my secretary get us some water..." He took a seat at the head of the table, waiting as the others came back inside. "Thank you all for coming," he said more seriously, "I know this was on short notice, but you've all come recommended to us by various means." He produced three file folders from his briefcase and passed them around, which revealed the image of a middle-aged man with frosted tips, posing by a boogie board and winking at the camera. "This is Xavier Cardonas; the tech billionaire from New Mexico. I don't know if any of you are familiar with his work, but he's coming to Freedom City this weekend - and there have been some security concerns." Scarlet explained that threats against Cardonas's life had been made by the Earth Freedom Alliance, "a bunch of hippies who usually aren't this militant, but it's been a crazy damn year." Scarlet scratched his square chin thoughtfully.

"Kind of," said Rick, smiling with all his teeth - even the long, canine-like incisors that Lexa could see in his mouth. "Except it's you, baby." Lexa took in the medical waste bags in the trashcan, the dark and unplugged vending machine; the way she could see herself but not Rick reflected in the glass - and realized he was definitely going in for a bite. He looked into her eyes and suddenly his seemed like bottomless pools of coppery crimson that she could fall into forever.

Okay, SC: https://orokos.com/roll/982438 = 20! We'll just go ahead and go right into combat on this one: Rick: tries to mind-control Lexa! 11 his roll is...not very good! But that's an opposed Will save if you want to try it.

"Sure sure, I'll take you right to him, we just need to make one little stop first..." Rick led Lexa into what was evidently the breakroom for the men and women who worked out front. It was deserted at this late hour but lit brightly by yellowed florescent lights. Lexa could see SOLDIER OF FORTUNE and occult magazines on the tables, a lovingly-maintained foosball table, a television playing a soccer game on silent, and a refrigerator with a stern NO SNACKING hand-written note taped to the front. The trashcan was full and had attracted at least one buzzing fly, the vending machine was unplugged and dark - and Rick was getting in her space. "Listen," he told her, his breath smelling like copper as he leaned close, "I am really not supposed to do this, but you are so damn beautiful and you sing like an angel..."

Summer 2023 They were there for various reasons. Echohead and Predator had been contacted through their connections to the US government; Mirror Knight had been reached through a third-party contact. But they were all here in what was typically the main conference room of the Wharton State Forest's main ranger office, having been contacted by the New Jersey state police and asked to gather together with one of their top agents. There were light drinks and snacks and a fine view of thickly growing pine trees outside, a legacy of the nature heroine Fleur de Joie's recent visit to the park. But so far, nobody had come to join them yet.

For a moment, it seemed like everything had gone wrong. The pale-faced guard walked up to her, looking deeply skeptical, and stood on one side of the metal detector as she went into her song. Lexa was not by nature a singer but she put her heart and soul into this one (whatever a mechanical woman could be said to have, anyway) - and by the time she was finished, the Iron Talon guy was smiling. "Never mind, Charlie, I've got this one." He reached up and flipped a switch on the metal detector, winking at Lexa as he waved her in. "Hey babydoll," he said with a wink, "sure, I'll show you right in. Somebody sent you for ol' Pete, huh?" he asked chummily as he put his arm around Lexa, leading her towards the rear of the lobby. Up close, RICK the Iron Talon guy smelled a little bit like copper as he put his arm around her. "You're some kind of night angel!" he added with a toothy grin. "Just follow me and I'll take you where you want to go," he told her with all the assurance of a bad car salesman.

All right, let's see that Bluff check! Or alternatively Perform (Singing), whichever you please

APPROVED

In the beginning, anyway; nobody picked up on what was happening - maybe it was the thunder, maybe it was the sheer oddity of a mechanical grinding and clanking noise accompanying Rev as she headed into the brightly-lit lobby. It was a little perverse to see such a clean, well-manicured place lit by an industrial florescent glow of yellow and white but dead empty, with a lone guard sitting behind a desk on the opposite side of the room. He looked up as she approached, walkie-talkie in his hand, and sounded like he was calling staff elsewhere in the complex about "what the hell was making that terrible @I#(Eing racket outside?" There was no one manning the metal detector in front of the entrance but she could see the green light that meant it was activated.

"Normally I'm not a fan of cybernetics," said the Patriot cooly, "but you come highly recommended. I appreciate the reassurance, though." She reflected that she wasn't sure what the relationship was between Miss Americana and Terrifica exactly - so she left out exactly where it had come from. She did a few more checks of the safety system with Terrifica but turned down her offer of a personal inspection; the hard reality was that she was putting her fate in the hands of a trained specialist and Ashley herself wouldn't recognize a sabotaged or dangerous machine unless it actually had plastique affixed to it. Or maybe some poisonous snakes. Ugh, why do I always think about these things right before I sit down. "All right," she said, "I'm ready." She'd had her Patriot helmet modified so it could accept the impulses that usually went into the VR helmet, it was easy enough for a tech genius like Terrifica to make the connections.

With goodbyes said, magic contracts signed, they made their way home. Back on Earth and in Eira's laboratory, the android scientist did her best to explain: "So you see, there are many dimensions driven by belief and insight as much as physics, yes?" She had pulled out a holographic smart board to explain as she showed the students the map of the multiverse they'd all seen in their physics classes. "So naturally it should be of no surprise that there is a dimension that appears to be the magical realm of the North Pole, complete with, ah, Santa Claus and all the trimmings." She smiled a little too broadly. "I have been there myself several times, as you saw. You should not think there was anything strange in what you did - or saw - or behavior you observed," she added. "Now, I think we turn to payment. Don't worry - I won't be paying you just in exposure to Santa Claus!"

The pamphlet turned out to be an extended invitation to attend the non-denominational church in Stone Ridge; the one in the new building that looked like a warehouse with the charismatic pastor who'd been involved in the sex scandal. It was probably not Pete's thing unless he had changed a lot since Rev had last seen him. As she got on the road, she could tell one thing for sure - It was definitely starting to rain. Stone Ridge was, as usual, a slightly off-putting place to be an outsider. The luxury homes were all just a little too big for their lots, towering over green lawns cut so short and kept so small they might not have been there at all. Maybe they looked different in terms of architecture, but in their own ways they were all the same. Rev had heard that this was good ground to work if you were a tradesman, though - the hastily-built McMansions of Stone Ridge generally had at least one major thing wrong with them. The Iron Talon Stone Ridge headquarters was located in one of the few buildings that had actually existed out here before the development had been built; a sturdy two-story brick building that had once been the regional high school seventy or eighty years earlier. It was an imposing-looking place with its barbed wire perimeter and armed guards, especially at night with glowing searchlights and spots that made it look like it was ready for a war. Martha's call got Rev in past the front gate, where a pale-faced guard raised the candy-striped arm and let her inside the parking lot, which was mostly filled with the white Humvees marked Iron Talon.