Gizmo
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--No argument,-- Midnight replied in the telepathic equivalent of a sardonic drawl. The overcompensating pomp of Socotra did little to win over someone who preferred understatement and subtlety. --Even so, try to play nice. Mark really does like Miss al-Darsah.-- Pulling a pair of components from his belt, the black clad detective fitted them together, unfolding a small parabolic dish extending from a cylinder roughly the size of an electric toothbrush. Thumbing button on the bottom, he held it upward momentarily. As soon as he did the seagulls in the area began squawking in distress and flying away from the massive corpse. "Ultrasonics," he noted brusquely for Nina's benefit before handing the device to Cannonade. "Excuse me." With another set of tools already in hand, Midnight made his way to the shore to begin his examination of the body and interrogation of the onlookers.
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Set Move Action: Taunt Necromancer 2. (1d20+10=24) Standard Action: Lightning Bolt vs. Necromancer 2. (1d20+7=10) Hero Point: Lightning Bolt vs. Necromancer 2, HP Re-Roll. (1d20+7=17) That jumps up to a result of 27, with a DC 22 + 3 Autofire = 25 Toughness Save.
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It took LaMarr more than a minute of silence to realize what was familiar about Murdock's words and the way he was saying them. It was something he'd heard in the voices of victims on domestic disturbance cases during the days of 1-800-JUSTICE, in the voices of students who'd showed up for school with bruises and poor excuses. It wasn't really the same, no, but once the parallel was drawn he couldn't shake it: someone who'd been hurt so deeply and for so long that eventually the only way they could find to deal with it was to decide they'd deserved it all along. None of those people had ever been unwilling participants in genocide, however. "Hrm. Bottom line, Murdock, I don't know how to react to you. Seen a lot of things in my days. Not this." Folding one hand over a fist he rested his chin atop them. "No great believer in fate, though. That's something a man build for himself with his actions and his character. From what I'm hearing they took away your control of your actions, so that just leaves character." He turned his head enough to give Murdock a long, hard look, as though debating internally.
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Blackfire - Notice Check vs. DC 14. (1d20+10=26) Khania - Notice Check vs. DC 14. (1d20+10=15) Guy Fawkes - Notice Check vs. DC 14. (1d20+12=28) Alright, so, not so much. Consider her on the scene, then. She does have a higher Initiative than Glamazon, so if she'll have the first opportunity to talk or fight, your call.
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Alright! So far Glamazon in on the scene, with Temperance hidden around a corner nearby and Elias and Set/Sekhmet en route. HG, let me know if Thaelia is planning on doing any talking or jumping right into combat. troll, if you want to make a Stealth check, Eliza has the opportunity for a surprise attack here. Blackfire - Initiative. (1d20+2=10) Khania - Initiative. (1d20+5=11) Guy Fawkes - Initiative. (1d20+11=27) Set - Initiative. (1d20+3=18) Sekhmet - Initiative. (1d20+5=14)
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Of the young heroes making ready, Glamazon was first to arrive on the scene as another figure emerged from the ragged hole in the wall. Clad in a swooping black ensemble that must have been sweltering in the summer heat, the figure sprung off of broken brick to land acrobatically on the sidewalk, broad brimmed hat and white, painted mask staying perfectly in place. "Mitigate your misgivings and moderate mollification, my mechanical mate!" he cried with distinct Irish lilt and obvious glee at the surrounding destruction. "The critical component is captured!" Under one arm he carried what looked like what was left of a robotic skull, heavily damaged and dented but recognizable. With his other hand he pulled something small and round from his cloak and tossed back into the building. A second later another explosion sounded behind him, followed by the creak of something load-bearing straining painfully and loud laughter from the bomber himself. "Be careful with that, Fawkes," Blackfire grated through metal teeth with false white enamel flaking away. "Even following Heka's plan, with this much noise it's not going to be long before we see-- oh, bloody fantastic." The irritated cyborg spotted the armored Atlantean rounding the corner with a look of resignation coupled with the satisfaction of finding an appropriate target for his frustrations. "Khania, take down muscle girl before she can cause trouble."
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"Eh?! Tis the call to adventure, oh Lady of Slaughter!" Set exclaimed as the sounds of the explosion rippled through the area, leaping to his feet with enough force to knock his chair to the patio floor as he slapped a hand excitedly against the table. "Let us make haste, haha!" With that the shirtless godling was off and sprinting down the street, espresso in one hand and smart phone in the other, leaving the taller goddess to sputter an objection that turned halfway through into a resigned growl. With feline grace Sekhmet rose and quickly caught up with her charge as they headed for the tower of smoke rising above the rooftops.
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"Well okay, but only 'cause I like you," Erik quipped immediately in response to Eve's frank offer before his brain had a chance to catch up to the rest of her explanation. "Wait, sorry?" Setting down the bag of equipment, he used the freed hand to rub the stubble along his jawline. "Are you talking like... a charity? Sorry, I think I'm having a case of old man brain here. You just want to... give us money...?" It didn't take a telepath to practically hear the straining machinery in the swordsman's mind as he tried to wrap his head around the concept.
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"Doubtful, dear," Janet replied, a note of polite amusement tinging her voice at the suggestion. "It's nice to occasionally make it through an entire meal without being interrupted by some buffoon's melodramatic spectacle." Tidily folding her napkin next to her plate and untouched drink, she offered the younger woman a small smile. "That said, should business take me that way, I'm sure I'll find time to check in." "Would be nice." Trevor's voice was neutral, not cold but lacking any note of anticipation. It wasn't the first time his mother had expressed a similar sentiment but in practice something else always jumped to the top of her list of priorities. Amid worthy causes and ambitious projects, a simple social call couldn't compete.
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Perception just means that Defense doesn't enter into it. Quoting from Ultimate Power: "To use Mind Control, make an opposed power check against the result of the target’s Will saving throw." That means the necromancer has to actually make a check, rolling with their Mind Control rank as the bonus, then Set rolls is Will Save and they compare results. Anyway: Opposed Will Save. (1d20+8=28)
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LaMarr wasn't exactly thrilled to learn that the invitation had been part of an attempt by a lovestruck teenager to impress the subject of his affections but he had to admit he saw much worse plans with the same aims on a nearly daily basis. Besides, a chance to potentially protect the family of an outspoken activist against violent bigots was a chance he doubted he'd ever turn down. "Well, you're not wrong about the 'crazy stuff', son," he rumbled in a deep voice that both conveyed amusement and imparted a pressing need to sit up straight and pay attention. "Takes more than a few nasty looks to make me leave a party anyway. Beam us up."
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"Heh, if you're planning on waiting until I'm not busy with this little armful, it's going to be a few years, Evie," the fencer chuckled, laugh lines and bags under his eyes momentarily making him look a decade or so older than the heiress knew him to be. Bobbing her head back and forth, Eden made a gurgling laughing sound of her own in response before abruptly resting against her father's shoulder for an impromptu and likely brief nap. "Besides, you're one of only a couple of my pupils who can actually give me a run for my dubloons. That earns you some consideration." Gesturing towards a few chairs along one wall that formed an ad hoc waiting area, he invited Eve into the building's larger section. "Let's get down to semi-business."
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"Ha hah!" Set crowed as he sidestepped around the physical attack, his infuriating grin returning in full force. "I knew you recognized me! Set's fame always precedes him!" Recovering from superhuman blow, Sekhmet let out a low, menacing growl. The gold of her one visible eye seemed to shine brighter for a moment, contrasting against jet black hair that bounced across the opposite side of her face as she blurred into movement again. The talkative sorcerer abruptly found himself silenced as the goddess's palm connected mercilessly with his face, the momentum carrying him downward to slam his skull against the apartment's floor with an echoing crack. Lips pulling back from pronounced canines as though she were considering a more permanent rebuttal, Sekhmet instead grated out a rough, "Sidekick?!" "If the sandal fits, oh untamed sirocco of righteous indignation," Set replied with a shrug. "Let's not ruin the moment, hm?"
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Mind Control is opposed check, right? It makes a pretty big difference here given Set's Luck Control; if the attack has to make a roll, he has a chance to force a reroll.
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The bell above the door jingled as Eve stepped into the building, facing a desk in front of a half-wall that separated the street front windows from the training area further in. At the sound the school's proprietor came around the corner, a year old infant in one arm and an equipment bags with a pommel sticking out of one end in the other. "Hello? Oh, hey Snowcap! We didn't have a session today, did we?" Glancing over at the simple hanging calendar on the wall, Erik Espadas attempted to recall the class schedule for the week without pulling up the actual records. "You kinda look like you're in business time mode anyway, what's up?"
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LaMarr snorted in amusement at Willow's pearl of wisdom, tapping one finger to the side of his sunglasses. "Preach, sister." Taking a moment to walk all the way around the chalk circle, he studied the ground around the marked area, occasionally looking up at the surrounding trees. He didn't particularly expect any sort of trap but there were plenty of reasons other than a party to get a few heroes together in one, secluded location. "Just don't let them sense any fear. Dinosuars are one thing, but there are teenagers."
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Sekhmet Standard Action: Unarmed Attack vs. Necromancer 1. (1d20+7=21) That should be a DC 22 Toughness Save, which he takes at -2 thanks to the demoralized condition.
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LaMarr hadn't been expecting such a flat omission, drawing a vague grumbling sound from the back of his throat. Rationalizations and excuses would have made sense; he wasn't sure what to make of defeated self-loathing so ingrained that it didn't even warrant any heat in Murdock's tone. Watching the drone armor unfold from within the man's skin had been one of the more disturbing thing the veteran hero had ever seen, making it onto a long and varied list. "So all the ripping edge scientists and futurists with the League took a peek but you're just special, huh?" It wasn't a fair question in the least. Wail himself had been the recipient of an unrepeatable experimental treatment and he was hardly the only metahuman who had been reborn through a twist of fate. Even so, the story that this one drone was somehow exempt from everything he'd been told was difficult to believe.
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Controlling the smart screen with the palm sized tablet he'd pulled from his back pocket, Trevor brought up a series of satellite images of the coastline that updated every few seconds. They weren't as high resolution as he would have liked but were probably clearer than the Socotran royal family would have been happy to hear about. "Hnh. Can run sensor sweeps on-site. Markers for interdimensional travel." There was no way anything that big could have been living on Earth, at least not their Earth. With the steady stream of problems they'd had to field from alternate dimensions and parallel realities he expected he'd be able to recognize the signs if they were there to find.
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LaMarr arrived at the visitors center and stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking about and straightening his tie with his free hand. His suit looked surprisingly natural on his broad shouldered frame, having been one of a few outfits he'd had specifically tailored to his substantial physique. Under his other arm rested a wrapped, ovular gift roughly the size of a dinner plate, done up in layers of dark, slightly translucent paper he'd had left over from whenever the last time he'd needed to wrap something, though for the life of him he couldn't seem to recall when that had been. Stepping over to the chalk circle, he made a grumbling sound deep in his chest. There was the unsettling suggestion of a giant 'X' in a cartoon with an anvil hanging over it. He suspected the question of how the interdimensional dinosaurs were popping onto Earth-Prime to deliver messages was about to be answered.
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"As yourself," LaMarr repeated, his voice a low rumble, as soft as his resonant bass could easily go. "Not as a drone, you mean." Hearing the other man's name made something twist in his stomach, muddying the issue. Omegadrones didn't have names, they were monsters. The man sitting next to had a name. The second point was yet to be determined. Keeping the bulk of his weight on his ankles despite his seated posture wasn't just for the sake of the straining bench. He hadn't let his guard down for a moment.
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Keith LaMarr didn't have much use for public transportation, personally. Certainly he was in favour of it's availability and the general concept but given his super-dense musculature he flat out weighed too much the subway to be a practical option for him or a safe one for those around him. It was a minor annoyance and one to which he'd long since grown accustomed but tonight thinking on it was preferable to dwelling on the conversation he was about to have. Keith LaMarr didn't have much use for hate. He'd seen time after time just how poisonous an emotion it was, what it did not just the recipient but to the owner, to entire communities. He taught his students to rise about hate, to recognize anger as a mask for fear and respond to rage with composure but Keith LaMarr hated Omegadrones. Any other word would have been an inaccuracy, a lie. Seeing that black and crimson armor in the fey city had brought righteous fury boiling up within him. It had been 1993 all over again and he'd wanted more than anything to turn the drone into a oily smear on his fists. The drone had responded by helping him save innocent lives. That bought him a chance to state his case, at least. After that, Keith wasn't sure. It wasn't hard to find the other man in the subway station and once he sat down next to Murdock, the metal bench creaking beneath him, the crowd gave the pair an even wider berth. "So."
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LaMarr considered Cimitiere's words silently except for the faintly audible sound of knuckles popping as the muscles in his hands tightened. "...to be clear," he began finally, "I am not happy about this. How do we find the person behind this?" It would have been bad enough had it just been a plan to sow chaos and violence in Lincoln but using the memory and image of a dead child to do it push Wail well past angry. People had already died and he was resolved that the deception would end that night. "I'd like to have a word with them."
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Having led them back into the library with its smart screen, hidden tastefully behind a sliding wooden panel that maintained the room's warm decor, Trevor poured over the images from the thumbdrive, eye narrowing in concentration. "Something big," he repeated, letting a soft breath of mild exasperation out through his nose. "All hands on deck," he suggested, tilting his head slightly to one side as he attempted to calculate some rough sense of scale based on the landmarks next to the massive corpse. "Hnh. What kills something that big..."
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LaMarr's first instinct was to toss the letter in the forsaken corner of his workspace usually reserved for plagiarized assignments. If crashing the coronation gala of the illegitimate heir of the lava people or getting roped into organizing the ceremony for an arranged marriage between a certain eastern European noble and a werewolf had taught him anything it was that no good ever came from being the outsider at a warrior culture's formal event. And that nothing gets lava stains out of a rented tux... either of those times. He stopped short with the letter still in hand, however, considering the adolescent interdimensional saurian he'd briefly met. The passage into adulthood was never easy in any culture and if it had been one of his students inviting him to a similar coming of age celebration he would have been there without question. With a deep, rumbling sigh, the broad shouldered civics teacher began jotting down directions to the visitor center on a notepad.
