Gizmo
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Wail Move Action: Demoralize Shark 3. (1d20+10=11) Standard Action: Melee Attack vs. Shark 3. (1d20+8=22) Initiate Grapple. (1d20+23=28) Well yuck. Dice were not kind.
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"Not their people..." Midnight noted slowly, disconcertingly drawing attention to the spot where he had previously been going unnoticed. "Corpses. Husks. Beings trapped within." The black clad vigilante's voice was cold and even unlike Edge's righteous indignation. If Mark's tone conveyed disgust and disbelief, this gravely rumble suggested both a cynical lack of surprise and a dark promise of consequences to be enforced. "Prisoners of war turned into suicide bombers, wrapped in desecrated remains of fallen soldiers."
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"H-hey! Cut that out!" Ghost Girl demanded as the shawl wrapped figure began doing something to Dead Head, prompting an angry response from Mutt. The specter had absolutely no idea what was going on with the robbers and the screaming and what looked an awful lot like what would happen if her friend Koshiro decided to use people instead of paper for his origami projects but everyone else seemed to be going along with it for the moment and she didn't want to be the odd one out. Diving into the floorboards, she spun about and surged back up about the Moon's feet, swiping with a deathly frigid immaterial hand. Unfortunately her timing was a bit off and she came into the room a little too far to the left. "Oh, jams! Stay still!"
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Ghost Girl Move Action: Sink into the floor and come up at the Moon's feet. Standard Action: Chill of the Grave. (1d20+12=21) Not sure if that hits or not.
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"Alright, enough jibberjabber," Wail snorted in amusement at the multiple proposed answers to his rhetorical question. With the fleeing sharkman dealt with, the aging hero bent his knees slightly before propelling himself into the air with super-dense muscles. He came down next to the mutated mobster he'd clipped with his earlier shout, bringing his massive fist down first in a devastating haymaker. The shark didn't even have time to look shocked before he hit the pavement a split instant before Wail's boots, his unconscious form bouncing back up from the shockwave rippling though the pavement.
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Wail Move Action: Join main melee! Standard Action: Unarmed Attack vs. Shark 4. (1d20+8=9) Hero Point: Unarmed Attack vs. Shark 4, HP reroll. (1d20+8=17) So 27. That's DC 28 Toughness.
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Power swapping! Whee! We'll catch up with the first bit soon enough, but for now just describe arriving at the museum.
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May 18, 2012 The first thing that Kimber Storm noticed as terribly, urgently wrong as she staggered, coughing from the cloud of smoke was not in fact that she had to cough or even stagger. Neither should have been a concern for the long since deceased poltergeist, but her first thought was that she was wearing absolutely the wrong hood. Rather than the ethereal cowl of her usual reaper's cloak, this was a heavy fabric attached to a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off and something scrawled on the front in stylized spraypaint. The jumpsuit underneath she recognized as the Claremont Academy uniform, which she was also sure wasn't right. Raising her hands to pull the hood out of the way, she saw that they were a healthy pink, undeniably solid and beating with a pulse. "Oh, marmalade," the living girl gulped. Thirty Minutes Earlier It took a lot of concentration from Kimber to keep her excited feet on the floor as the group of students entered the famous 'Super Museum' in Midtown, and even more concentration to keep her excitable body language confined to the shelter of the black umbrella blocking the sun's rays from revealing her as a translucent specter. The school trip to see the recently unveiled Lucas Collection had prompted a few significant looks between the senior members of the current iteration of Young Freedom, but the entusiastic Canadian was just looking forward to seeing all of the memorabilia in person. If all of the pieces were half as interesting as the ones mentioned specifically in the brochure, it was bound to be a memorable day!
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On the screen of the laptop, Vince was sitting in front of an old-fashioned switchboard, randomly plugging and unplugging cords with both hands. "Not to worry, tall, dark and gorgeous, the Interceptors are wired in, tuned on and lit up!" At the nickname, however, the artificial intelligence's gregarious grin slipped for a moment. "Er, yeah, right. A little cloud to call my own with a RAM-picket fence." Although all of the team had strong feelings of one sort or another toward Archeville, Vince was perhaps the only one who more than anything was hurt and saddened by the betrayal. Although they'd never established their relationship in such term, the Doktor was the closest thing the sentient program had to a father and the temporary reprogramming had been every bit as invasive as the organic heroes experience with mind control. In the bedroom Ellie gave Willow a nod as the dryad headed for the attached bathroom, walking in the same direction so as to keep an eye on her. "Sure. Just not too hot and no bubblebaths or oils or anything," she cautioned, her voice authoritative now that the trials of the day were squarely in her own area of expertise. "You look much better than Missus Heartbeat did when she had her baby," Yolanda offered encouragingly from her seat in the corner, the little girl's expression gravely serious in the way only a wide-eyed, precocious child could be. The dimensional refugee had been adapting about as well as could be expected given what she'd been through and staying close by Ellie along with visits from Erin and Mara had helped. She was still very quiet, however, and had more than once tried to hide tear-stained cheeks when something reminded her of her parents or home. Ellie gave the blonde girl a grin as stepped into the bathroom and gave Willow a hand getting the bath ready. "Yoyo's right, we're in good shape," she assured the ancient plant controller. After a slightly awkward pause, she began, "So, erm... We never really stopped and talked about the whole 'you having my brother's baby' thing. Just between us, I mean."
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"I appreciate the thought, dear, but that may not be the best use of your time or talents," Gina told Mara with an amused smile, the way the inventor was compulsively checking and rechecking her device reminding the retired police officer of the way she herself had rarely been completely satisfied that her service weapon was in absolutely perfect working order. The Espadas matriarch had been taking the diverse attendees in proverbial stride; like her children she was quick to accept those she trusted as the equivalent of family. Whereas Mona had held that status for years and Chris reminded her more than a little of an only slightly younger Erik, she hadn't quite gotten over her initial period of doting on the easily distracted engineer yet. Erik himself was busy burying his face in his hands. "Augh, Dios. 'Diapers'. Why would you even say that," he practically moaned, lifting one foot to begin pacing again and forcing it back down with a titanic show of willpower. "No, no, we haven't picked out a name yet. We came up with a few ideas but nothing that really stuck," he admitted, moving his hands to the back of his neck and lacing the fingers to keep them there. "Figured maybe once we actually saw the kid something would just, y'know, click. I guess." There was a vague way about his usually decisive voice that suggested he was asking a question as much as answering one.
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"You don't know. The eighties were very different," Kimber insisted, folding her arms tightly against her chest with a bit of a pout. "There was... much bigger hair, for one thing!" Giving up on the ill maintained ruse with a sigh, she dropped her arms and slumped her shoulders slightly. "Oh fine. Oh, you don't do that all the time, Eve!" she insisted, quickly switching from mild dejection to bright-eyed concern. "Okay, you two kinda argue a lot. A bit, I mean! Only some of the time!" She gave the telepath a pair of encouraging thumbs up.
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In the moments it took her to acclimate from the less than gentle transition back to Earth-Prime, Jill attempted to make herself marginally more presentable despite the dried sweat, blood and other people's black, bile-like fluids layered on an outfit that hadn't been intended for hero work in the first place. As soon as her stomach had determined that up was in fact in the correct direction, however, she was scanning the tightly packed refugees milling about the room. Before long, the wide-eyed, dirt-smeared face of Yolanda popped up over the heads of the crowd, lifted up onto Lieutenant Hudson's shoulders as the soldier made his way over to greet the returned heroes. The medic let out a small sigh of relief, allowing herself a self-satisfied smile. "Good day."
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Lacking Erin's more robust tolerances, Trevor forewent the proffered drinks. Even as he put on the mask of the wealthy socialite he had an increasingly bad feeling about the event; the laws surrounding embassies meant that any number of things might be attempted there that would otherwise be untenable in the city proper and the sheer number of people in the room had his eyes flicking back and forth subtly behind his sunglasses. Fortunately the Hunter men had cultivated something of a reputation as fitness and heath enthusiasts in the vaguely pretentious way that was perfectly in keeping with their status and so his lack of champagne went unremarked upon. "Hard to say," he considered. "Fiancee may not be out in the open."
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Jill gave Wander a look that apologized for clearly having misunderstood what the powerhouse had just said, but at Harrier's confirmation and unsettling, uncharacteristic show of something akin to enjoyment the medic's expression stilled itself into nonplussed neutrality. Raising both hands in Erin's direction, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't quite grasp the words she needed and turned to Steve instead before finding herself similarly without a comment of sufficient vehemence. Finally she settled for a wholly inadequate but still emphatic exclamation in Spanish. "What, did I have an exam the day they threw you the parade or what?!" she demanded incredulously, maintaining enough presence of mind to make a glowing stretcher underneath the unconscious action scientist and lift him into the air for transportation. "You seriously took down the guy who-- I mean, it's... How is this a secret?!"
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The great scaly beast gave a hissing roar at Wander's attack, the way it loomed over the heroine suggesting it was having much less trouble adapting to its new height. It was difficult to say if the lizard had originally been a crocodile like some of its truck-sized brethren or perhaps a gecko or snapping turtle. What it was now was clearly very large and very angry. Showing an impressive amount of discretion for creatures so large, the relatively smaller animals lumbered away from the heavy footfall and raking claws of the larger combatants, making their way toward the zoo's gates. Midnight guided the floating Night Cycle downard to the ground in pursuit, the motorcycle's wheels reappearing just before it touched down on the pathway, Redbird reconfiguring its design and technology on the fly. "Minimize injuries," Midnight instructed, rearing up on one wheel to hop the vehicle up onto a convenient ramp of rubble that had once been the corner of a souvenir shop. The concrete incline brought them up and over the rapidly crawling lizards and reptiles, ending in a screeching arc the turned them back around to face the horde. Simultaneously, a wide, slotted protrusion unfolded itself from the front of the Night Cycle, just in time to launch a sort of interlocking bola, a half dozen weighted magnets whipping about before crashing together and entangling the first escaped animal in steel alloy cables.
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The giant crocodiles want nothing to do with the gianter fight, and start heading for the zoo's gates. Midnight II Move Action: Jump onto the Night Cycle. Delay Redbird Move Action: Intercept the giant crocodiles. Midnight II Standard Action: Snare Giant Crocodile. (1d20+10=20) Giant Crocodile Reflex Save vs. DC 18. (1d20+6=10) 22 - Redbird - Uninjured 22 - Midnight II - Uninjured, 4HP 21 - Wander - Uninjured, 3HP 16 - Kaiju - Bruised x1 9 - Giant Crocodiles (x5) - Uninjured 9 - Giant Crocodiles (x1) - Bound, Helpless
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The blast of crimson light illuminated a massive form sailing in a long arc that brought it down in the fleeing shark-man's path with enough crunching force to crack the pavement. "Used to be all about mixing your genes with jungle cats," Wail noted as he straightened to his full, imposing height. "Cheetahs, panthers, leopards." Taking a deep breath, the earsplitting educator let loose a thunderous bellow that visibly warped the air with its force, the cone of his voice knocking the shark in front of him for a loop and clipping another closer to the main melee. "But sharks I do not understand. When does that get fun?"
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"So hey, can I be you when I grow up?" Jill called in Wander's direction once Mandragora's hologram had disappeared, grunting softly as she passed a glowing hand over her injured arm, consciously knitting the tissue back together. Flexing the repaired muscles a few times experimentally, she turned her attentions to the unconscious Samson, wiping sweat from her brow above her crimson bandana as the room gradually warmed. "So, uh, do I want to ask why Gloaty McBeardstoke was basically defecating himself at the sight of you, or is that more of a 'when we're not locked in a giant oven' sort of story?"
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Thought Trevor's outfit was less eye-catching than that of his date, it too was new. The extent to which his tall frame had filled out over the past year had necessitated more than a few new outfits and eventually a complete overhaul of his wardrobe. Frank had been more than happy for the chance to insert a little variety into the selection of predominantly dark clothing along with demonstrating some avuncular pride at seeing the dark haired youth mature into an adult. Still, the occasion called for a black suit, albeit one with a daring cut that showed the mark of a master tailor. Below that, however, he'd more a fine silk shirt of the same colour as Erin's dress, a deep blue that had just enough colour to set it apart from the bottomless black of his jacket and tie. The oval shaped sunglasses he wore stood out a bit, but a few carefully placed rumors about the eye condition the Hunter heir had been diagnosed with had resolved that concern. Offering Erin, his arm, he noted, "Tends to make his presence known."
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Wail Move Action: Intercept the fleeing shark-man. Standard Action: Sonic Scream. That's a DC 28 Toughness Save and a DC 19 Fortitude Save. If he can catch any of the other sharks or goons in the cone without hitting the heroes he'll do so; if not, Wail's just after Shark 1 before he can run into the city causing havoc.
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A brief moment of muted surprise as the phone was plucked from his fingers turned to amusement at Erin's efficient ending of the conversation and then to something best expressed by a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat. "Do prefer to stick to plan," he conceded, tilting his chin to catch her trailing lips on his own in a slow, lingering kiss. Although generally excellent at splitting his attention between several things at once, Trevor found he simply didn't have any to spare on either Mark's social life or Socotran politics and didn't expect to for some time.
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"I'd like to crack their skulls together and see if an ounce of good sense would leak out between the two them," Wail grumbled irritably from deep within a throat and chest ideally suited for grumbling. "More'n twenty years in the game, never took a job knowing it was for the bad guys. Fool girl thinks a bodyguard gig makes up for a kidnapping, some kind of jive accountant..." Muttering to himself much more than speaking to anyone else, the aging hero had obviously been put into a foul mood as he glared at Tackled and her unconscious husband. "But we've got more important things to do. Told Des' parents I'd get him back safe. Let's go."
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"Oh, uh, y'know. We do okay," Jack replied somewhat uneasily, casting a look over his shoulder even as he was led away. He recognized the tone of voice this alternate version of Ironclad was using immediately. Hell, I invented that tone of voice. Clearing his throat he added smoothly, "Of course, the alternate dimension thing's not really our usual. Our team mostly stays close to home when we're not getting kidnapped." He made an attempt to free his arm by quickening his step relative to the local's but her grip proved formidable.
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The cannons protruding from the Night Cycle's sides retracted back into the vehicle's body, leaving no trace as Redbird reconfigured her Furion created technology to increase their speed, harrying their target with tight circles and sudden banking. Steering almost casually with one hand, Midnight drew another bola from his belt and whirled it about with a flick of his wrist. Accelerating directly at the armored foe with a cool determination that forced the jabbering thug to flinch first, he loosed the weapon, easily hitting his unbalanced target. Although the cable was easily snapped by the orange villain's strength, it succeeded in keeping his attention and preventing him from interfering in the rest of the fight.
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Sailing through the air above the buildings, Ghost Girl took a minute to make sure she was floating over the address Nick had given before flitting back into view moments before dropping down through the ceiling. She could have easily entered the building invisibly and undetected but judging from the way the tattered edges of her billowing reaper's cloak slid into the room like dripping oil, followed by a face completely concealed in the ominous shadows of her hood, either Equinox's showmanship or Dead Head's odd sense of humour was rubbing off on her. "The dead enjoy no lemonade," she intoned in an unnaturally echoing voice which was thankfully more intimidating than her ill advised attempt at sounding enigmatic.
