Gizmo

Initiative. (1d20+9=19)

As Lukos leapt into the heart of the mobsters' position, the impenetrable cloud of midnight mist inched inexorably closer. A chilling voice rang out from within, grating with an inhuman edge, seeming to come from every part of the shrouded alley at once. It was not filled with rage, nor threat, but coldly devoid of emotion, mercy or compassion. "Midnight comes. Those who wish to live to see dawn... Drop. Your. Weapons."

Midnight Intimidates the remaining mobsters, with a Skill Mastery DC 29.

Initiative (1d20+3=7) Argh. Can't win.

"Got it covered," intoned as Erin charged their simulated opponent. He meant it literally; his costume included a light lead, pliable lining for just such an occasion. The bad news was that Trevor wasn't sure how well it would stand up to actual combat condition, and he doubted it would completely block Gamma's power. Still, it was the edge he needed to get in close. To that end, he fired the grapple already in his hand, latching onto a nearby building and swing into the fray, thin wisps of inky mist trailing behind him. Ignoring the villain's accusations and threats he called gruffly to Erin, "Do you need to see to fight?"

Uh, yeah, okay. Midnight uses 5pp of his Gadgets to come up with Immunity 10 (radiation, Flaw: half-effective) then uses his grapple to swing over to the fight.

Naturally Midnight is putting up a cloud of midnight mist, and using his Stealth to avoid detection; 28 with Skill Mastery.

"Blind them," Midnight explained brusquely, striding forward as midnight mist poured from his sleeves, wrapping around him and expanding outward. "Break them." By the time Lukos's enhanced senses told him the shadowy vigilante had stepped off of the side of the roof, his grapple lowering him whisper-quiet to the ground, it was as though an cloud of ink were washing across the street of its own accord to envelop the gunrunners in darkness.

20 for Jack, Skill Mastery.

Trevor actually found Mark's sudden soberness more disconcerting than the excitable teen's previous enthusiasm. Mood whiplash, he supposed. He considered the question. "...more like I got a really good referral," he replied finally, thinking of the Raven's forwarded invitation. "Is there some kind of evaluation?"

Oh noes! Initiative. (1d20+3=8) ...Trevor's a little slow on the uptake there.

"Throw things, Midnight suggested offhandedly. The dark figure dropped into a prepared stance, and plumes of pitch black mist began to fall from his sleeves to swirl about his feet and fists as he grunted his readiness. Inwardly Trevor steadied himself, hoping that he wasn't about to make too large a fool of himself. He'd had reasonable success with the odd unpowered mobster and drug dealer, but super villains, simulated on not, were something new. He had a growing certainty that he was well out of his league standing next to Erin. Guess I'll just have to start training, then.

Nah, Midnight showed up at Claremont toward the back end of March, as the spring break was starting. You should be in the clear.

Eric Espadas paid the vendor and continued to walk down Charles Street, a hot dog in each hand. He had the first of the pair in his mouth as every screen in the window of the electronics store he was passing flickered with a bust of static before resolving into the familiar image of Vince sitting behind his talk show host desk. "Jacko! Red alert from his sciencerifficness!" the gregarious AI anounced, turning over an large cue card to reveal an image of Doktor Archeville. Erik continued to eat his street meat. "There's no way that can be legal," he pointed out, indicating the commandeered television set. "Neither is a bunch of nasty boys breaking into Archetech, my civil-conscious chum," Vince replied, tossing the cue card at his simulated camera. "So get those cute buns of yours over there pronto!" The fencer raised an eyebrow. "'Cute buns'?" Vince waggled a cigar which appeared in his hand with a snap. "I was talking about the hot dogs, naturally." Erik shook his head as he shoved the rest of the first hot dog into his mouth, slipped his backpack from his shoulder and started off for a convenient alleyway. "You're one odd dude, y'know that?" "I'm a stinker, alright," the AI agreed before blinking out and resetting the screens to their original channels. ----- Soon after, the superheroic swashbuckler known as Jack of all Blades swung into Hanover, grapple in one hand, partially eaten hot dog in the other. A midair somersault brought him gracefully down next to the floating powerhouse in the cape, greatcoat flaring out behind him. "Should probably do what he says," he told the ostentatious pair standing guard in front of the building, proceeding to take another bite of his hot dog and nonchalantly adding with his mouth full, "I f'r w'n w's in th' m'ddle of s'methin'."

Midnight responded to Lukos's prodigious leap by simply holding out an arm and firing his grapple. The motorized device retracted its cable on cue, drawing the black clad figure across the gulf from a standing position to land lightly in a three point crouch, moments later, next to the werewolf. Straightening without showing any signs of exertion, the shadowy hero simply inclined his head sarcastically. "After you.

I'm going to wait on Doc before posting. Since he's technically Jack's boss, and it is his company being ransacked, it'd make sense for him to call in ol' Stabby McStabstab, either personally or via Vince.

Only Trevor's natural stoicism kept him from dropping into a defensive stance at Eddie's friendly jab and Mark's overly familiar nature. The dark haired teen just wasn't used to people being this openly friendly with him. Most people interpreted his laconic manner as standoffishness, and eventually stopped trying to engage him at all. Transferring from his old school hadn't been a terribly difficult decision to make. In the face of the Claremont student's enthusiastic welcome he renewed his resolution to be more sociable with his new classmates. "My grandfather always said, 'when in doubt, follow a Lucas's gut'," Trevor told Mark. Travis Hunter had never said any such thing, of course, but then he'd never been a man particularly prone to doubt in the first place. "Got to learn the lay of the land sooner or later. Lead on."

"Don't care about your feelings, Lukos," Midnight dismissed. "Care if you can do the job." Inwardly, Trevor made a mental note that the aggressive man had responded much as he had expected to the offhand jibe. Knew there was something canine about him. Animalistic mutant? Whatever the case, it was good to have an idea where the volatile man's buttons were. Midnight continued to watch Lukos, his expression behind his mask inscrutable. "Type doesn't matter. Quantity does. Find the strongest scent. That's where we go."

Trevor was beginning to get the sense that he should just start assuming that every new person he met at Claremont could heft a minivan in one hand. "Huh. Good to know." Of course he wondered why anyone with that much raw power required a weapon at all, but the lanky teen already felt he had imposed on Erin enough that night. Stepping into the simulation, he looked around, trying to take in every detail. Amazing... His astonishment nearly distracted him from the question. "No, grapple," he replied, producing the device from his belt before looking over at Erin. "Why? Should I?"

"Don't know Freedom, then," Midnight grated, still refusing to give an inch. "Death's not what it used to be." He noted Lukos's pride in his tracking ability and grunted approval. "Mm. Nose. Useful." That might be the solution to his problem. Trevor broke their staring contest only to brush past the aggressive man dismissively and move to the edge of the rooftop. "Mob. Gunrunners. Need to find them, break them." He turned back to Lukos, red eyes narrowing. "How are you at fetch?"

Some of Trevor's softer demeanor slipped into Midnight's attitude as he gave Erin a sidelong glance. 'Her and Mike?' Big Mike? Taller than me, twice as big? He reflexively gave her well toned form a closer inspection before feeling a fresh stab of self conscious embarrassment. "So when you said 'extra strength'..." He quirked an eyebrow under his mask. Pushing his surprise away, he turned back to the door. "Sounds good," he intoned.

Unlike Lukos, Trevor's nature was without a strong instinct for posturing or competing for position. Even so, he was not about to back down to the feral masked man, not while he was wearing his grandfather's costume. "Midnight," came the gravelly reply, as he continued to stare directly into the other man's eyes despite the agitating effect it was clearly having. "If you know anything about Freedom City, that should be enough." A black clad arm swept out to indicate the streets below. "Hunting. Help or leave."

Trevor went from being nonplussed at Mark's apparently boundless enthusiasm to being nonplussed at facing another teen who was not only taller than him but easily twice as broad. "...Trevor," he introduced himself, accepting Mike's hand and hoping it wouldn't be crushed in a vise-like grip. He murmured an agreement to the imposing teen's assessment of the motorcycle's danger, adding, "Fortunately, I'm a pretty good driver." Actually, a high speed chase or two in his short time as the new Midnight had proven that he was an exceptional driver, but he saw little need to bring it up here. "Mark and Eddie were going to show me around," he continued, saying the other boys' names aloud to help himself remember them. In a relaxed deadpan that made it difficult to tell whether or not he was being serious, he told Mike, "You can point out the low doorways for me."

Midnight straightened, standing a few inches taller than the much larger man. As Lukos watched, the mist around them slowly thinned and dissipated, leaving him face to face with the glowing red eyes and featureless mask on the moonlit rooftop. Though clearly in a different weight class than his broad shouldered opponent, Midnight stared Lukos down, showing no hint of fear, only cold calculation. After a long pause, he spoke. "Let's talk."

Midnight followed behind Erin, silent despite his costume. In the darkness outside, he almost seemed to blend into the shadows, save for the sparse light glinting off of his mask's lenses. As they traveled down through the facility to the Doom Room, he carefully noted the directions and security precautions along the way. His grandfather had taught him that the difference between the winner and loser in a fight was often who had been paying closer attention. When Erin inquired to his preference for fighting or training, the flat response was, "There's a difference?" There was an easily perceived difference in his manner, and not just from the filter on his mask. Midnight stood with the slightest hunch, squared shoulders giving him a broader appearance. His posture suggested both a readiness to leap into motion and a cold confidence which Trevor had lacked, or perhaps simply kept better hidden.