Supercape

So, mu suggestion is: Voin and Dreadnought go baby sitting Morgen (yes, there will be trouble...) Comrade Frost and Tsunami go to check out on the fall out in Hong Kong. Where they meet the Scarab, who is following the trial of some corrupted Daka weapons...

Hope the IC covers it! getting tense!

Snakebite Cassie was not one for praying. A thousand hands praying cannot match one hand acting... But that was her - and people needed rituals to survive. And hope. "<We must always keep hope, even if there is none>" she answered Doji. "<We came to help>" explained Cassie, pulling out her medical kit. "<If we can>" she explained. "<We aren't doctors, but if there are any sick or wounded, we will try and help>" she said. She wished now she spent a bit more time studying basical medical care - it was certainly handy in an expedition. She always ended up to distracted with history... She did what she could, anyway, even if it was hardly of much help. The thought counted, although when it came to saving lives, it was the saving that counted more. "Seems the beast has followed us" she said to Neil whilst they tended. "We have a duty to this village. Protect them as best we can. We best check on the perimeter once we have finished up here. If time permits, even some old school traps and snares would not go amiss...."

Starshot Starshot was not a warrior. He was a hunter. His time as a soldier for the Nazi's was a scar on his soul. He was dour, but less dour than he might have been. For this was a righteous victory, and the mood was of liberty and celebration rather than iron chains and wailing. He gave some effort to the cheers and salutes, but found himself withdrawing into himself. He found himself gazing at the night sky, his mind wandering to those times in Germany, under similar skies but different stars. Of snowy alpine mountains where he was free. He looked down again. Yes. As much as he loved the soil on his boots, and the sights and sounds of this planet, he must be free. And so too must its natives. He made his way to Emorda. "We should speak with your father. To celebrate is understandable, but the story is not ended..."

GM "They are tresspasin. They got their boots on US soil, dontcha, fellas?" replied Det Kid, keeping his shotgun up. He turned his eyes to Justice once again. "Justice, eh? Well you an me goin' to get on swell, pal. Real swell. Just so happens, I am a servant of Justice too!" he said with a big laugh. "Thing is, though, you hae to take side round here. Blowfish is building this place, and Blowfish is recruiting these scum to work for him" The five workers looked at each other, and looked at Det Kidd. They seemed genuinely scared of him. Without a word, they turned, dropped their hammers and ran. "Ready...take aim...." said Detective Kidd loudly, looking down the barrel of his gun with a wink at Justice, and pointing the barrel at the rearsides of the nearest escaping workman...

Lament "Children?" this was a horror beyond what he had steeled himself for. And who was that mysterious glowing figure? Whatever the case, this was something not for Luther, nor Zombo! He dashed into his dressing room, and in the blink of an eye (or faster) changed costume. Not Luther, no. Nor Zombo, even. This was a case for the Sultan of Sorrow! A case for the Duke of Despair! A case for....Lament! His top hat was magnificently tall and purple, his eyes red, his beart long and hite. Bones adorned his black costume. Lament was much much more fearsome than Zombo. He was Zombo, squared! He pushed the mindless Void to his skin, and faded...not completely from view, but he was faint, hard to see, blurred and obscured. The living darkness that was Lament then dashed into the building, to find out what the dickens was happening. And the first place to go was by following that mysterious figure!

GM The truck, as it happened, was apparently transporting skis, snowmobiles, and snowboards. Northern Light Sports was the name of the company, and it had a delivery to Moscow. At least, that was what the driver said (and to back him up, what was said on the side of the Lorry. He pulled up only a few yards past Replica and Synapse, and got out. Dressed warmly, he was a Sami, middle aged, with a great big smile and a great big beard. "<What happened? Are you ok? Lost?>" he asked, concerned. This wasn't the climate to get lost in, or break down in, and Sari Ylonen (for that was his name) wasn't going to leave two women to freeze to death. "<I'm Sari. Who are you?>"

GM "I...er...ah...." winced Dale, before Lulu stepped in. "OK, enough" she said, firmly. "WEST doesn't have any authority here, unless I have reason to believe there is a an imminent danger of global catastrophe. United Nations Resolution 112357, subsection 12" She paused a millisecond before pressing on. "That means, Mr. Dale, we do have authority to take emergency measures to ensure the continuation of life as we know it. That means, take us to the labs. Now. Otherwise, I am authorising Delta to use force to gain entry..." And so... As it happened, Mr Dale was not in fact willing to go against Resolution 112357, Subsection 12. He did of course scurry behind, trying to pour water on the smoking PR flames, explaining this, and explaining that. But, at the end of the day, it is impossible to polish a turd. And a turd it was (scientifically speaking), for down in the laboratory the self sustaining vortex of hyperdimensional energy was even more wibbly wobbly. "Help! We don't know what happened! We were using the Daka Crystal fragment to..." babbled the bravest of the lab technicians, who was still close to panic. "HELP!" he wailed again, unable to finish his sentence.

So if this is ok... Im going to say with all the mighty boosting and firing jets, Rev is out of fuel - enough to land safely, but then she is "out" (if thats worth it for a complication, great!) Then, whist in Mid air (and providing Fascs is conscious and can use mimicked Rev - jets) she will throw Facs at Midas for an additional "catch up". To clarify its not an attack, just a way of getting FAcs caught up with him. So Facs is 150lbs base. Perhaps 200lbs tops with Jet boots mimicked? Rev has an effective lifting / throwing STR of 40. thats 25 points more than heavy load requitements, so moving up 5 points on time and progression state, a nice 250' throw!

Rev Rev was feeling pretty ground down, and the fuel in her jets was running dangerously low. Enough to get to the ground...but still. "I'm beat..." she grunted at Facs. "You...you gotta get to that Golden Goose...." she shouted through the screaming air as they descended on her boot jets. "Don't let him get away...Ill follow...." She waited until Facs had come to. "You with me? You with me Facs? Let me give you a boost!" she shouted, and then, with all the strength of her cybernetic arms, she hurled him straight at Midas!

GM "Not if we rip then apart first" grunted one of the women, who, given the strength of her grip on her sledgehammer, might not have been far of the mark. Click Behind the workers, the sound of a shotgun being pumped. "You start swinging, I start shootin'" came a cocky laugh. A tall man dressed in jeans and a shirt, with a police badge slung around his neck, a shotgun in his hand, and a cigar in his other. He had a kind of seventies vibe, although he was probably only in his thirties. Beard, mid length hair, and tinted sunglasses (despite the low sun). "Just like some dirty Mexican scum. Hammers. This is the United States of America, and here we got the good old...sec...ond...am...end..ment..." he said, pointing the shotgun at each member of the wrecking crew with each slowly prounced syllable. "Detective Kidd. But I kid you not..." he grinned, before glancing at Justice. "Who are you? We got a cape coming to clean up this rat hole?"

Lament What the dickens is that? thought Luther as he exited stage left and heard the screams. He was basking in the applause, of a show gone well, and trying to ignore the metaphysical salivation of the Void, whose appetite he knew he could not ignore for much longer. But now, where a feast had been laid out, famine was on the menu. He could already feel, deep down, the despair that permeated the building. "What happened? What happened?" he seized the nearest stage hand by the lapels and demanded. He was driven maybe by his star status and arrogance, but more pressing, a sense of horror that thundered through the atmosphere of the building.

NB: If it is, or was of any importance, taking 10 on Perform (Acting) to get 25: memorable performance: Audience enthusiastic

Notice: 1d20+8 14

Lament The Void was hungry but not ravenous. It could be sated, and sated well, by feeding of the joy of the audience, and yet Luther LeGrasse was loathe to do so. Aside from the putrid nature of feeding on innocent joy, it would do his reviews not one shred of good. Quite the reverse, in fact. He put on the final touches to his Zombo! costume, adjusting the dinner jacket, smoothing down the white goatee, and putting a few dabs of make up on. He always preferred to do his own make up. Got him in character. "BEHOLD! ZOMBO!" he said in a deep rumbling tone to his reflection, getting into the spirit of things. "Tralalalalala---laaaa!" he gargled down some whiskey to help his vocal cords. "Tra-la - la - la -laaaa! BEHOLD....ZOMBO!" he rumbled in an even deeper, melodramatic, and shakespearian manner. Satisfied with his appearance and voice, he gave one final check of the cards and gimmicks up his sleeves, and walked to the stage. "BEHOLD!!!! ZOMBO!!!!" he boomed into the audience, as the flashlights and music hit him. "BEWARE! FOR THE CHILL OF THE DEAD TOUCHES THE NIGHT!" he rolled, his body contorting to some faux-voodoo beat stretching out of the speakers. It was meaningless garbage of course, but he delivered it well. "THE VOODOO AND HOODOO MAY HAUNT YOUR DREAMS TONIGHT...AND FOREVER!!!!" "YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!" he said ominously, as some dancers came on dressed as skeletons, and the beat intensified...

GM The five workers (men and women) were not sure what to make of a masked woman. She looked like half a super hero. "Who are you then?" they asked, the obvious question to the problem. They seemed uninterested in calling over Jack Jackson, although if Jack Jackson saw what was happening rather than interviewing Blowfish, he would have been most interested in coming over. They were Mexicans, or thereabouts...certainly south American, with clear accents. Of course, it was impossible to tell if they were legal or illegal immigrants just from observation, but the fact that they were probably immigrants, building a refuge for immigrants could not be missed. "Seems like trouble is here already, Seniorita. Maybe we give it a nudge in the right direction..."

Cool. Thanks.

Medicine Roll: 1d20+3 13 not great! As for Arcane roll: Arcane Know: 1d20+11 23 Do you want a post IC or you want to give me results of that first?

Rev Oh No! Well, the bomb had been taken care of (bar some shattered glass), but what of Fascimile? Was he a burnt cinder? Surely not! He was tough! Even if he wasn't toast No! Ill never eat toast again! he was probably unconscious and falling. And that meant a pavement pizza with Fascimile topping. I wonder if he could mimic a pizza... ...never mind that! she interrupted her ridiculous turn of thoughts which only represented some crazy defence against panic. In reality, her blood was cold. But her jets ran hot! With an explosion of plasma, she launched herself into the sky scanning for Fascimile, ready to catch him should he fall!

http://www.zbrushcentral.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=30470 for Mr Frank Fish!

Knowledge (Streetwise) DC 15 DC 20 info on request!

GM As Jack Jackson made sure he was one of the people (or, more accurately, he made money), the situation became more complicated. A short man approached. He was well dressed, in a warm coat and hat, with a suit underneath. He smoked an expensive cigar. He was fat, with immense jowels and puffy cheeks, but he had a certain solidity to him. Perhaps it was his boxers nose, perhaps it was his confident air. "Well I do believe that is Mr Frank Fish, ah...business entrepeneur!" said Jack Jackson, interrupting himself and going over to interview Mr. Fish, who had two much larger men by each side. On the other side of the crowd, a different sort of trouble was brewing. Several construction workers (all with a Mexican look to them) where swinging sledgehammers and giving the protesting crowds (and Mr. Fish) a dirty look.

Could I have some notice rolls

GM "You may think you have the upper hand" snapped back Setho, ominously. "Of Setho...who sees the future and the past!" he hissed, laughing. "Of Setho, in whose ancient temple to unspeakable Gods you stand! Where he is at the height of his power and influence!" "Of Setho, who has studied sorceries beyond your comprehension. Arcane lore beyond your understanding!" "The Leaf is mine, and you will not have it! The only salt will be your vital essences! I will vcrush your bones to extract your salts, then resurrect you to be be killed again, and how the cycle shall turn through endless aeons!" And with that, he vanished....

Not sure where we are with combat, but if its ok with you, Rev feels saving Fascimile's life more important than arresting Mr. Midas! Flying up catch him! Not sure if you want any rolls for that? Rev is probably fast and strong enough.