Supercape

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.

Sgt Shark. Yes please!

I hope that scene cut was ok. Let me know if not ??

GM And so... The air was bitter and cold, but had a beautiful crisp quality to it. The night grew dark, in a manner of speaking, for Replica and Synapse were treated to an impressive display of northern lights. It was about an hour walk to the nearest main road, which ran west-east, and, from the maps, would reach the Russian border about thirty miles away. Despite the cold, the survival clothing kept Synapse warm enough along with the march, although anybody in such situation would surely appreciate a hot bath and hot bowl of soup. It was less than a minute before the pair saw a pair of beam lights approaching from the east, presumably driving towards Russia. Of course, in the darkness and the dazzle of beam lights, it was hard to make out what the vehicle was. With eyes, that is. Synapse's radar identified the vehicle as a transport truck (presumably transporting something from Finland to Russia), whilst the mighty mind of Synapse detected the brain of a single driver (of, she judged, average intellect).

GM "Hmph..." said a slightly red faced Ms Doors, who was unused to people arguing back at her. It was, to her mind, particularly vexatious when they had a point. Its quite unreasonable to cheat in a debate by having a point... And later, at 7:30, outside the Sunny Sunshine Immigrant Centre... The crowd holding up placards and back slapping each other seem to be of the same broad opinion. Thinking about issues was clearly much to hard work. How much more pleasant and easy it was to merely feel about issues. Majoried Doors was there, handing out home made cookies. That was Ms. Doors for you, for even if she had many unpleasant qualities, she was always making cookies and tea for students, and had held their hand on more than one occassion in a maternal sort of way. And she loved cats. Jack Jackson was also there, a shortish man with a jacket but no tie, crafty brown eyes and a winning smile. He had polished his act to make sure he appeared quite unpolished. One of the people. He was talking about the Sunny Sunshine building which was not yet finished. A few more days, said the builders. And yet, some immigrants had already moved in. There were, he was insinuating, concerns about local crime gangs both financing the building and using it to recruit.

Ok, so these idiots are PL 2, and frankly Gauss could take them down hand to hand (maybe taking a bruise or two at worst), so feel free to narrate however you want to teach them a lesson. The key is whether she openly uses her powers to do so. There will be no problems doing so, its just whether the one - armed man notices. If you want to pick up a cool scar from a lucky knife-swipe, or catch a bruise from a lucky punch, please feel free! However, any bruises or injuries you do get are moot, as this is the quick prologue and any "damage" you take will have healed by the main event. (Although of course you may want a momento scar!)

GM The four thugs stopped a moment, wondering just what the hell happened. "What the hell happened?" mumured the least intelligent (and it must be said, the competition was stiff in that department) of the four. The leader, who was the most intelligent (and, it should be said, had little competition) looked at his empty hand. "Damn...stole my knife..." he mumbled, still not entirely sure what had happened. He took a look at Gauss and his empty hand. "Nobody makes a fool outa the blades!" he shouted, angryily. The group had obviously tried to pick a cool name and had discarded any attempt at originality, although in fairness the way the leader pronounced their name one could imagine it was spelt with a "z". Although, one might wonder (given their intelligence) exactly where that "z" went. In any case, they were to dumb to register what had precisely happened, and too wrapped up in reputation and ego to let any insult smiled. Knives were drawn, and the blades charged!!!

GM There was, predictably, a lot of science going on in ASTRO Labs, and it would take days to pore through all the data. That said, one thing stood out. An experimental reactor in one of the lower basement laboratories, with a dozen scientists trying to pull the plug on some apparently self-sustaining dimensional energy nexus. It...didn't look quite like terminus energy. More like an echo. Or an imitation. "...oh I am sorry. Forgive mt ignorance, haha" laughed Dale without mirth. "I am but a humble public relations officer. I dont really understand all this terminus things. I haven't got the brains for it, haha" "And I am quite sure we aren't meddling with terminus energy" he said, more stiffly. "Quite sure?" mimicked Lulu. "Quite sure" said Dale, without missing a beat. "The world sorely needs new energy sources, but that's one place we won't go. Nor should anybody!" he said, crisp and firm.