Supercape

GM The Gas Man grunted. He was in some discomfort, and his grunt caused him to grunt in pain. Fortunately, he managed to stop himself grunting in pain from the grunt of pain at a grunt, thus avoiding a most tiresome circle of pain and grunt. "Well, I think that means he is dead and buried. Thank's for comfirming the kill. I mean job" he said, not looking Justice in the eye. "I guess Justice is served eh? ha ha ha ....umph...." he chuckled, wincing at his protesting ribs. "I'll see you around then. Don't forget, if you need any gassing, the Gas Man is your man. 0800-G-A-S-M-A-N-G-A-S" he said in a catchy little jingle" And with that, he limped of down Trumble street, giving a fierce glare at anyone who looked at him.

GM "I do not profess to know much of the Snake" replied Abdul, cautiously. He looked pale and clammy. "But the Leaf has shown me much of the past, and the future" he added, proudly. "This is the kingdom of old Lemuria, and I have seen the Snake here, tending...his gardens. He is master of snakes, but also an alchemist, a sorcerer, a...gardener. Even his own people called him mad" "I prefer to think of him as a visionary. It was through the power of the Magic Mesa that he cultivated the leaf. As...you are surely aware, time does not operate within the narrow confines of human perception here...it is difficult to know what has been, will be, or..." he frowned, confused a moment. "What will have been, or has come to be...." "If we have come to this place, it is by his hand, not mine. I can only imagine he has had uncounted centuries to study the ways of the Mesa, and as you have surely seen, he is no fool...." And to punctuate his statement, they heard the sound of stomping feet and the roar of dinosaurs....

GM "I want to make it quite clear for legal purposes that due to the high degree of combat stress I accidentally dropped two non-lethal, and I emphasise non-lethal grenades. And as well as accidental in intent, the grenades effected self-defence and self-defence alone" said the Gas Man. He said it like a script, a well-rehearsed script. He sighed, and holstered his pistol. "Look, I'm in no shape to fight you, even if I wanted you. I won't be turning my back on you again, though. Seems like you like back stabbing" he said, nastily. "As far as my employer knows, as far as I know, Finnigan got buried under a ton of rubble. Unless you want to screw everything up but telling me different..." he suggested.

Let me know what you want to take with you from the plane. Its very well stocked with medical and scientific equipment, of course, and is reasonably well stocked with other stuff from swiss arrmy knives to ropes and tents. So unless its something really whacky, you are essentially limited by what you can carry and / or what looks inconpicious! Then, its a matter of how you want to get to Moscow!

GM The plan went essentially without a hitch. Debris was duly scattered, fuselage was suitably wrecked, and with the judicious application of telekenesis, combustibles predictably combusted. In all, a great success. A controlled fire, belching smoke, and a trail of debris stretching back through furrows of snow. It looked exactly like a crash to the naked eye, and by anyones estimation it would take a feat of forensic examination and, or, genius to determine otherwise. Possibly some paranoid personality traits too - although it seemed that paranoia was not in short supply in the minds of the Sleeper and Red Dawn. North had taken a fair chunk of survival gear and food with him, intending to camp out in the cold woods for as long as it was safe too. The pilots did not look severely injured, but even with medical supplies and Norths considerable medical experience, there was no cast iron garuantee he would not have to seek full medical care. Bar a hiccup, he estimated he could keep out of sighth for two weeks fairly safely. Three, if they could stretch rations. Possibly even longer if they could successfully hunt or forage. However, he judged two weeks as the maximum distance Replica and Synapse could reasonably count on. In any case, he gave them both the co-ordinates of the proposed camp based on detailed maps of the area. Near fresh water, plenty of wood, out of sight, out of wind. As for the rest of the salvage, there was food, water, clothing, and plenty of scientific equipment including computers, camera's, binoculars, even hand held WEST scanners. There was only so much they could carry, of course...

Using wind tunnel jet array power on the upstanding Thug. Trip area effect. DC 20 Reflex save to half the effect (plus normal evasion feat rules if present) Base effect is Trip 10 so opposed roll. Ill make that as if its full effect: Opposed Trip Roll: 1d20+10 29, so a 24 result if the reflex roll cuts it in half. Opposed by lower of STR or untrained acrobatics (as Rev has improved throw power). The effect also has knockback so lets see where that sends him!

Rev "Violence is golden!" wheezed Rev, feeling her rib cage to check she wasn't going to breathe out a rib in an anatomical miracle. Despite her mumbling wit, she was still fighting for breath. Wearily, she held up the palm of her hand. These two dudes need to split up....she thought, groggily. That would slow them down....if nothing else, the two brothers seemed loyal to each other... The jet propeller in the palm of her hand whirred and screamed with power, and with the flick of her wrist, the air in front of her screamed into a rushing vortex, sweeping up dust and debris into a mini-cyclone!

GM As it happened, the Gas Man was there, although not in the best of shape. He was sitting on a collapsed wall, catching his breath, strapping his ribs, his almost destroyed flak vest on the floor. He was fast enough to whip his handgun out and point it at Justice as she clambered out, but it really didn't look like he had much fight in him. "So, you got out did ya?" he commented. "What happened to Finnigan? Buried alive? Although I can't say he looked all that alive in the first place. He was sick. Frankly, if I didn't know better, he looked like a frikkin' zombie. Which wasn't really part of my deal..." he said, rather annoyed with the universe at his bum luck this day.

GM "Try...." muttered Finnigan in the darkness. "Try is easy. Succeed...not so easy. My Fingers are not mere robots. Respectful, yes. Obedient, sometimes. But they have a mind of their own, and they are defiant. I admit, it is a defiance I have cultivated. Try....well, do not expect results" he said, gloom in his voice. "I will bid you goodbye now. Just head down this tunnel, no deviations. It is dark so mind your step. In a short moment, it will stop, and you will be by a rusted ladder. I believe it is stable. Just climb up onto the ruins of Trumble street. And watch out for the Gas Man. He is an oily character" he muttered again. And with that, Justice heard him shuffle away, still muttering...

Rev Rev wheezed. She felt something metal rattle in her lungs. That doesn't sound good. But then, nobody really knew exactly what the Mechaphage did, or how it worked, or what her body was up to. Best not to think about it too long. She forced herself to stand up, even if she stood with her spine sagging. "Her Facs. This guy here bruised his knuckles pretty bad on my kidneys" she said, making a jape out of a crisis. She hadn't felt this banged up in...well, since she had ended up in intensive care after the crash. At least this time she was still conscious. And had her limbs. Well, most of them. She was sure her left arm would slither back once it had deposited the bank guard. "What do you guys think you are doing, anyway? robbing a bank in Freedom CIty?"

GM "A means...to an end" grunted Abdul as was carried. At least he did not seem to be bleeding to badly now. Venomax might be master of venom, but he had done a pretty good job patching Abdul up. "You keep on insisting that the Leaf is a poison, a danger. What if it is a gift from the Mesa?" he asked the Dust Devil. Daylight started streaming more brightly from the end of the tunnel. And greenery. Wait...greenery? this was a desert. And there was no shack, either. "Where are we? Where's big Mama? Wheres my scorpion?" said Mr. Sting, quite confused and slightly angry. They had walked out into a stinking hot, humid, jungle.... It looked suspiciously like the jungle that Abdul had taken the Dust Devil to. A million years ago!

GM "Cut down?" murmured Finnigan. He had not thought of comprimise. Even in the virtually complete Darkness, Justice could hear him shuffling, tapping fingers. She could almost hear him thinking. It was a little harder to hear him breathing. "It is a bitter situation I find myself him" he conceded. "And I suppose there is only bitterness to swallow. Woe! I rue the cruel fates for bringing me to this foul position, powerless. And yet, I will survive!" he said, determined. "Very well, it seems I am at your mercy" he said, his words heavily laced with resentment. "No stealing for three days. And then...let us see what happens..." he added, mixing commitment with non-commitment in a rather murky soup.

Initiative: 1d20+10 28

Snakebite A sacrifice to the wrong God, or the right one in the wrong way! In a flash her mind wheeled around the possibilities. Either the moon had not been properly revered, and had waned - waned enough for some demon was no longer kept leashed or caged by her power. Or, the sacrifice had been to some foul God which had now been empowered. Why Neil? More questions. But right now the answer was survival. "Run!" she yelled at Neil as she spun out of the way and onto her feet, hoping her senses came back to the present fully astute. Her balance too, come to that. She held her pistol in her hand. She wondered if such poisons would effect such a snake-beast. She doubted it, somehow. "<Do you have a tongue with which to speak?>" she asked rapidly in ancient Incan, Mayan, and even the ancient crptic language of old Lemuria...

In case needed...Bluff: 1d20+13 15 oops! although may have a +4 bonus for attractive.

Red Rat "Acquire him?" asked the Rat, faux-shock. "I don't think so!" She stepped forward, boldly. "We believe he is a potential security threat. We need to investigate" she said quietly. "Now, the risk is low, but given the particular sensitivities of this operation, we must take every precaution, don't you agree?" she continued. "I am sure we don't want this to take any longer than necessary. Dragging out the process is a potential delay in risk management, thus itself being a risk. And it looks obstructive" she added. "Which I am sure you are not, of course..." "So unless your business with Mr. Rojero is of immidiate time sensitive nature, which we would need explanation of, then we would just need to ask him a few questions..."

GM Abdul, for his part, was too busy bleeding slowly to protest further. At least the poison had not killed him, thanks to Venomax's intervention. Mr. Sting was mildly irritated about the incomplete nature of his vengeance. The subsequent events had somewhat taken precendence in his mind. "Did you see that?" he asked quite redundantly. "I never saw such a feast of poison!" he said, shaking with excitement. "No wonder the scorpions grow so big. Did you see those snakes?" he asked, again, quite redundantly. He paused to wipe his brow with tremulous hand. "But I didn't fancy being stung to death. That would be my way to go, if I had to choose. But I'd rather not quite die yet". He surveyed the dark tunnel they were in. "Lets get to big Mama" he suggested, pointing down the tunnel to what was, hopefully, his shack...

GM "Return what I stole?" replied Finnigan, irritated at the suggestion. "...firstly, it was not I who stole, it was my fingers, and they have nothing but their gains, ill-gotten though they may be" he said, firmly. "You are welcome to ask them...I doubt they will give you the answer you hope for" He drew away his hand, colder in tone. "Secondly, bar the thefts of the day, we are likely not to have what we stole. They have been sold" he explained. "I take my cut, of course, but all the money I gather is spent on a cure. I have some left, but I will not part with it, not for all your promises" he said, equally as firm. "Your words are kind, but I cannot trust your intent. And even if your intent is charitable, it does not mean that charity will blossom. And even if charity blossoms, it does not mean that it will be effective" he reasoned. "My request to you is simple. Leave me alone, and keep the Gas Man away from me. You may think I am a noxious beast, but he is a callous man, and of the two, it is the latter that is more frightful!"

Not about Setho in particular - that is ancient history and well concealed. However, it is enough to know that Lemuria was an ancient prehistoric kingdom of the snake people, and plenty of them were (and are) sorcerers, and in fact shape shifters (morph!)

Notice Roll: 1d20+4 11 ?

He seems sincere enough

Rev Rev wasn't so lucky this time. The blade sliced into her rib cage, which was more bone than metal. Such was the patchwork nature of the mechaphage's work on her body. Under her skin, layers of titanium fibre and steel plate. But still, the blade was forceful enough to rend metal, and she felt herself buckle under the force. In her head, she heard the sound of splintered bone. She hoped it was just her imagination, but by golly - it hurt like an electric shock. She hoped it was her imagination. It probably wasn't. The force of the blow sent her spinning flying, and she landed unceremonially on her face. "That...all you got?" she said, finding it hard to get her lungs going.

GM It was now pitch black...or near enough. Justice could feel that horribly thin hand take hers and start to lead her through the warrens. And not a moment too soon. She could hear the building they had been in collapse. "I'm a cursed man" muttered Finnigan. "I did not want to die, and once medicine failed me, I turned to sorcery. Perhaps I should not complain, for I am alive - of sorts - when I should be dead. But I am wasted and spent. In the darkness I am at least free. In sunlight, I am as feeble as you could imagine" he said, voice stronger than it had been before, as if the darkness was emboldening him. Perhaps with some reason, for Finnigan seemed to have no problem seeing in the dark. "I seek to...improve...my situation. It is true that I have cultivated the talents of my fingers, but I do not wish any death. No...that would be prime hypocricy, given my own obsession with living" he explained. They were safely out of the collapsed building now. It seemed - from the smell - that they were back in the abandoned sewers beneath Trumble street. "Now then...I have lead you to safety, and, if you wish, I can take you out of these filthy tunnels. Tell me - what do you intend now?" he asked, cautiously.

Tough Save: 1d20+10 13 for the laughs, ill roll with that, taking bruise, staggered, dazed! (and knocked back, come to that!)

Mr. Murk Mr. Murk sat back, not looking at the book, for his eyes were white and blind. No, not looking. But he listened to the most pleasing sound of quill scratching against old paper. He could even hear the sound of quill being dipped in ink well. And it was most pleasing to him. A broad smile split his face. "Then it is done. I hope you shall never need the protection of the Codus Immortus...but never is an awfully long time for an immortal" he summised. "And if...or when....you do, then its protection you shall recieve" he added warmly. "And do feel free to visit the clubs, anywhere there is one. Hong Kong, Freedom City, Cairo, Rio, Paris, and London, as well as here. Each with their own flavour, all sanctuary and welcome" And with that, he doffed his hat. ~ Fin ~