Supercape

GM The door of the buik opened easily enough. In the silence of the desert, it seemed to creak rather loudly. "uhhh...who are you..." The voice was faint and parched, as the woman was clearly dehydrated. Close up now, the Dust Devil could detect a faint, sickly sweet smell. Not sweat or dust, by the lingering aroma that had been present by the bohemians in the Jazz club. This woman had been smoking the mysterious leaf. She presumably was fairly dry, and ill, but perhaps part of her faint headedness was the leaf. "Abdul...get Abdul..." she croaked again.

Could you throw me an attack roll for that, Ex? As big mama is a bit...thick....you have flat footed her.

GM Slowly, the door opened with an alarming creak. "Hoo you?" The voice was deep and rather beautiful, quite unlike its owner. She was nearly six feet, with an enormous frame that spoke of unnatural amount of bone, fat, and muscle. Skin as black as you might ever have seen, with a squat head that seemed built for eating rather than thinking. The woman was dressed in a dusty and filthy dress, and she was sweating. It was an unpleasant sight, for she was remarkably ugly, and the smell was hardly appetising either. And she seemed fierce. A sawn-off shotgun was in one hand. "No-wun here. Yoo go away or me eat you!" she grunted.

as per chat, using masterplan feat with benefit (tactics skill for mastermind feat) Tactics / Mastermind: 1d20+17 31 which I think is enough for the full +3/+2/+1 bonus. Assuming of course the plan is valid!

The Red Rat "I don't think Gas Masks are going to fit in with us going undercover, but point taken" smiled the Rat. "Ill keep my distance if you fart" she said with the faintest snigger. She couldn't resist it! "If you can fly, the Ratcopter will sure be handy" she said to Akhona. A moment or two later... The Ratcopter was parked across the street, on the roof of a two story e-media business that had no idea that a superior soviet spy helicopter was on the roof. There it stood, a one-man micro sized helicopter made of stealth materials, invisible to any radar. Its rotors and engines equipped with sonic-supression technology, it was virtually silent. The Rat showed Akhona the equipment. As a helicopter, the controls were fairly standard, bar its speed and smoke-screen. What made it such a magnificent beast for spying was its array of sensors. It was fortunate that Akhona was so smart. The microphones could analyse and pick up all spectrum of frequencies, even able to compute the sound hitting material objects. In other words, it could hear through walls! "So, I guess we all have our suspicions about whats going on here" she told Venomax, Akhona, and the Black Mamba. "More to meet than meets the eye. Even my eyes" she suggested. "But if there is a theft happening, I bet there will be answers there. For now, I suggest that Venomax and I go undercover inside. Akhona, if you feel you can fly my helicopter, then you can try and work out whats happening here. I can keep in radio comms with you..." she tapped her head. "I happen to have a communicator in my skull" she explained, hoping they did not think her crazy. "And the Black Mamba. Well, that armour may not suit undercover work, but it looks like you are our heavy artillery outside?"

GM "Gragh!" Greenfingers' vocalisation was prime example of who vexation could thwart eloquence. Still, the hair going this way and that caused her to redirect her anger. Perhaps, even, mute it. Just a hint. She pointed an accusatory finger at Gossamer, intent on verbal fury, but not - at least not quite yet - physical violence. "I'm just minding my business! Doing research! Science! Seeing what can be done with cross breeding and genetic mutation! He is the one that steals!" she finished, pointing at Smokey. "Liar!" hissed Smokey. "Aren't you meant to arrest him or something?" asked Greenfingers at Queenie and Gossamer both. "All I did was create a high potency unstable biofuel from mutated orchids! And he purified it into...a glorious bomb!" she snapped, letting an adjective slip rather lazily from her lips.

Indeed! Or that can be fluffed however you wish. Like the grip not strong enough, or you pulled off a boot instead of a foot.

In case needed Intimidate: 1d20+15 33

Starshot "My thinking exactly". And they had a pirate or two captured. It was time for interrogation. Making sure his captive was securely bound, and had no tricks up sleeve (or elsewhere), he gave a little shot of omni-stim to wake him up. "Scum" he started, helmet on, voice modulated to be deep and threatening. "If you want to walk out of this mess with your skin still attached to your body, you are going to answer every question I ask. We can skip the bit where you start bartering and negotiation. This is no barter, this is no negotiation. I am Starshot, and I keep my word. And my word is this... If you talk, you live. If you don't talk, you will wish you were dead..."

Grapple Roll: 1d20+16 25 unfortunately, she is too strong! Just to keep track: Queenie - Unharmed - 1 HP Goss - Unharmed - 1 HP We are kind of out of combat right now, as Smokey and his bandits are captured by the force construct. Greenfingres is more angry than aggressive.

No sweat guys, sounds like you have both had real bad weeks. Just checking this had not dropped off the radar.

GM North was a bit surprised at the AI, and given the rather worrisome experience he (and Replica) had had with AI only a few days ago, he was also nervous. But, to his credit, he rallied quickly. "No..thank you" he said, a speck of mumbling in his normally erudite voice. "We are quite fine" He had indeed had a nice cup of tea and an English Breakfast at Heathrow Airport just an hour or two ago. He took a moment - or several - to inspect the rather splendid Headquarters of Vanguard, and compose himself. I just hope Mother Board...whomever he...or she...is, doesn't get inside THIS AI too. The gridlock had been bad enough. Goodness knows what VERA could do. On the other hand, he reassured himself, the firewalls and protective systems on VERA where surely of a higher calibre... I Hope...

Can I give you guys a nudge!

OOC for this! Featuring Synapse and Replica. @Cubismo, I will assume Replica has repaired her bullet wounds. If you fancy any temporary glitches from the repairs, feel free to add them in as temporary complications for this thread.

GM October 10th, London The WEST jet was a converted 747. It was jam packed with sensory equipment, libraries, laboratories, computers. THere was space to live and eat in there. It even had a fish tank. But no jacuzzi. Doctor Norris North, director of W.E.S.T (World Exotic Science Taskforce, an arm of the UN) had flown Replica there. They had only just saved a valuable and dangerous batch of Darwin-X from theft by the mysterious Red Dawn. The soldiers who had tried to take it, whilst clearly Russian, clearly highly trained, seemed to have no memory of anything to do with their mission or their masters. The only tangible clue was Mother Board, the name of the hacker who had orchestrated the Gridlock that had allowed the theft. After landing, North and Replica took a famous black London Taxi to the HQ of Vanguard. "I have somebody in mind. Synapse. Genius member of the Vanguard, the supergroup of this area. She is highly skilled with computers and has some experience with Darwin-X, I understand. If anybody can help us, she can. So lets put on our best diplomatic hats, and see if we can persuade her..." He rang the doorbell of the Vanguard HQ. "Hello? Hello? May I enter? This is Doctor North, from the United Nations..."

OOC for this As this is a direct follow on from the prologue, Wrong Groceries... Dust Devil II - 3 HP - Unharmed This will, at some point, fuse with Sting in the Tail and get Venomax into the picture. For now, a bit of Lovecraftian horror and mystery!

GM Down South, by the Magic Mesa In the midst of the desert and rock, stood a tower of black stone. The sun blazed low, and cast long shadow on the ground. Insects and dry weeds scuttled and clung to the dirt, and vultures flew overhead, looking for bones to pick clean. Bones there were aplenty, but dry and white and devoid of flesh they were. The Dust Devil landed in this land, travelling from Freedom City through the sand. Here, he had learned, was Abdul, the occultist and leader of a band of merry bohemians who had discovered some strange leaf that, if smoked, sent the brain spiralling through space and time, and rotted it with madness whilst doing so. By the Mesa, space and time started to become strange. They became stranger still as one approached the black rock tower. It would take considerable skill to navigate through this strange land, but fortunately, this was the Dust Devil. And he could navigate with ease. By the dirt was a buick, dry and damage from smoke inside. Iniside a young woman lay unconscious, dry, and near death, sprawled on the back seat wearing a summer dress bleached from light.

GM The nearest construction site was suitably near. And the sand was suitably silicon. Through strange eldritch power, through stranger eldritch dimensions, the Dust Devil felt the Mesa, and felt space (and other dimensions) flow past him until... Well, that is another story. But to the Mesa he went. That strange nexus through stranger realms, through dreams and visions, through the past and future. Through twisted corners and spiralling passages. And as he travelled to the Mesa, to the flat broken dry earth around it, he beheld a vision of a scorpion. ~ Fin ~

GM And so... As it turned out, the Irate Pirate was painfully ignorant of information. He was a medium level hacker without the wit to understand he had been played. Mother board, who ever she (or possibly he) was, had played him well - manipulating him with fantasies of hitting the big time via her help. Sure, he was being as helpful as he can. But as it turned out, that wasn't very helpful. North passed on the three soldiers to the FBI for questioning. For now, it was a win. An imperfect win, for one had got away, and presumably had plenty to say about Replica. But, the AI system was back to normal, the traffic started to flow again, and a large shipment of Darwin-X had been saved from theft. "I have an idea" said North to Replica. "Somebody I think we can ask for help..." ~ Fin ~

GM "I should clarify, the rules apply to those signing the Codus, not those who have not. Whilst I do not condone killing of any kind, personally, if the oath is to have value it must be equitable. The rule is not to kill an immortal who has signed the Codus. Tit for tat, as they say in London" "As for the future, do not despair" he said kindly. "It may be millions of years, nay, longer, before the fates conspire to make you commit such horrors. Tis the nature of infinity that the almost impossible will eventually come to pass. Consider this before you lament to deeply; the measure of your life shall be the proportions of your actions. A thousand years of virtue and one moment of vice be a great boon for the universe" he explaied, kindly. "Besides, your immortality may be beyond your control..."

GM And so... Twas another short drive in sunshine and dust. The landscape here looked even more desolate, with only dry vegation sparsely littered on cracked earth. It stopped being flat and started being craggy, and soon Venomax was driving down a crevasse. Mr. Sting lived in what could only be described as half-cave, half-shack. It had a smoking fire outside, but if anyone was here, they were indoors, or possibly deep in one of the caves. Drawing closer, Venomax could see dried insects, particularly scorpions, decorating much of the outside of the shack. And across the smoking fire, something very insect like and large lay cooking...

GM "Sure is" answered the Doc. "Keeps things interesting around here, sure. Also drives men mad. Or inspired. Often both...me, I dont think I could leave now. Dont want to" he grunted through his gravelled throat. "Look, if you want to look into this scorpion, there is a strange fella. Stranger than even the strange folks round here. They call him mister sting. Lives in a shack about ten miles from here. By a canyon. Lives with his momma, who is mighty odd herself. Has a big thing for insects, and poisons. Look, freind, he is a dangerous fella. Plenty of nasty rumours about Mister Sting. But he collects scorpions, and nobody on this continent knows them better" said the Doc. "Just promise me you'll be careful. And pack a gun" he added. "Just in case. And I hope you got thick boots and can run real fast, too...."

GM "Schmblf--ha" mumbled Doctor Whitefish, picking up momentum to actually speak. He had a slow, quiet voice, his voice dry and raspy as if it was made of gravedust. "Can;t believe you actually came. Nobody believes me. 'All think I'm crazy. Crazy Doc Whitefish, the dentist. Think the sun fried ma brains or sumthin'" he croaked. "Here, come inside, in the shade. You don't look like you used to the sun, nor the desert..." Inside his shop was an old dentists chair. Perhaps it had been used recently, but it was spotted with rust and blood stains. Somebody must have been pretty desperate to use Doc Whiteheads services. Aside from that, it had a certain bizzarre charm. Old books, old posters, lizards and scorpions dried out and preserved. A chess board which had most of the pieces. "Ah been scratchin' out a living here for twenty years or more. This part of the desert, its strange, son. They say its home to the Magic Mesa. And they would say correctly. They call me mad, but I seen it...wonderful, strange, horrific all at the same time. Its where dreams go, and where dreams come from, I reckon. Folks round here, they dream some mighty strange dreams..." "And thats why the insects round here, they strange too. Now, you won't believe me, but I saw a scorpion big as a man two months ago!" he declared, fully earnest.

GM "What? Are you calling me a coward! Why I laugh in the face of danger! I spit in the teeth of terror! I am of course a pragmatic man, and respectful, and would not wish to deprive you of your glory!" declared Misi, quite pleased with his monologue. Fields rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately, I don't have that type of scanner. But, our police freind here has been in the house before. For completely honest and legal reasons, I am sure, and not at all to be paid off" The fat policeman ignored the jibe. The prospect of an explosion that levelled Cairo had quitened him down. He had family here, after all. "There is the main reception, kitchen, dining area, and some lounges on the ground floor. No cellar, as far as I know. On the top floor, the master bedroom, some guest bedrooms, and ah...an entertainment room. Where one might imagine people go to smoke, drink, and see pretty girls dancing..." He blushed.

OOC for this