Supercape

Could you throw me a stealth roll?

Rev Rev was not one to turn down a cookie. Or two. A cookie was a good way to win her over. "I don't really know what this is, ma'am" she replied. This was a bit of a lie, for she barely had a clue. "We certainly don't want to get your...urrr....baby....into any kind of trouble". Well hell, except for the kind of trouble which involves having some sun on your face rather than your face glued to a video screen. "In fact, we want to get him right out of trouble!" she added. "Thing is, we don't quite know what the trouble is! Could you explain it to us?"

GM The cloud frothed when encased in the electromagnetic field, but was held. It seemed agitated, in its bubbling activity, but on the other hand did not seem to resist or try to break free. As far as the Doctor could tell, it was not sentient. Reactive, possibly, but not sentient. At best, it had a slug like intelligence, and even that might well be a generous estimation. The descent to Vision Inc was relatively quick. And he was met by a rather tired looking employee, Spencer - tall, wiry, balding and officious, who had Ratchet in tow. Trying to orientate him. "Oh sweet Lord, another visitor? How many today?" sighed Spencer, throwing his hands up in the air as the Doctor arrived. "Wow! Doctor Deoxy! This is some crazy day, huh, Spence? I mean, like, total freaking freaky!" grinned Ratchet, hopping from one foot to another. "I mean, it is you, right?" he asked the Doctor. "I'm not having a flashback to Henrietta's moon-party in Dehli? I had some really suspicious Dhal there, you know? I still don't know what kind of stuff she put in it..." he gasped with a moment of fear.

GM The cloud's edge seemed ragged, like a frothing foam. Its nature seemed to be slightly distorting the electomagnetic spectrum around it. The Doctor could imagine it would be hard to see with the naked eye from the ground, and perhaps impossible with radar. His hand swiped through it easily enough. It was like a cloud of dust, rather than vapour. Not nanobots; well, not exactly. Like fragments of a shattered kitchen ceramics. tiny little purple tinted fragments, held together by some strange force. As he swiped his hand through, the cloud reformed straight afterwards, frothing a little more, somewhat agitated. But this was transient, and it soon resumed its previous activity - whatever that was.

Toughness Save: 1d20+10 21

GM "Wow! Its you! I mean...its you!" spluttered the Prince, his face breaking out into a smile of rapture. He patted himself down, as if just realising that he ought to check for burns or holes or oozing blood. "No...no...I am alright, thank Allah! What a terrible business!" he sad, sadly, wringing his fingers. "It was going so well! You put an amazing show, by the way! Never seen anything like it! Oh, you must come and give me an um...private performance for my birthday!" he said, trying to claw some prize from the state of affairs. "But we can't go down! Did you see those drones? They have LASERS! on them! oooh....I feel quite faint at the thought..." he jabbered, sitting down heavily and patting his forehead. "Can I have a glass of water?" he asked, feebly.

Rev "Hands off the Kid!" snarled Rev, determined to protect Lawrence. Man, what a day... ...at least we are causing energy expenditure...I mean...that's something....right? She seized the cat (Who had in turn tried to grab Lawrence) with both her hands and held her overhead. "Its like, I am always going bowling with you, Zhu, you know?" she sighed at her friend. Then she took aim at one of the attackers in front of her, and threw the cat creature hard and fast through the air. Her cybernetic limbs barely felt the strain - this was easy enough work for her, and her aim was satisfyingly true!

Attack grapple Not Zadvian: 1d20+10 14 for a grapple and throw, which misses! Ill burn an HP as Rev has several to reroll that Attack Reroll: 1d20+10 12 with the HP reroll that makes 22. If that hits, grapple check: Grapple Check: 1d20+22 34 And if that wins, finishing off by throwing NZ into the number 9 on the map. Throws enemy into 9: 1d20+10 28

GM And meanwhile... Dr Deoxy was making his magnificent approach to Freedom City, and more specifically, Vision Inc, when he came across a cloud. A regular cloud, this was not. Not your typical fluffy white one, not even your dull streak of grey. That would have been unremarkable. This cloud, had a most purple hue, was frothing, gaseous, and maybe twenty five feet in diameter. It seemed to be blurry, or distorted. And it was hovering a few miles above Vision Inc, as if it was spying on the proceedings...

Rev "Yikes! You know I don't actually do that, yeah?" said Rev. Even she was shocked at the level of ultra-violence in the computer game. Flattered as she was, she didn't really feel uncomfortable with the fountain of internal organs bobbing around the screen. "So, ah...how come Leon and the Denim guys, how come they are suddenly super strong and can toss my friend around like a feather? I mean, I guess its not super powered Denim. Or super powered Mammoths either? Something's got them souped up like a V12 engine running on raw plutonium" she ventured.

GM Block Head nodded (As well as he was able to with his most peculiar head) thoughtfully. He appeared, at least for the moment, distracted from his urge to build. "It is hard for me to understand all of this marvellous and overwhelming machinery" he explained. "I have spent my entire existence locked into building. It was happy. I felt purpose, and satisfaction in driving forward with that purpose..." He shuddered. "All of this is both exhilarating and nauseating. As if I was drowning in the world" he said, flailing his arms uselessly. "I cannot absorb it all. I feel lost and...frightened? Yes, frightened...." "What does this mean for me? I know have an urge to understand myself, an urge that I never felt before..."

Activating Partial Concealment from Void Array.

Lament The Fog was a mixed blessing, thought Luther. He could not see what was out there. And they could not see him. Hopefully. But not necessarily. Which meant... Summoning the void from the depths of his psyche, where it lived in parasitic agitation. Through muscles and sinew and fat and skin, until the black purple manifestation oozed out of his pores, shimmering. He felt its hunger and determination, now, stronger than before. It was an effort to keep in check, but with the Void betwixt' his heart and his skin, he faded from view, hard to see, hard to sense, not fully of this world. So shaded, he walked forward, through the fog, as bold as he felt able to be...

Initiative: 1d20+7 25

If of any value, taking 20 on Knowledge (Tactics) to get a 26 result, to try and understand and captilise on the tribes tactics.

Starshot "Shame" replied Starshot. "But it does bring my mind to the subject of tactics. Namely, do we have any?" "I would prefer the element of surprise. We must seek to fight on our terms, with every advantage. Surprise, distraction, misdirection. It has been some time since I have been a solider" he explained, thinking back to the grim dance of world war 2 "but I have not completely forgotten. How does your tribe fight in a war?"

Rev "We cannot hand him over" said Rev, bluntly. "To anybody. And as far as Zhu and I are concerned, his destiny is his own to forge, and nobody else's" she added. She ignited the pilot lights on her palms, ready to fight if need be. "Zhu, I don't know which way to turn, but if the dice drop, then I'm siding with the lizard" she offered. "Seems the best bet..."

Rev "Hey, I don't know" replied Rev, bamboozled. "I don't even know if they are guys at all!" She was looking from left to right, trying to work it all out and not making any sense of it whatseoever. "All I know is that we gotta protect Lawrence. Easier said than done, I guess. Especially as we don't know what we are protecting him from. But as long as we are by his side, I guess we are doing something at least half right" she concluded. "I guess he wont escape you" answered Rev, uncertainly, to the strange figure. "You seem to follow wherever he goes. What do you want from him?"

Starshot "Poisonous as well as acidic, I guess" muttered Starshot to himself and Emodora. He flipped down his helmet, partially to assess the situation, partially because he didn't want to chew any trailing tentacles. He flipped through IR and UV modes, and gave an X-Ray scan of the creature, although if it was a Jellyfish - or related - the scans would be dull and useless. To Soreen and Laark he continued. "Looks like acid is a common trait for the fauna here. I would guess the flora too. Best be on the alert for that, or we will need some top grade plastic surgery for the scars..." He mused a possibility. "But we could use this to our advantage?" he asked Emodora "these creatures would make fine distraction when we attack the pirates? Can we point them that way? or draw them to the camp?" Even if not, that acid might be a handy way to make the arrowheads effective against Pirate bi-lattice mesh armour...

Bloody Mess Vera Crow, 86, Recounts her tale of Bloody Mess, and the Hound. Would you like a cookie? I baked them. Burnt them a bit, I am afraid, but I still make the best darn cookies on Willowfield Street. Except for Greg Burns. I’d kill him to find his secret ingredient, I would. Wait…gosh darn it, he died last Summer. Or was it the summer before? Can’t rightly remember. Guess we shall never know how he made his cookies. The Fens ain’t a bad place. Not really. We have a sense of community, of sorts. Now, I know we ain’t rich here, least for the most part. But we stick together. Well….for the most part. Eh, for the most part. Not always. No, not always. We got our bad eggs. We got our rotten apples. And sometimes, we get even worse. It ain’t just people that poison the community these days. No, we got gangs, we got businesses, clubs, organisations. Worse thing is, they do things legal. Or at least try to. How we meant to fight that? They got lawyers and money and muscle. What do we have? Well, I tell you what we got. We got Bloody Mess. The Bloodhound detective agency. They take on local cases, big or small. Try to get as much money as they can from you. They often do. That other fellow, what’s he called? Dogman? He’s a greedy little runt, I can tell you. But not Bloody Mess. The Mess stands up for us. Makes sure they take on deserving cases for a discount. Sometimes free. Let me tell you about this one time… It was spring. Or summer. Can’t quite remember. Blazing hot, I remember that. Like Satan himself had his hot breath on Freedom City. You could hardly move without fainting, it was so hot. I swear it. And the smell, oh sweet Mary, the smell. Do you remember the smell? You couldn’t forget it. I never shall, and my memory ain’t so good these days. Oh, and I should tell you about the smell! It was terrible! It was worst round here. Something vile. People started getting ill. Rumour spread pretty fast that someone was dumping chemicals in an abandoned warehouse. Cheap, I guess. A few bribed officials cheaper than disposing of it properly. So, a bunch of us went to Bloody Mess and asked him for help. That little toe rag scrawny guy of his, he asked for cash, first. Then asked for our silver. But he soon shut up when the Mess gave him that look. You know, the look. The “Shut the hell up and do what I say look”. And it worked, too. Now, I gotta say, and the Lord Jesus forgive me for being so cruel, our Mess…well, he ain’t a smart cookie, is he? Say, do you want one of my cookies? They are bit burnt…no? Oh well, suit yourself. Now, he got the heart, has the Mess. But not the brains. And, credit where credit is due, that friend of his, when he puts his mind to it, it’s a pretty good mind. Took him just a day, or maybe two, and he had tracked down the company. They went knocking on the company door’s first, of course. Due process and all that. But they got stonewalled. Just came hard up against the cold iron face of business. Even got threatened with law suit, I understand. The Mess had to be practically dragged out of the building, he was so worked up. Ever seen him pumped up, that blood of his belting round his body? Looked the strangest thing. We all thought he was going to explode, and that wouldn’t be pretty. Not pretty at all. So, they got kicked back to the dirt. But Mess, well, he ain’t one to give up. Not when his blood is pumping. And he certainly has the blood. So, he goes direct to the source. Tries to get some evidence. He goes to the warehouse. Now, its guarded too. No trespassers, that kind of thing. Sure, he could have smacked the two goons about a bit. But…now, no offence, he ain’t too bright, we all know that, but what he lacks in the brains department he makes up in heart….well, anyway, he’s a bit slow, the Mess, but he seems to know how to stay on the right side of the law. Even if he don’t know the law that well. Guess that’s what his partners for, the Dogman. He used to be a cop, so he knows all about due process and evidence and all that. Kind say I understand it all. But you don’t want to end up a wanted man, I guess. Cookie? No? well I’ll help myself one, even if they are a bit burnt, gosh darn it. So now, nobody can prove nothing. And nobody round here is going to drop the Mess in it, ya understand? But we all pretty much knows. The Mess sneaked in. Well, not exactly the Mess. You ever seen him do his trick? It ain’t pretty to watch, that’s for sure. I only saw it once, and I ain’t ever having blood pudding again, I can tell you. So he kind of throws up his blood. Gosh, it’s awful to see. Gives me a bad tummy even think about it. Anyway, he does his business, and then there is this horrible little blob of blood. And his body is all kind of shrivelled. That little blob of blood, it’s perfect for sneakin’ you see. And the Mess, well he snuck inside the warehouse and took some evidence. Proper evidence, with a camera and everything. Used his head for something other than head butting, just this once. We all know it was him, but can’t prove anything. Some funny witness statements, vague, rumours, gossip. The police, well, they might have been ordered to investigate a trespasser. But they didn’t look that hard, you see? I guess they use some judgement. They want to catch crooks, not the crook catchers. So, the dumpsters got caught, and the chemicals safely disposed of. The Fens ain’t ever going to smell of roses, but it stopped smelling like the backside of Beelzebub. We all breathed a sigh of relief. Literally. I mean, we could breathe again without feeling like we had snorted a line of sulphur. Thing is, the Mess never really got thanked. Not official, anyway. He got plenty of high fives and some home cooked meals – boy that boy can eat! – but never any public congratulation or recognition. Or, I suppose, his buddy the Dogman. Gotta give credit there, even if it does burn the lips saying the words. The Mess would be lost without him. But I don’t think the Mess minded. The Fens know what happened, even if they can’t proper say it. The Mess might not have a medal – he broke the law, I guess – but he earned respect. And he seems happy enough with that. He grew up in the Fens, its in his blood – all that boiling super powered blood – and he seems just happy to make the Fens that little bit better. That’s my story. Feel free to take some cookies home with you. And if you tell the cops what the Mess did for us, then feel free to ram that cookie right up your…

Flux "Fascinating..." Flux pondered the information, various nightmare scenarios forming. There was potential for much utility, of course, both scientifically and sociologically. But most of all it was, as he said, fascinating. "I would very much like to see the data on these wormholes, commander. I suspect I may be of some help. If nothing else, I could map them for you fairly easily, I think..." he offered. It would be a relatively straightforward exercise, with the right data and sensors. He could link various points in spice time, and study them remotely. But he was procrastinating. Or maybe it was more? He felt a little spice of guilt. He had tried to help the Lor, and perhaps had. But also, Sorek was dead, Sorek who had tried so valiantly to rescue him...

Rev Oh hell........ A thousand curse words swam through Rev's head. And a flashback to the crash she had. That feeling of paralysis just before the inevitable impact. "Noooooooo!....." she gurgled through mumbling lips. With a huge adrenaline soaked surge of effort, she fired her Jets again...launching her forward but not upwards. "Graaaaaah!" she creamed, and moved her legs a little, aiming the Jets downwards to slow their fall. Just in the nick of time, too. She landed, with Zhu and Lawrence with an almighty clunk that, whilst jarring, was at least not lethal. "Oooh...they teleport....the sneaks!" she grumbled, starting to move again. "Well, they won't take Lawrence without a fight, I'll tell you that!" she proclaimed, feeling defiant, even if the odds were pretty loaded against them.

GM Block head calmed down a little, although he was still agitated. "Not hours? Good...good....I had thought we had to wait for your friend..." he explained. He took the memory putty out and started playing with it. "Hmm...fiddly...yes....fiddly..." he said, but he did appear interested if not calm. Without taking (at least one set of) his eyes off the putty, he continued speaking through another face. "I would still be most keen to see your Foundry. And you can tell me about your friend as we travel!"

Starshot Starshot listened attentively and respectfully. Some aspects of their culture fitted well, some less so. He was not a family man, nor would he ever be. For him, one was defined by ones actions, not by ones bloodline. It was interesting to hear how long the pirates had been on the planet. A long time, although one could not be precise about it. The odds seemed reasonable, if not ideal. He had expected worse. Seeing the tentacles he grunted in a mute way. They looked frightening, but that did not mean they should be. "What's that?" he asked Ermorda, pointing. He reached out for Phalen's blaster rifle, just in case, although he would have preferred a machete...

GM "The Foundry, where you produce...." stuttered Block Head "..which must mean you build!" said Block Head, quite unwilling to accept any other explanation, which would surely be most troublesome. "I...." he spluttered now, hands clenching and writhing "...I have not been building for several minutes. I...do not think I like this feeling. It is very...difficult..." "difficult...difficult....difficult...difficult..." echoed the four other faces, now out of synch. This was a sure sign of a troubled mind, such as it was. "I must build. I cannot wait hours!" he imploded, standing up and stomping his feet. "I am, therefore I build, I build, therefore I am! I am the distilled sentience of a building, magnified and enhanced! I MUST BUILD!!!!" he screamed, furiously.