Supercape

Synth Well, shoot. Synth quickly tore of a good wind of uniform, wound it round her fist, and punched out the glass. He presumed there would be alarm; silent or blaring. One way or another. And he wasn't going to hand around for the cops to investigate. He had a minute, tops. But fortunately he was fast, his nerves slick like lightning, every muscle quick and strong. He moved without error to the clothing rack, and picked up the best clothing he could find. Changing was fast, his nervous system perfectly coordinated. And as quick as he could, he was out, senses alert for the sounds of sirens or cars. He did not wish to run, but would if needed. For now, it was a fast walk, and slowly changing his appearance to a gruff old man. With big bushy grey beard. He did not change fast, but did change, risking a nasty ache in his bones, but not enough to incapacitate him.

Rev In Rev's mind, there was no question. This had to be something. OK, so it wasn't exactly an armoured truck...but tinted windows? the timing? "Got a suspicious car, tinted windows, stopped bang on the X" she explained to SFX on the phone, then stuffing the phone back in her pocket. She sauntered up to the car, whistling a tuneless song, trying to be cool. Well, she had been in more tense situations, but this was exciting. She felt the sweat. Maybe it improved the makeshift disguise! Gotta think positive! She tapped on the tinted window, driver side. "Hey, open up! Gotta move you along! Grade 3 construction works going on here!" she said, full of bluff....

You guys (whoever is trying, or if you wish the aid action) may want to go for a diplomacy roll. Qoutsa is currently indifferent.

GM Quotsa grew a little concerned. "Yeah, angel wings, there are a few of us in town. Nobody wants Latin Ink or Chopper here. Or Happyman. But we ain't soldiers. We ain't gonna get gunned down by the Ink, or decapitated by chopper" He didn't look angry or violent, but he did ossify a bit. "I ain't gonna help you drag some brothers to a grizzly death, you hear? Me, I'd just wait till Chopper and Ink take each other out, then we pick up the pieces. Was the brains off the streets, and blood off the walls. I don't want the tribe digging more graves" he explained. "If we need to, well, I got a back up plan. But best thing is to wait it out". He shrugged, smoked a bit, and sat down, waiting for a response.

GM "No! Stop playing! Listen to me! LISTEN TO ME!" screamed the voices of the speakers, but they were drowned out by the sheer volume of Kitty Riot and the wailing shredding guitar of Wayward. Up, down, spiralling melodies and riffs, the machines went. "PULL THE PLUG! PULL THE DAMN PLUG!" screamed Zyte, trying to shut down the recording equipment. To no avail. Eventually Zane! His surfer dude bodyguard, picked up the malfunctioning media system, all speakers and tubes and glistening computer screens, and with muscle and extreme, effort, he hurled it off the side of the building. "No...No...YES!" shouted Zyte, not sure if this was a good thing, or a bad thing. He concluded, quickly, that it was both. "Lets get out of here!" he added, indicating by the power of mime, to Kitty Riot and Wayward that the transmission had concluded.

Ok the opposed skill bonus is +16 so even with a 20, you win!

Starshot Starshot gave a big smile of satisfaction and dropped his spear, feeling the sun on his face, the pearls of adrenaline soaked sweat. This was the high, and he knew there would be the taint of crash later, but he had learned to savour the moment for what it was. Thankyou he told the Ul-Mor, keeping it short for now. He congratulated Laark and Soreen on their efforts. "Now, we must delve into the mysteries of the tribe and the planet. And, eventually, work out how to get off. In the Xeno, ideally" he added, not wanting to leave the Yacht vessel abandoned. In any case, it was their best bet. "Let us not rush the matter. A feast, perhaps, or some other ceremony. Let the truth flow out like a stream, without us drilling too hard, or too fast..."

Starshot "Watch the eyes. Watch the legs" hissed Starshot to Laark and Starshot, as he circled in the sand. He moved from one dummy to the next, getting behind the beast so the three of them started to attack from different angles. "Stay by the dummies!" he added, following his own advice and positioning him a few feet away. Two spears left. With a quick movement he hefted one into his right hand and took another throw. The legs seemed relatively unprotected...but the head was were he wanted to sink the tip!

Starshot's going to circle behind the beast and behind another dummy as a move action, then throw another spear. Throws another spear: 1d20+12 30 another bingo.

GM Quotsa nodded slowly, lighting up another suspicious roll up. "This guru guy, they call him the Happyman. Yeah. He kick-plenty-trouble-big-style" he said in Faux Native American pidgin. He laughed. "Relax, fella's I just speak like that sometimes to rope the tourists in. If I think they have more cash than brains" he shrugged. "Normally they don't have cash or brains" he conceded, a bit sadly. "If town comes back to us, I ain't complainin' Hell, I get you free supply of mushroom for the next five...no, wait, three years" he said, bartering himself down reflexively. "We would try it ourselves, even bought some guns from some crazy red head a few months back. Except they kept exploding in our faces" he added, angrily. "But we ain't gonna stand in your way, if that's what worries ya. Hell, Ill pull up a chair, smoke a mushroom, and watch the show when you do..." he added, helpfully, a smile on his face.

Bloody Mess Sitting in he Chevvy, the Hound smoked furiously. "Damned if I'm going in there, pal. They might have guns. You know, the things that are loud and spit bullets. You know, bullets, right? The really fast things that split open your lungs and splatter your brains?" he asked, chewing the inside of his mouth. "Yeah, I know. Been shot a few times, ya know..." groaned the Hound, stepping out of the car. "You just sit there, Harry, I'll go check it out" he offered. "Yeah, you do that, Freddy. I'll scoop up your brains from the walls when you are done" said the Hound, not looking. The Mess gave a little chuckle and crinked his neck. "I'm the muscle, remember?" he laughed, and cracked his knuckles. The Bloody Mess was not just the muscle, but the fists too. "But I reckon I should, like, sneak up on 'em...you know what that means!" he grinned broadly. "Oh Jesus no. I can't watch..." said the Hound turning away suddenly. But like a moth to a flame, his head was tugged around by his need to see, and he caught sight of the blood draining out of the Mess' mouth, leaving a dry, dessicated corpse. And a foot high homunculus of blood stood beside it. "Back in a moment!" he waved, and leaped off to investigate.

Mr. Murk Mr. Murk nodded quietly, slipping into English. "Oh I know the stories. Some of them might even be true, I dare say. But I have cannot say any desire is unnatural, merely cruel, kind, or pleasurable, it is only the former that concern me" he explained. "Nothing really shocks me after witnessing the indulgences of Pope Alexander VI" he explained. "And I have seen much of similar". The Murk melted away, and he appeared as he was. Homo Nandethalensis! "My name is Ebenezer Murke, although I was not born as such. I have had many names, and was born fifty thousand years ago. I am immortal, and, as I understand it, so are you..."

Mr Murk "A fair point" replied Murk, nodding in agreement. "And on this matter, I am in full agreement, for oft has the law lagged behind the world, and oft has the world lagged behind the people in it". "That is a problem with law, as you say. That whilst a good law can stop bad men be cruel, a bad can law force good men into cruelty" he said, examining the problem again. "I no not how to answer this, other than to say you speak the truth. To my mind, law must mutate and evolve, it must be scribed in ink rather than carved in stone. The law should be beholden to those it serves, rather than behold others unto it" he explained. "In other words, it must be rewritten" he smiled generously. "By concensus rather than ego, if you worry that I would take role of dictator on this matter. Perhaps you might consider it a constitution, given we are in America" he nodded to himself, pleased with the analogy.

Mr. Murk For the time being, out of the sunlight, Mr. Murk was clothed in the murk, softening his features. He looked like a blind old man in a tweed suit. A human being. He would discard this cloth in time, but his appearance was not best for first impressions. "Good evening, madam. Thank you so much for coming" he smiled at Klara when she arrived in the dining hall of Club Immortus. He looked straight at her, followed her movements, despite white milky blind eyes. "My name is Erasmus Murke, so glad you could come. I am a lawyer, by trade. Businessman, too..." he explained, ordering some wine (Merlot) from the attendant. "Madam, you are a most intersting woman!" he said broadly, relaxing in the leather chairs of the dining room. "I have heard much about you. Quite the history, I am sure. *Would you prefer Russian, such a wonderful language! forgive me if I am a little out of practice...*"? he asked, in Russian. He spun the accent in subtle ways; giving it the tones and inflections of the Russian lands that Voin grew up in. A feeler, to see if his suspicions were correct!

Mr. Murk Murk sighed. "On that, my fiend, I share your sentiment, entirely" "But" he explained. "Sentiment is the root of both great evil and great good. I do not deny Sentiment, we must embrace it. And yet, paradoxically, apply the brakes to it. The greatest gift to humanity is empathy, the care and love that one has for another..." He frowned though, reflecting on brutal years gone. "But the next greatest gift to shield from suffering is law. A code to bind, to protect against sentiment turning sour. Rage, hate, envy, all these things..." "I would hold every immortal to account, you understand. The very worst, the very best, and every one in between. But I would hold them to account fairly, protected from the rages and envies of the mortal world. Not mortals, no, for many are not slaves to those passions, but the world can be cruel..." "Is it self-serving? Maybe. I would not know how to answer honestly. I would not say it serves me, as an individual, more than it serves any participant. But you level an accusation that is both fair and pertinent, and one that I have oft, and still do, consider. Are we above mortal men, and so above there laws?" "There is no simple answer. We are not above mortal men, nor below them. But we are a minority, and an envied one at that. I suppose, if I was to speak truthfully, I do not have complete faith in the justice of the world in this matter..." He looked as he felt, disconcerted. "It is a weighty matter. The codex could well go ill, but I fear it would be iller still to be without it. Yes, my friend, I suppose it is self-serving, but many good things are. The question, I conclude, is not whether it serves one person, or many, but whether it harms more than it serves?" "I cannot kill, no matter how vile the act. Only in the most dire of circumstance, and not from vengeance. However, if you are referring to some abominations, such as the undead, or eldritch powers, then I would destroy them, and, my friend, when I have had to, I have..."

Codex Immortus: Voin Zhenshchina Soho, London, 1961 Verily, 'twas a most pleasant summer evening, with long shadows from dusky red sun, and the air, in those days, was not quite so $£%" as it had been in years before or years hence. This was London, greatest city in the world. Home to the swinging sixties and everything most splendid that circled that decade of style and hedonism. Club Immortus, London, was the oldest of the Clubs, and arguably the most splendid. Paris had better food, Freedom City had better function. But the club in London had a lovely feel, of warm old wood, crackling fire, and musty smoke. The Library was full of wonderful old tomes, some extremely rare editions, and even some very dangerous eldritch texts that would threaten the brains of any reader. Mr. Murk had money and contacts everywhere. Operating from the shadows, he had tendrils in many pies. Much of it was due to hard work, grind, experience, and canny judgement, mixed with a true skill in making friends (or in some casing exerting leverage on useful enemies). His visions of the future had, of course, considerably helped. An invite had been sent to Voin Zhenshchina, for an evening drink. The Ministry of Powers had been most helpful in procuring this invite. Steak and wine, straight from Paris. Mr. Murk waited patiently in the dining hall, mulling over his Russian. A bit rusty, but still there.

Mr. Murk "A blink, yes, I suppose it is" agreed Murk. "But when I think of the years past, let me tell you, this age is alive, like none before. Better, too! the refinements of politics, law, philosophy, religion. I do not say that naught has been lost, for there are problems too, the drowning of the soul, the loneliness, but my! how the injustices and horrors have ablated. Even in your time, I think, you must agree..." "As for Club Immortus, please consider yourself a guest. It is at your disposal" he offered. "Should you ever need it, although a man of your resources, I imagine will rarely find the need" he said, warmly. He found Frost quite the charming icicle. "The only condition would be to refrain from violence here. This is safe ground for all immortals. A final refuge, you might say. They will be held to account of course, but I consider it a final safety net against inhumanity" he added, a bit more seriously. "But as to that, what thought do you have to the Codus Immortus? Some have signed, some have not. I do not claim it is without issue, or without conflict, and I do not claim it without flaw. It stews in my mind like a bubbling broth. But still, by my best judgement, it is better present than absent" he concluded. "I would listen to your advice, if you have any. I would be pleased for you to join, but hold you in no ill regard if you did not"

Rev "North, got it!" said Rev. She was actually pretty good with directions. Went with racing. She went to the north side, wondering if she was actually the right choice. Zhu's disguise was much better than her half - baked mess, but on the other hand, when it came to bluff and bravado, she figured she had the edge. She stuffed her phone, connected to Zhu, into her pants, and tried to look busy, waving the odd car this way or that in an official capacity. That wouldn't cause much suspicion, as long as she didn't screw anyones day up. Stopping a van, now, they were sure to ask questions... Well, if they did, she would try to bluff her way through them. And Zhu was there as back up. And if not, well, she would just have to use force!

Mr. Murk "And to you, my friend" said Murk, warmly. He handed Frost a cigar, just like the ones they had smoked all those years ago, in Berlin. "Do you remember? I can still taste the brandy" he sighed, taking a sip of his own glass. "Not quite the same, alas, but pleasant all the same". He offered Frost a glass. "What do you think of the place?" he asked Frost, in reference to the modern club house. It was metal and leather and glass, modern and clean. Lacking the antique homeliness of the other Clubs, but making up in sharp and shiny lines. "I am, as I am sure you can appreciate, not much of a stylist, but the seats are comfortable and the food and drink, dare I say, equalled only by the Paris club, to which, may I say, you are always welcome" he smiled. "I have consolidated my contacts and business over the years. Tried to be more proactive. Sometimes successful, sometimes not" he sighed. "'tis a Frustrating life, but as my vexations have doubled, so too have my satisfactions" he explained. "Ever must I move in the shadows, for that is where my strength lies, but with greater vigour. Perhaps the world needs the vigour of the vigilant more than ever. Atomic bombs, Viral weaponry, ah! The potential for calamity was never greater!" He leaned back in his leather chair. "And what of you, what have the years woven into your soul? How have the decades flavoured your philosophy?"

Rev "I like it!" replied Rev, snapping her fingers into a thumbs up, and giving a little pop of a blue flame from the thumb tip, as was her signature sign. She slipped her sneakers on with the other hand. "That's a pretty neat trick" she acknowledged. "Would fool anyone! I mean, you look totally different!" "So, you just got to act like a construction worker now. You know, lazy and slow but a bit of a swagger, you know?" she said, wondering if the shy teenager could pull it off. Nothing like experience as a teacher, of course! "I am in your hands. As for which side? I don't know. What does google maps say?" she asked. Already she was trying to look and act more like a construction worker. She leaked a little oil, and smeared it on her cheap t-shirt and a few blobs on her face and arms, just to give her a greasy look. "How's that? I hope you can whip out some strong detergent when we get back!"

Starshot So will throw a spear: Throws Spear: 1d20+12 30 cool! Move action: Run behind one of the dummies.

Rev Rev looked down at her metal feet. "Sure, I just gotta put my sneakers back on. And hope I don't need to burn through them..." she sighed. There was a reason she always bought the cheapest sneakers she could. "I cant afford to burn through too many...Ain't got a dime to my name!" she chuckled. A slight hint of nerves. Rev was brave and bold. And broke. One of the few things she stressed about was money. But that wasn't going to stop her. "Got the T-shirt and the jeans. Just need a yellow hard hat and a jack hammer, or something. Can you rustle those up with your gadgets?"

Rev "I doubt it, not at the speed we were going!" said Rev. "Although If I find any, Ill make sure to post it on facebook" she added with a wink. She hoped Zhu got that was a joke. "As for stopping that armoured truck, we could dismantle it pretty easy, I guess! Take off the tires, break the engine" she speculated. "I could pick it up whilst you do something clever!" she finished. She activated a hand jet, and a blue plasma flame about a foot, maybe a foot and a half, burst out, thin and hot. "Or I could cut it open for you?" she offered. "Honestly, I'm fairly smart. But compared to you, I'm a dunce. So when it comes to master plans..." she shrugged, looking at SFX hopefully.

I don't know how this fits in with initiative etc, but if Starshot gets a good early sight of the beast (and he is without helmet for this), he will prepare an action to throw a spear as soon as in range, and then depending on ranges etc, combat?

Starshot Starshot smiled at Soreens comment. "Fight with what you will, my code is my own and not for me to enforce on you. It will probably kill me one day, but make it more beautiful to live whilst I do..." With that he hefted a spear in his right hand, whilst his left clutched two more in reserve. The Quickdeath was fast, and armoured, which was not good. The spear might shatter or break on its plates. But there was no time for regret, just the cold focus of adrenaline that flooded his body with excitement. "Here it comes...here it comes....split when it does! And remember the eyes! remember the eyes!!!" Soreen and Laark had been, of course, kept fully up to speed with the advice of the Ul-Mor and the use of the dummies. Split and decoy, decoy and split. But for now, first strike...as soon as the beast was in range, he launched a spear, straight at the beast, and quickly moved, fast and agile, like a panther, to behind one of the dummies. The eyes...the eyes...he whispered to himself, keeping his gaze locked...