Supercape

Rev / Lexa Venn Knowledge (Streetwise) (-5 if new to Freedom City, +5 if long time resident) DC 20: Rev used to belong in a street racer gang. DC 25: Called the Junkin’ Donuts; a bunch of teenagers and twenty somethings who stole cars and took them on joy rides. DC 30: The Junkin’ Donuts also repaired and modified cars. They were reknowned for doing ‘Donuts with cars. In 2017, Rev was involved in a major crash in a street race that was apparently cleaned up by AEGIS. Gather Information (+10 if has access to police records) DC 20: Rev has a criminal record. DC 25: This includes car theft, illegal car modification, and various driving offences. On viewing Rev with limbs “on display” (+5 if able to closely examine, +10 if closely examining with tools and devices) Knowledge (Technology) DC 20: Rev’s limbs have jet ports and appear able to extend / telescope. DC 30: The limbs are powered by high density fuel (not standard), and electricity. The jets are able to fire plasma, thrust, or fire. A good guess at effective strength. DC 40: The cybernetic attachments appear to be an infection with metallic origin bacteria. Fully understands the nature of her powers.

Synth [As grunt] It was a fair enough explanation. That didn't mean they were telling the truth, but it was totally coherent in Synths' eyes. He could only believe them. ["Sure. I understand. Let us be swift about it then!"] At least they had not cuffed him. Or pumped him full of drugs. That was, he imagined, a positive sign. And if they spoke the truth, he must be alert. SHADOW had long and strong arms. It was unlikely, but plausible, they could infiltrate Blackstone. And they would not even have to break him - although surely that would be there ideal. Just a few samples would be a gain for them. Reassured but alert, he pressed on.

The Red Rat That's not a very precise estimate! I was expecting millimeters! Her eyes HUD quickly flashed up the digital overlay map. It would be a long run - hopefully the mind controlled mob would not outrun her. Oh for a skateboard or something!. Mind you, in a woods that would be about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Fortunately the Rat was in a good, nay, excellent shape. The Darwin-X virus made her body respond most splendidly to her vigorous exercise regime. A little dash would be no problem. "Well then, time to outrun some zombies!" she proclaimed, determined. She threw away the axe. No need for excess weight here. Instead, she scanned the walls with X-ray vision, looking for a weak spot without a mob there. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled up her gun and set a high-ex round. Here goes nothing... She pulled the trigger and shielded her face, ready to run through the rubble and into the woods.

Rev 2007 Freedom City, Robinson Services Garage Lexa Venn was only seven years old, playing happily with her ball whilst her father worked in the chop shop of a certain Mr. Axel Robinson. It was an oily, greasy place, full of diesel smells and grubby mechanics, but Lexa did not mind. She liked the fumes, and she minded the dirt not one bit. Her mother claimed that Lexa actually liked it, and on this matter she was astute and correct. Perhaps Daisy Venn, her mother, might have disapproved. She was a nurse, and hygiene was important. But whilst she tutted, and sighed at the prospect of wiping the grime from her daughters face, she did not worry or fret. By her estimation it did a child good to expose to the dirt of the world. The shop was frequented by biker gangs, including the Blacksmokers. Whilst whispers of nefarious, and at times even infernal (literally) machinations bubbled and brewed in the chop shop, there was never any fear for Lexa Venn’s safety. Every clan had its code, and if anybody was misfortune enough to harm a hair on Lexa’s head, they could be assured that the Blacksmoker gang would harm considerably more than a hair in retaliation. One would expect that considerable dental work would be required after such attention. Every now and again, there would be the roar of engines, deep and wonderful. Sometimes loud, but Lexa was no longer startled. The fear had quickly evolved into a fascination. Sometimes it was a bike, sometimes it was a car. Even a speed boat, on one exotic occasion. Lexa loved her father, and by extension she had loved what he did. But soon, the love was more than just the penumbra of idolisation. She genuinely grew to feel at home amongst gas and throttles, clutches and cylinders. She ached for the day she could drive herself, or at least have a whirl on a quad bike. For now, she amused herself with watching, and learning which end of a spanner goes on what parts of a bolt. Every now and again, there was an inevitable misplaced swing or twirl of a spanner or some such like, and almost inevitably, there were tears. But every time the wail of a child shrieked through the shop, she would be picked up with love, consoled, and her distress soon waned. And every time, she would pick up the spanner again. 2017, Freedom City University Hospital Another day. More blood samples. X-Rays. A MRI today, which was a regular, but at least not daily, occurrence. Visits from lawyers, police, AEGIS, and various scientists from the Allbright institute. Nobody could quite put together what had happened. Both legs lost in an instant. Her right arm pretty soon after. They were trying to save her left one, but on the sixth operation now, and things were not looking good. Multiple fractured ribs and internal damage, but at least they had managed to stich her guts back in. Somehow her heart had escaped penetration. The spleen had gone. A lifetime of antibiotics beckoned. And amidst all this horrible loss for Lexa Venn (compounded by the realisation that she was to blame), she was in isolation, the esteemed Scientists of the hospital and AEGIS and the Allbright institute trying to work out what she was infected with, and why her shattered or absent limbs were being replaced by twisted metal. “The Mechaphage” they called it. Her mother tried to lift her spirits, despite a heart for of tears. But it was hard, so hard. The isolation did not help. How she yearned to hug her daughter, to kiss her. And maybe, deep down, to shake and beat her for her foolishness. But for all her mother’s bitter efforts, even Lexa Venn, full of joy, was now full of despair. What life awaited her? Crippled beyond endurance, for one so active. Her mother worked in the hospital, in the surgery department. She had tried to get answers to her daughters mysterious illness, but none were forthcoming, for there were none. A mutated bacterium, they said. Darwin-X, they whispered. But for all the cutting edge science, no answers. Wallowing in self pity, nay self disgust, from day to day, the horror was broken by tragedy. A plane crash, twenty miles north of Freedom City. A national disaster. Her mother was called away to help with the emergency care in the very same hospital Lexa was in. The injuries were horrific, not least because so many of the victims were children. The toll broke Lexa’s mother, who broke down in tears, and snapped at her daughter. Lexa was not the only with a missing limb. Not the only one with more than one missing limb. She had not had crushing head injuries, she was not on life support. She was not being fed through a tube in her stomach. She was not the only girl to have lost. This was no magic ointment. The road ahead would be long and paved with fear. But it was, perhaps, a turning point. She was not alone. She heard the stories of her mother. She followed, on the news, the stories of the aircraft. The failed engines. The mechanic in her seethed, and the enormity of the accident hit her. If only there was something she could do….! 2027, The skies above Freedom The call had screamed through the airways. The panic was almost palpable! The pilot had keeled over stone cold dead. One engine had failed. An impossible circumstance. What was it? Sabotage? Terrorism? An act of a vengeful God? In any case, there was no contingency for something like this. High above the skies of Freedom City, ten years ago to the day of a terrible accident (what portent! Screamed the superstitious) that had claimed the lives of so many, another plane was descending into the city on a plume of smoke, promising ruin and death. But perhaps not! Rev screamed through the air herself, on blue jets. He left behind a sonic boom and a lamentably smouldering remains of her favourite limited edition sneakers. Those days in hospital, and the airplane crash, had always stayed with her. She had met some of the victims, and it was heart rending. She had plenty to do as a superhero, but she always had an ear out for aircraft in distress. She landed on the wing of the plane, carving herself a hand hold. The heat was blistering but bearable. With one arm, fully resistant to the blazing fire, she reached into the engine. It was darned hard to see, but she could feel around. Mending an engine one handed on the wing of a plane that was gliding into a full blown crash was not, it should be said, an easy task. But when was aided by a heat-resistant telescopic limb equipped, with a multitude of wonderful tools, spanners (ah! Beloved spanners), drills and wrenches on every finger tip, the matter was considerably easier. It was even possible. Repairs effected and ground considerably, nay, alarmingly, closer, Rev smashed into the cockpit. She was not a pilot, but how hard could it be? At least both engines were now working. The screams of the passengers evoked more adrenaline, and hence inspiration. There was no engine she could not manage, she reasoned. Especially ones revved up. Boosted by her own cybernetic mechaphage. The engines screamed, and the wings wobbled. Rev struggled magnificently, and it lo, the plane slowly straightened. As it was, the landing was hardly clean or tidy. A significant amount of fuselage was lost, but no lives were. Minor injuries only, and a landing (such as it was) several miles away from urban density. All in all, thought Lexa Venn, a thrilling and wonderful ride.

GM And later... Arna gasped with relief when Mr. Hale woke up, putting her hand to her mouth and giving him a hug. And, it should be said, a kiss not completely devoid of amour. Quite the opposite, in fact. "The American. The Texan. He pulled you out. Stronger than an ox, he was!!" she said, gratefully. Behind her, Joe Powder tipped his hat. He looked pretty singed and beat up, but he was made of stern stuff. His two revolvers sat in his belt. "Mah pleasure, ma'am. Mah pleasure. Yer boy here, he got the blood of an Ox in him. And ah should know. I seen pur-lenty of his blood. Gotta say it boy-ah, yer got rare grit. And ah don't go sayin' that about any old nobody!" he grinned, a wide grin full of yellow broken teeth and rustic charm. The sailors had set up a kind of camp by the crater rim, the professor was taking samples, keeping her head down. There were grumbles of discontent about Lord Crane, a wasted expedition, and payment, but they seemed content enough to have their own skin intact.

Rev And damn you are tall. Rev felt like extending her legs a few inches. Damn that, a few feet. She could at least have been some ungainly clumsy nerd. But no, she gets a real set of pins. She cracked her knuckles. They ground a little. Needed oil. She gritted her teeth. Cyborg limbs were great and all, but it was moments like these she realised what she had lost. "Nice moves" she said, forcing a smile to ooze out of her churning gut. "I think my ballet days are over" she said, looking at the chrome and steel of her body. "Maybe tap dance?" she joked, giving a little clunky effort. "I'm Lexa. Everyone calls me Rev. At least, most people do" she introduced herself. She didn't quite know how. She gave a little bow come courtesy. "This is my new friend, Alexa. I am guessing you and Pacer here know each other?" she asked. "Unless this school is really big. Or are you guys new too?"

Rev "Nice! Blur-Girl suits you, though. I mean, you are a girl. And a blur. A girl who blurs. A blur who girls" smiled Rev, noting the ice cream. She was more of a tomboy herself. Hanging around with petrol fumes and fast cars. It was a miracle she hadn't got a tattoo so far. Although plenty of time for that. Perhaps Blur-girl, I mean Pacer, sneak her out to a tattoo parlor later. No. Don't push your luck. Not too far, anyway. "Alexa, I'm no genius, but maybe I could help you put your laptop together?" she offered, still lamenting the crushed device. And maybe I could paint the moon pink.... ...actually, maybe I could paint the moon pink, with a little help from Blur Gi----Pacer. "I used to repair cars before..." she looked at her metal limbs. "...before stuff happened. I could at least hold your soldering iron. Or something. You know, just to make up"

Synth [As grunt] "[No!]" he answered, resisting now. This had gone far enough. ["I don't know who you are. Or where you are taking me. If this was official, we wouldn't be moving fast, or silent...."] she said, a little softer but still urgent. Still defiant. ["I would love to get out of here. I shouldn't be here in the first place. But I am NOT marching into the hands of SHADOW. I would rather rot in prison. I would rather die...!"] she said, a trace of fury now. ["So give me some answers. Or you will have to knock me out and drag me. Or at least, you will have to try...."]

Wow. I'm not even going to roll that! Its down and out! Feel free to narrate and feedback damage you wish.

GM "My Sweet Lord! What the dang are you? An angel?" gasped Snowbird as the Bird of Arms swept down and gave her a good clobber. She seemed perfectly happy in the snow, and seeing through it. She spun a 360 in the air from the blow and landed, ungainly, on her feet, wobbling to the left, then wobbling to the right. "Those wings are darn pretty in the snow!" she mumbled, her blonde hair long and ruffled and she shook her head trying to clear it. "But I gotta clip them, angel. I got my partner in arms to rescue! I guess it would be from those feathers of yours!" she said, trying to piece her scattered cortex back into place. "I gotta admit you got a helluva left hook! Felt like Billy Frogface with a sledgehammer back at the ranch!"

Even with Blind Fight there is still a 10% concealment miss chance! (19-20) Concealment miss chance: 1d20 12 miss toughness: 1d20+10 18 the DC is +4 from autofire, so a DC of 26. This makes her bruised and stunned, and also knocked back 7-2 = 10 feet. Not too significant (but still!) Round 5! 20 Spitfire, Staggered, Bruised, Injured, 2 HP 17 - Flare, Bruised 13 - Snowbird, 10' from BoA, Dazed, Bruised 12- Bird of Arms, Staggered, Bruised, 4 HP 10 - The Plebs. Spitfire is up.

Rev "If you can fix that mess, you can fix anything" sighed Rev. She was impressed through. She never really got the hang of computers. "Uhh...yeah, well I can eat later" she continued awkwardly, not quite understanding the ice cream licking blur later. "I mean, thanks and everything. But I am like pretty grounded..." Haha.... "...Like, forever. Well, maybe for the first week here, anyhow. Or first day. Don't want to get thrown out of school". Like, seriously. "So like, maybe the canteen or something?" she asked, cautiously. "I was only joking about the steak and fries. Thanks for London, though, Ill make sure to fly there one day!" she smiled at the blur. "Who are you guys anyway? Megabrain and Blur-girl?"

Yep! Back to 1 HP!

GM But alas, the warning was too late. Oh, the lamentations! For the sword crackled with green energy - the same pulsing liquid lightning that lay, veined, throughout the meteor. Lord Crane screamed. There was the smell of burning. His hair stood straight up, and exploded from his scalp, leaving him bald and smoking. Even his eyes lit up with crackling green light. And then he fell, burned, singed, dying, his heart stopped quite dead, and the still-electric Sword by his smoking body. Joe Powder gave an almighty grunt, possessed of enough grit to stop screaming, but only by impressive effort. He fell to his knees, dazed, his hands seared, and the two guns falling into the water, still crackling with energy that appeared to fry the water.

Ill hand wave the effect on Lord Crane, who well get blasted and is now dying. And Joe Powder is hit by a damage 12 effect from his guns (10, +2 for having two of them!) Toughness vs Gun feedback: 1d20+7 17 vs DC 27 makes him staggered and stunned. And Black Knight is up again. The Sword will still be crackling with energy and painful. So ill call that a DC 15 toughness save (Damage 0) to pick up, and a DC 5 Will Save to actually have the grit to keep hold of it.

Resists disarm: 1d20+1 21! But unfortunately that will not go to his favour. Post that IC and ill drum up the next surge of power!

Rev "Huh. Well my name is Lexa. That's a little bit really terrible! Nearly the same name" smiled Lexa chuckling. "Everyone calls me Rev though". It had stuck in the chop shop. It would stick now, surely. "Sorry about your laptop" she apologised, hefting the bag away easily. "And I don't do sugar" she said to Mona. "Fuel. That's a different matter. Mainline in straight in my neck!" she laughed, pointing at the ports at each side of the neck. "So if you know where I could refuel, that would be awesome. Plus, you know, a good steak and french fries. That would be pretty awesome too. I guess they don't do beer here, huh?" she asked. She had drunk a little. Under age. Criminal. Even got drunk. But she never really drank a lot. Just to be cool. She realised she better kill that knee jerk reflex pretty quick. "Huh. Don't worry. I'm not here to drink. Alcohol, anyway. I was being serious about the diesel though!" She wondered if she could actually use alcohol for fuel. It was kind of possible, maybe?

GM The knife fitted into the meteor crack with a fine fit, creaking into the metal inside. There was a liquid green light inside, that throbbed like a heart beat of dire virtue. "Please, please! This is my fortune!" begged Lord Crane, his hands pressed together. "Please God, give me justice!" he prayed to the skies. Next to him, the Black Knights might sword thudded to the ground, splitting it, with its handle upwards. "Aha! Vishnu be praised!" gasped Lord Crane, seizing it by both hands. He hefted it with some difficulty, and raised it to cleave Mr Hale in to. "Now! Justice be well and truly ser....hmmm...serv.....hmmm....SERVVVVVV!" he screamed, as the sword stayed immobile, refusing to strike. "It ain't going to be slicin' for any old body, Sir. Not even your high and mightyness!" laughed Joe Powder, as he unloaded both Guns into the meteor with a maniac glee.

So lets give that a cunning auto crit due to using narration effectively! This makes it a Damage 11 / DC 26 effect, Saves vs Knife: 1d20+10 22 makes it injured! Round 6: 28 Lord Crane - Unharmed 18 Midnight Spear - Unharmed 11 - Joe Powder - Bruised 11 - Black Knight - Bruised, 0 HP Meteor - Toughness 10, injured Weapons will fall to the ground again. This time, Lord Crane will pick up Aldonite, but of course it will not obey him (restricted feat). Joe Powder will pick up his guns and fire on the Meteor: Meteor saves vs bullets: 1d20+9 29 and fails miserably! Meaning Black Knight is up again!

Ronin What the seven hells was that? Ronin instinctively ducked as he saw the flash of light from within the church. But he felt no shockwave, heard no explosion, and the glass did not explode outwards. Still, his heart damn near blew out of his chest and he felt a cold sweat in his palms. Damn...never going to get use to bombs... Or perhaps he was to used to them. Spent half his time in the army disarming the damn things. Saw some hell when they went off. Kind of carnage a man never forgets. Hell, Jack lost his legs to one of them. Whatever was going down, it had just dialled up to ten.

Rev Back to school, then... Rev dropped her cases. They were heavy. She cracked her knuckles. They cracked magnificently. But then, they should, they were metal. She had spent the last month under the "care" of AEGIS who had quizzed her about the crash, quizzed her about her crimes, and prodded and poked her limbs to check the mechaphage was not, actually, contagious. It appeared not to be. The only person it had infected was Lexa Venn, 17, high school drop out. And the only way she could avoid Juvenile correctional facilities (which would surely have lead to escape and outlaw status) was Claremont. It seemed fair enough to Lexa. She was glad of the second chance. She had screwed up. But she was worried about screwing up again. She picked up her two bags again, slinging them onto her shoulders. Each weighed close to a hundred kilos, but she handled them with ease. All her worldy goods. On balance, she would have preferred her old limbs back. The touch, the feel of them. But she had to admit, having rocket powered cybernetic limbs was pretty cool. And the flying. Oh! The Flying! She walked up to registration, feeling a bit self conscious. Screw 'em...she thought to herself. She was only seventeen but had been street racing and running in chop shops. She had more cool than anyone else here. But of course that was what she told herself. What she felt (even if she could not admit it) was another thing altogether. "Hey guys" she said, stopping by Mona and Zhu and dumping her bags with a resounding thud. "I'm the new kid. The screw up one" she smiled. The perceptive would notice a hint of shyness amongst the street cool. This was new territory and uncertain ground.

GM "I think you got my point!" quipped Flare right back at Spitfire. Outside, it started snowing. Sort of. A woman swooped in, dressed in a blue and white spandex number, her cape the shape of wings upon which she glided. Impressive technology, if indeed it was technology and not some magical animation. It looked rather pretty. As she landed, snowflakes cascaded from her body into the sky and slowly started falling. They were very pretty too. And made it hard for the Bird of Arms to see more than a dozen feet in front of him. "Gosh darn it. I'm always pulling your ass out of the fire...Snowbird to the rescue, once danging more!" she drawled as she landed.

Makes Spitfire Bruised and Injured (and staggered) We move onto Snowbird, the partner of Flare, who swoops in and lands at the entrance, and it starts raining pretty snow. This snow now causes partial visual concealment outside the casino. And then, Bird of Arms is up.

Stuff goes here Reputation Table 20 Q Vignettes Anniversary Vignette

Synth So...fast it is.... Synth slowed his pace just a fraction, to their beginning pace. The fact that retinal scans and finger print scans gave a hint this was sanctioned. But, he supposed, any system could be defeated with skill and will in tandem. The thought of the outside world after months incarcerated was tantalising. The yearning was there. But it was also mixed with a soup of other, more complex emotions. He felt wiser and older. But how would freedom affect him, now? No. No room for thinking about freedom. Not at the moment. Focus on the present. ["Are you taking me out?"] he asked, a fever creeping into his voice.