Supercape

Rev Power Level: 10 (180/180) Unspent Power Points: 0 Trade-Offs: None (+4 Attack/-4 DC for Plasma Jet) In Brief: Street Racer Cyborg Alternate Identity: Lexa Venn Birthplace: Freedom City Residence: Freedom City Base of Operations: Freedom City, Clairmont Occupation: Student, Mechanic Affiliations: Clairmont Family: Daisy Jenkins (Mother, Nurse) Catchphrase: “Jet, Set, GOOOO!” Description: Age: 17 Apparent Age: 17 Gender: Female Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5’6” Weight: 100 Kgs Eyes: Red Hair: White Rev is a young woman who usually wears cheap casual clothes like t shirts, and jeans. Her only oddity is white hair and red eyes (although she often wears sunglasses). She is often barefoot (because her jets will burn through shoes pretty fast), but does wear sneakers she can kick off quickly if need be. With power use, her artificial skin peels / burns off and metal cyborg limbs are revealed. Rev has two ports on the side of her neck, which she can use to pump fuel into her body. History: Lexa Venn grew up a good kid, decent grades, friendly, outgoing. Bit of a tomboy. Her dad was a mechanic, her mother a nurse. That all changed on her 15th Birthday, when her Dad was killed in a shootout between some cops and a pair of cheap thugs. She didn’t go completely off the rails, but she certainly slid half off them. She fell in with a street gang called the “Junkin’ Donuts”, who specialised in joy riding and street racing, and rebuilding or modifying scrap yards cars. They weren’t a totally bad lot, just thrill seeking anarchists (As opposed to violent). Lexa had enough skill driving and repairing cars that she was pretty valued. After leaving high school early (aged 16) with disappointing but not bad grades (“could have done better”) she ended up working in an auto shop part time and hanging around the Junkin’ Donuts full time. And then, she took a race that would change her life, against an alien tourist. The tourist, a racer himself, used a “Mechaphage”, a strange metal based cybernetic bacteria that integrated biological and mechanical components. He used this to literally “become one with his car”. He would have easily won the race, but Lexa would not have that. She called in her Donut friends who spiked the street with an oil slick. Next thing, Lexa and the Alien had an almighty crash. The alien died, whisked away by AEGIS in the aftermath. Lexa suffered horrific injuries, but slowly recovered, her broken, missing, or shattered limbs turning to steel, her hair turning white, her eyes turning red. She had been infected with the Mechaphage! Personality & Motivation: Rev is a thrill seeking, adventure loving woman who “Rev”els in her power. However, despite her need for speed, she really doesn’t have a bad bone in her body (mind you, she doesn’t have that many bones these days). She is generally a kind, loving kind of person, and has plenty of sympathy for others. Her motivation is thus simply to use her power helpfully. However this is not always simple; she can come into conflict with her own desire for power, or she can find herself torn in whom to help. She will tend to help others she knows, or has a personal investment in, rather than abstract helpfulness (on a geo-political or philosophical level, for instance). Her major hobby and interest is pulling apart engines and rebuilding them. And driving cars very very fast… Powers & Tactics: Rev has many machine parts, but mainly they are her legs and arms that are now fully mechanical. Her limbs can extend out and her feet and hands (and to a lesser extent the rest of her limbs) are loaded up with jets she can fire to fly, increase her strength, or use offensively (as a plasma cutting instrument). One limitation of her jets is that they require normal oxygen levels: They will not function at high altitude or underwater (for instance). Rev can “Rev” engines with touch, increasing their power and performance considerably by temporarily infecting them with the Mechaphage. For instance, she can boost a car to travel at 5000mph! Rev is reckless but smart in a fight, meaning she will charge in without planning, and with a love for speed. But once in a fight she is not stupid – over confident, perhaps, but not stupid. She will use her powers in reasonably inventive ways. Power Descriptions: Revs limbs are telescopic (if they do, see “Skin Job” complication), able to do so up to a hundred feet. Rev’s limbs can fire jets. These are mainly in her feet and hands, but she has a few lesser jet ports in her elbows and knees. They will fire blue plasma at her mental command. She can focus this fuel to massively increase her functional strength, at which point all her limbs will have a fiery blue glow deep inside them (and her artificial skin will peel off). Complications: Skin Job: Rev has artificial, plastic derived skin over her limbs, which tends to burn off during strain or damage, showing clearly metal limbs (making her recognisable). In addition, whist her hands have reasonable touch receptors (a little less than a normal humans), the rest of her limbs have very little or no touch sensation (meaning she could be insidiously damaged or affected without her noticing). Tanked up: Her limbs usually operate on electricity which she can spontaneously generate. However, using the Jet array requires fuel. She has to pump fuel into her body (either drinking it, or – more efficiently, by piping into a portal in her neck). Refuelling also means refining (to ultra high grade energy dense variants) which she can do in her body. However, this does mean emitting (from her jets) a rather unpleasant methane smell. Oiled up: In addition, Rev needs to apply lubricating oil to her limbs once a day or they will grind and be very noisy (making stealth impossible, for instance). Being in water or dirty environments will also cause grinding until she applies oil again. Very long periods (weeks) without lubricant will slowly make her limbs seize up altogether. Overcharge Burn: Her “Revving” boost is not reliable. She can break, rather than boost, engines. A typical overnburn problem would have the engine working a few rounds and then failing (or worse, exploding). In any case, protracted use of a fully boosted power (at boosted level) is likely to strain or damage the machine. Other possible amusing problems might be losing breaks (and enforcing full speed), steering, or getting blinded in the vehicle by belching smoke. Full Speed Ahead: Rev loves going at dangerous top speed, either by driving or flying or anything else. This might include inappropriately using extra effort just to go faster (especially if she needs to be the fastest in a race…) Total Jerk: If hit by electricity, she will experience brief violent jerks in her limbs. She could accidentally drop or throw something, fall prone, or just flail about. Magnetic Vibes: Strong magnetic fields, or magnetic powers will also affect her, giving her a lingering fine tremor to her hands. This stops her from any fine manipulation. She could not accurately type, press a button, and cannot be precise with her plasma jet, let alone use craft or disable device skills. Junkin’ Donuts: Rev still has ties with her street gang, and is conflicted about it. This can get her into trouble or be a source of emotional vulnerability (still wishing to look after them). In addition, Rev has some minor crimes on her rap sheet; joy riding and traffic / road violations. Whilst she loves to drive cars, she is banned from doing so. Red Eye: Rev has dispersed pigment in her eyes which means she is unable to “see” Red (instead, she picks up infrared). Re colours thus “appear” black to her. This could potentially cause problems with things like traffic lights or being unable to see in red light (or seeing badly during sunset). Abilities: 20 + 6 + 4 + 4 + 2 + 6 = 42 Strength: 30 (+10)* Dexterity: 16 (+3) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 14 (+2) Wisdom: 12 (+1) Charisma: 16 (+3) *Effective Lifting Strength Combat: 20 + 20 = 40 Initiative: +7 Attack: +10, +14 Plasma Jet Defense: +10 (+10 Base, +5 Flat Footed) Grapple: +21 (additional +5 from elongation, additional +12 with “Fuel Injection” Power active) Knockback: -5 Saving Throws: 5 + 7 + 6 = 18 Toughness: +10 (+2 Con, +8 Protection) Fortitude: +7 (+2 Con, +5) Reflex: +10 (+3 Dex, +7) Will: +7 (+6 Wis, +1) Skills: 60R = 15 PP Acrobatics 8 (+11) SM Bluff 4 (+7) Craft (Electronic) 4 (+6) Craft (Mechanical) 8 (+10) SM Disable Device 8 (+10) SM Drive 8 (+11) SM Intimidate 4 (+7) Knowledge (Pop Culture) 4 (+6) Knowledge (Streetwise) 4 (+6) Notice 4 (+5) Sense Motive 4 (+5) Feats: 11 PP Acrobatic Bluff Ambidexterity Beginner’s Luck Evasion 2 Grappling Finesse Improved Grapple Improved Initiative 1 Luck 2 Skill Mastery 1 (Acrobatics, Craft Mechanical, Disable Device, Drive) Powers: 8 + 5 + 1 + 1 + 27 + 8 + 1 + 1 + 2 = 54 Boost 4 (Any mechanical trait, Extras: Affects Objects only [+0], Feats: Slow Fade 4 [1 Hour], Flaws: Others Only) [8 PP] “Rev Engine!” Example Common Uses Elongation 5 (100’, Range Increment 50’, +5 to Grapple/Escape Artist) [5 PP] “Servo Limbs” Enhanced Trait 1 (Feat: Improvised Tools) [1PP] “Inbuilt finger tools” Immunity 1 (Light based visual dazzles) [1PP] Jet Array (25 PP Array, Feats: Alt Power 4, Drawbacks: Power Loss 2 [Low 02]) [27 PP] “Jets!” BP: (Corrosion) Damage 6 (Feats: Accurate 2, Precise) Linked with Drain Toughness 6 (Extras: Affects Objects, Feats: Accurate 2, Precise, Slow Fade 1) [9 + 16 = 25/25 PP] “Plasma Jet” AP: Damage 8 (Extras: Area [Burst], Range) [24/25 PP] “Fuel Bomb” AP: Dazzle 8 (Extras: Area [Burst]) [24/25 PP] “Jet Flare” (Light descriptor) AP: Super Strength 12 (+60 Effective Strength) [24/25 PP] “Fuel Injection” AP: Flight 12 (10,000 mph / 100K’ round, Feats: Moving Feint) [25/25 PP] “Turbo Jet” Protection 8 [8 PP] “Sub dermal plating” Quickness 3 (x10, Flaws: One task [ Repairs]) [1PP] “Inbuilt finger tools” Super Senses 1 (Infravision) Super Strength 1 (+5 Effective Strength) [2 PP] DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch Toughness 25 Damage Plasma Jet Touch Fort 16, Tough 21 Drain Tough, Damage Fuel Bomb Ranged/Burst Toughness 23 Damage Flaring Jet Ranged/Burst Reflex/Tough 18 Visual Dazzle Totals: Abilities 42 + Combat 40 + Saving Throws 18 + Skills 15 + Feats 11 + Powers 54 = 180/180 Power Points

2007, Freedom City “Haw Haw....I’m fightin’ a goddamn dwarf!” Hector Diaz laughed a mocking laugh, and he was not alone. Half the warehouse, full of crooks and thugs and drunkards, laughed with him. They gladly threw money on Hector winning in the first round. The more astute did not laugh, and put their money on Fred Furlong. Fred was barely over five foot, and Hector was well over six. But on closer exception, Fred was wider, stronger, like a slab of muscle waiting to explode. For all Hector’s bravado, the astute could see. One punch from Fred. One good punch, and Hector would be out cold. Possibly worse. Perhaps reach would win. Hector clearly had the advantage there. But Fred, for all his thick stumpy strength, was not slow. And he was not unskilled. He had footwork, he had the bluff, the feint, the combinations. And he had the determination. For the observant who looked beyond the height, this was not a fight Hector could waltz over. And for the more observant still, Fred was the favourite. Ding Ding! Came the bell, to the sounds of cheers and bellows for blood. It was not pretty. Fred moved well enough, but lacked the reach. Hector slammed two solid jabs at Fred, and there was a crunching sound. But Fred barely moved. He was solid as an oak, his thick neck unmoved. “What da…?” started Hector, now unsure. But alas, his monologue was cut short. Three punches, to the ribs, to the jaw, and a hook that slammed Hectors head sideways. His knees cut out from under him, and he fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The crowd fell silent for a moment, not quite taking in the brutality, the brevity. Then they erupted, with cheers, with boos, with all manner of emotions. Cheated, elated, surprised. Fat Jimmy was not sure whether to be pleased or vexed. He was the organiser of these underground fights. It had made him fairly rich, and fairly respected. An ex-boxer himself, he had found himself more gifted with his words than his fists. Now, one could hardly tell he had been sweating it out in the ring himself, bar his broken nose. He was sweaty, he was obese, and all athleticism had deserted the sinking ship of his body years ago. “Damn freak dwarf! He’s a goddamn mutant! I want my money back!” screamed a livid young punk. “No refunds” said Fat Jimmy firmly, nodding to his rather large body guards who loomed in on the youngster. Whilst the punk was in the wrong, for one could not return a losing bet, Fat Jimmy did concede to himself that the young man had a point. There was something a little off about Fred Furlong. He looked odd, for a start. Nobody should be that short and that wide. What to do? Fred was an attraction. An asset. But word was creeping around like a virus. Something unnatural about him…. Fat Jimmy fiddled with his thumbs, pondering what to do. And as fortune would have it, an answer presented itself. “Fine boy you have” said the thin man. He was the upper end of middle aged, elegantly dressed in a suit, tie, and hat, and Fat Jimmy recognised him as a Mafia man of considerable influence. “Yes indeed, Mister. Yes indeed!” he said, with plenty of enthusiasm but no commitment. “Handy with his fists. Fast, too, for a man of his unusual strength” “Yes indeed!” replied Fat Jimmy again, aware that he was babbling but without the will to stop. “Man like that. Could use a man like that. Plenty of opportunity for a man like that…” smiled the thin Man. “Sure, sure. But he is doing fine right here” smiled Fat Jimmy, instantly regretting the words that spilled from his lips and wishing dearly he could stuff them back down his lungs. The thin man said nothing. “But who am I to stop a young man’s ambitions” gulped Fat Jimmy, stumbling over his lips in a dash to get the words out fast enough. “I am sure he is a great career with the maf--- with you, I mean. Sure. Great career. Career. Great. Sure…” he gabbled, his fingers fumbling. “I am sure he does too…” smiled the thin man. 2017, The Black Pit Bar, Freedom City… On a dirty grim Tuesday, the kind of Tuesday that drains the soul with grey, Bloody Mess and the Hound sat drinking in the Black Pit Bar. It was a bar well suited to the languid bleak Tuesday, a home to drunken despair that permeated every fibre of the professional burn out. It was where cynicism swam in the bottom of a whisky bottle. “Hey, isn’t that Fat Jimmy?” asked the Hound, slouched over some whisky. “No way! Look at him!” replied Bloody Mess, huddled over his third stout. It was for the iron, he claimed. The Hound needed no such façade. Fat Jimmy it was indeed, bald, old, and shrivelled. He looked as thin as a pile of bones, which was in fact virtually his condition. There wasn’t enough fat on him to fry and egg. “Fat Jimmy, is that you?” asked the Hound in hushed tones. “Yeah, I’m Fat Jimmy. Only not so fat, now” croaked Jimmy, his skin hanging off him. He took a sip of his beer sadly. “What the hell happened, man? What’s your secret, huh? How you lose the weight?” asked the Hound, who, in his middle age, was finding his midriff slowly sagging. “Cancer” replied Jimmy, coldly. “Yeah, that will do it…” mumbled the Hound, feeling stupid. “Hey, is that my boy over there? Freddy? Huh! Looking good Freddy!” smiled Fat Jimmy, a trace of a smile on his mouth as he raised his glass. “Yeah! Looking good Jimmy!” lied the Mess. “Haven’t seen you in…years. Eight…Nine…Ten…” he pondered, counting on his fingers. “Ten years. Yeah. When you went to work for the Italians” sighed Fat Jimmy. “You were a good kid. Always fond of you. Should have kept you. But, you know…” “It worked out ok, Jimmy. In the end…” sighed the Mess, full of pity. Fat Jimmy was hardly a good guy, but he wasn’t a bad one either. And the guy looked finished. Jimmy was not so sure. “Maybe it worked out ok. But I threw you out. Got you shot up, from what I here. Should have kept you” he sighed. “You would have got shot up yourself then, Jimmy” replied the Mess. “Least I managed to stand up again” he smiled, encouraging. “Yeah, I heard” smiled Jimmy, faintly. “But I’m dying. And putting a few regrets to bed ain’t a bad way to spend my final days. I shouldn’t have let that happened. Boxing, it’s meant to be to build character, not to grind it down. Meant to be about sweat and hard work, and accomplishment. Not as a tool to knock teeth out” he said, serenely. “I remember you did some dentistry back in the day, Jimmy” said the Hound, although not unkindly. “That I did. Can’t say I should be giving advice. But can say what I regret” countered Fat Jimmy, his final days giving him a breath of serenity. “So keep that in mind, my friends. Make the world a better place, make yourself a better person, and leave more than dust when you die!” And to that, glasses were raised. 2027, Freddie’s Gym, Freedom City As a boxer, or as superhero, a man can only take so many knocks to the head before he hangs up his gloves, and Freddie Furlong had taken plenty. So for the past year he had retired. Did a bit of work down the emergency departments during major pile ups, helping deal with trauma. Sometimes it helped. Often, it did not. He had bought the same warehouse he had fought in, twenty years ago. Turned into a boxing gym. The hound ran it, and constantly told everyone how it was a good move. More money, less danger. The Mess knew that the Hound itched to be a detective again. Two thick set hoodlums in suits were talking to a young man called Carlos. Sixteen years old, thin, and full or wiry spring-loaded muscles. The Mess thought he was the best prospect for the big time in his gym. Hard working, fast, dedicated, and with an Iron Jaw nobody could crack. Trouble was, Carlos got into trouble, and his family was good at keeping him there. The Mess bristled as he saw the two hoodlums talking to Carlos. He didn’t catch more than a third of what they were saying, but he didn’t need to. Twenty years ago, the Mafia tried to recruit promising streetfighters with tales of women, wealth, and sharp suits. Hadn’t changed much since then. The Mess had lost his hair, and wasn’t as fast as he had been. Old age had taken the edge of his reflexed and his strength. An injury these days took a week rather than a day to heal. But that said, as he stomped up to the two men, there was no suggestion that he would be anything other than a handful. He didn’t even bother pumping the blood into his muscles. He was still strong enough. He was still fast enough. Reaching up, he grabbed the two mens’ head, and slammed them together. There was a most unpleasant crunching sound, and the two fell to the floor out cold. “What you do that for, Freddy?” yelped Carlos, taken aback by the sickening power of the impact. “Cos’ they needed it” smiled Freddy, sitting down on their bodies quite content. “You shouldn’t listen to them, Carlos. Ain’t going to let you make the same mistakes I did…” “What you mean, Freddy? You were a damn superhero!” said a confused Carlos. “I was that. But I was other things too. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a man called Fat Jimmy….”

GM "What in the darn darning darnation?!?" swore Joe Powder, looking at the sword in his hands. He was big and strong enough to use it, but...as he put it... "I'm a gunslinger, not a darn meddy h'evil knight!" He started, unsteady and unsure towards the meteor, staggering past the silent and observant Midnight spear, giving a few experimental swings of the sword. Lord Crane, forgetting the wolves, turned his knife on to the Black Knight, not yet striking, but wild eyed and cunning, his knife poised over head in an exotic fighting style. "Leave that alone! It is a fortune! A jewel! I must...I mean, the Empire must have it!" he demanded. "I'm warning you....!" he added, his fever overriding his mind, for he had witnessed the power of the Black Knight and now seemed to forget it.

Round 4: 28 Lord Crane - Unharmed 18 Midnight Spear - Unharmed 11 - Joe Powder - Bruised 11 - Black Knight - Bruised, 2 HP 9 Wolves [4] Unharmed Meteor - Toughness 10 For reference the "Anarchy Guns" are Device 5, with one power: Blast 7, Penetrating, Homing, Affects Insubstantial 1, Improved Critical 1. Lord Crane will use aim action on Black Knight, and speak - he is still carrying his knife. Midnight Spear not acting yet. Joe Powder will charge at the Meteor, just moving this round. Black Knight is up again, now carrying the above guns!

Lord Steam "A frazzer, is it?" asked Lord Steam, studying the device. "Well, I for one hope it is not needed" he added. "Violence is rather unpalatable, I find. And lamentably, often violent" he said with a wink. "As for a hostess, I dare not say. Idel speculation, at most. Anyone in her position is likely to be, arguably, required to be, deceptive. And not even deliberately. But skilled in masks, if required. Any surface impression must be acknowledged but discarded. It might be true, or it might be designed to mislead. One can neither take it as true, or false" "Besides, to every soul, an infinite number of facets that glint in an infinite possibility of lights. The most common error in judging the character of a gentleman, I conclude, is to reduce that character to a unrealistic and inaccurate equation. And above all, we are prone to attribute state rather than trait" he concluded, mulling the issue. "Eyes and ears open, then. Wait for the jigsaw to assemble!"

Tricked out by the Absurdist Ronin 16 PP to spend. Adding complication: No Mod Cons: Ronin is a skilled mechanic, and keeps second hand cars modified and running. But they are built for utility not comfort. His vehicles don’t have any luxuries like CD players or air/con. At best, they have a slightly bad quality FM radio. 5 PP Skills +4 Ranks to Craft (Structural), for a total of +8 (+11) +4 Ranks to Intimidate, for a total of 12 (+13) +4 Ranks in Gather Information, for a total of 8 (+9) +2 Ranks in Search, for a total of 4 (+7) 2 Ranks in Knowledge (Pop Culture), for a total of 2 (+5) +4 Ranks in Knowledge (Tactics), for a total of 8 (+11) 11 PP to feats All out Attack Benefit +1 Rank, adding “Rusty Rose” Chokehold Elusive Target Equipment 4 Endurance Improved Critical 1 [Unarmed] (for a total of 2 ranks for this feat) Quick Draw Equipment (Add 40 EP), adding the following: Vehicle: Pick Up Truck STR 40 [2 EP], Toughness 9, Size Huge [2 EP], Features: Alarm, Caltrops, Oil Slick, Smoke Screen [13 EP] Alt Vehicles 5 (As per Core Rule Book: Motorcycle, Compact Car, Midsize Car, Full Sized Car, Van, all with additional features as per main vehicle) [5 EP] Rebreather [1 EP] (NB 1 EP spare, not spending it now!)

TARGET ACQUIRED by the Absurdist Starshot 27 PP to spend. Attributes: [2PP] 2 PP on CHA, increasing it to 16 (+3) Saves:[4PP] 2 PP on Fort to bring it to +12 (+8 Con, +4) 2 PP on Reflex to bring it to +10 (+6 Dex, +4) Skills: [2PP] Handle Animal +4 Ranks, Now +12 (+15) Intimidate +4 Ranks, now +12 (+15) Feats: [19 PP] "Pay off" 15 Points of equipment, freeing up a reward. Add Uncanny Dodge [Auditory] Add another rank of wealth to make Benefit 2 [Wealth] Add Improved Critical 2 [Energy Rifles] Equipment [0PP] Minor Change; eliminate masterwork rope and change to masterwork medical kit (also 1 EP), no net change to EP. Add Improved Critical 1 to Blowpipe for a total of 18/20 EP (more dart like!)

Synth Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak [12 Posts] Anniversary Vignette Bloody Mess Anniversary Vignette Lord Steam Long Way Down Rev Do student ever show up early? [9 Posts] Anniversary Vignette Reputation Table 20 Q The Red Rat Soviet Kitsch Ronin Giving up the Ghost GM Industrial Strength [12 Posts] Gun Run [5 Posts] On my dimly recalled memory, I think posts get applied first then Vignettes / Bonuses but let me know if not. Presuming that is the case, then first GM posts to give 1 post to Bloody Mess, Starshot and Flintlock. Any left over, push Synth up to 25 posts, and then any left over after that, push Rev up (by my counts, enough to push both to the 25 mark). Then apply Vignettes, with Rollover Bloody Mess Posts (as he will reach 250) to Starshot, and I think there will be a few rollover for Synth (going over 250 a bit) to apply to Flintlock.

2007 Gothenburg University Dept of Biochemistry Professor Nyberg was a brilliant man. Why, everybody said so. In line for a Nobel prize, they said. A tenured professor at so young an age. His insights into RNA hyperevolution promised great things. But fate is a windy road. The recession had hit, and in times of recession, money stopped flowing. And the noble world of academia was hit first and hardest. Even sciences which might have a commercial return struggled, and those without such a clear line were riddled with coffin nails. And so it was, that Professor Nyberg ended up in a back room of the university, marking undergraduate papers on genetics. He was slumped on one elbow, barely concentrating. A knock on his door provided at least a distraction from the monotony of seeing the same mistakes written down over and over, and the limited variations on essays full of padding that failed to camouflage the woeful lack of understanding or knowledge (or, in many cases, both). “Come in” he mumbled, trying to force himself into wakefulness. A tall, thin man with blond locks and blue eyes came in. He was of elderly persuasion, but had a spring in his step and a vitality to his stride. He wore a non descript coat and gloves. He looked a bit like a spy. “Good afternoon, Professor Nyberg” he said it soft, slightly flat tones. He had a rather dull nature, and did not grab ones attention. “May I have a moment of your time?” “Why not?” sighed Nyberg, motioning towards a chair. The man sat down, a little stiffly. “I understand that times are hard. Research money has dried up. Nobody values science these days” he said. “You understand correctly, Sir…may I have your name…” The coated man did not answer. “I am afraid not. My superior would like to remain anonymous. But I can tell you that we would like to employ your services” he said, bluntly. “Your superior? What are you, a military outfit?” asked Nyberg, suspiciously. “Not exactly” answered the coated man, a thin smile without much joy. Without another word, he brought out a clasped folder to Nyberg and handed it to him. “Perhaps you would like to study this, before you make up your mind?” he asked, politely. Nyberg wasn’t in a particularly good mood, and this didn’t smell good. He had no desire to get caught up manufacturing viral weaponry. Still, taking a look wouldn’t hurt. It was certainly better than marking undergrad papers. Which did, most definitely, hurt. He flicked through the first papers without much hope. And then through some more with growing interest. And still more, with encroaching excitement. “Why, this is quite extraordinary work! Hyper line stem cells, eh? And this work on neuro effusion…yes, very innovative!” he said, almost caressing the research with his eyes. “You understand?” asked the coated man. “Well, the principles…yes, I think so. But you have a problem here with hyper repeating RNA, I see. Mmmm. Yes, quite difficult. But hypothetically, this line of inquiry has…” He put the paper down, contemplating the ramifications. “Medicine would be revolutionised. Cellular regeneration. Adaptive mitochondrial customisation. Why, you could even create life itself!” he finished, boldly. “I am glad you see the potential” smiled the man in the coat. “Would you be interested in pursuing this?” “I could hardly turn it down. But…the university is not in the best of shape, I confess….” He said, apologetically, almost ashamedly. “We appreciate the situation. Which is why we would like to fund this ourselves. A team of world class scientists. A private research station, North Sweden. It is…something of a commitment, you understand. But we would prefer any research in an isolated area in case of contamination. This is biological research, bleeding edge…” Nyberg barely paused. “It is a commitment I can make!” he said, decisively, the passion back in his eyes… 2017 Blackstone Federal Prison Psychological Evaluation Cell. Session 19, Prisoner SH-202 It had been several months now, and prisoner SH-202 had been a model inmate, by and large. One skirmish with Kid Colour, and a full on brawl with Big Baby, but in both circumstances, it was generally agreed by the Blackstone staff that Prisoner SH-202 was acting self-defence. However, mental health was another matter. The prisoner muttered to nobody, self-neglected, and seemed to flip in personality quickly. Not violent, but definitely strange. Doctor Rime was beginning to get through, or so he hoped. But then again, this was a unique case. Uncharted waters. Sometimes, he felt the most he could do was to provide a safe relationship. He spoke through a reinforced glass wall to the subject. Not ideal for therapeutic rapport, but this was Blackstone, after all. Knockout gas and electric flooring was available to incapacitate the prisoner if need be. “How are you feeling today?” he asked the subject. Synth looked up at the mirror. She was not feeling great. She rarely bothered with generating skin and muscle. She was bald, albino, almost translucent, with bagged red eyes. “Great” she answered. Doctor Rime did not answer immediately. “You don’t look so great” he answered, after some deliberation. “I’m not in a great place” answered Synth, a layered response of more than one meaning. “No, it’s not” agreed Doctor Rime, fiddling with his pen whilst making notes. “I..We…are not entirely sure this is the right place for you” At this, Synth’s eyes popped up. A painful stab of hope. Could she afford to crush it? Could she afford not to? Could she even afford to leave? “Its safe. Secure” she answered. “But, as you say, not a great place to be…surely you would rather somewhere a little more humane? Somewhere you could recover?” has asked. The decision had not been made yet, but there was a case. Synth’s crimes appeared to be chaotic and wild, destructive even, but not murderous. “Where would you like to be, say, in ten years time?” he asked. This took some contemplation. “Honestly, I would like to have something simple. The countryside, maybe. A farm. A small town, maybe” mused Synth. “Somewhere undisturbed…and undisturbing…” she explained. “Doing what?” asked Professor Rimes, putting his pen down. “…I….don’t know. Living…” shrugged Synth. “That’s not much of an answer. Not much of a goal…” pondered Doctor Rimes. It was the answer, he thought, born from despair. “From what I understand, from our previous sessions, you potentially have the skills of a half dozen world class scientists in your head. Doctor…Nyberg…wasn’t it?” Synths skin rippled. Nyberg was always the most prominent memories, bubbling just under. A safeguard in case of psychological collapse. “You…told me to try and ignore him….” “That’s not quite true” replied Doctor Rimes, as gently as he could. “He should not dominate you. But I think repressing him would do more harm than good”. Synth paused, considering. “It is confusing. Sometimes I don’t know where I end and he begins” “I think that you need to integrate those memories into your own sense of self. Your own ego. If they are dissociated, separate, fractured, I think they will do harm. I think perhaps they were meant to be integrated. But from what you tell me…” he mused, flipping back through his own notes. “…the process was interrupted before your development was complete. From a psychological perspective, anyway” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “I wonder if you could still learn from those memories. They are part of you. And maybe those memories might be put to good use….?” Synth didn’t know whether to look up or down. It was a tantalizing, frightening unknown. Could the skills of Nyberg be put to good use? “I’ll have to think about what you said. It’s a lot to think about…” was all she could say. For now. 2027 Freedom City University Hospital “What the hell is this?” Doctor Zimmer was trying to make head or tails of the holographic RNA readout. “Looks like some kind of polymorphic metaresonant virus…” he mumbled, unsure of himself. Someone had released something very nasty in Freedom City. As quick as a panther, Synth came in. She had been working with AEGIS and the rescue services on the ground, trying to keep it all contained. So far, so good, but there was some desperately ill victims quarantined on the infectious diseases ward. And whilst skilled physicians were trying to keep them alive, it was a war they were slowly losing. The viral agent kept mutating at a horrific rate. “Looks like some weaponised version of the Darwin-X virus” said Synth, scanning the protein sequence. “Only a matter of time before someone used it…” she explained. Ever since Vanguard had isolated the virus, it had slowly been leaking out, both metaphorically and in actuality. Nobody knew who or what the leak was, but the fifty year old virus was still extremely potent, extremely dangerous, and extremely expensive. “What do we do? This is outside my field of expertise…in fact, I don’t know anyone who has expertise in this…” said Zimmer, wiping sweat from his brow. Synth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, breeding calm. “I do” Whilst the memories had, under guidance, now formed part of her identity, they were persona architecture was still there, in particular the failsafe Nyberg. And Nyberg had lead the team that designed Synth. And in that design, in that DNA, RNA, and various protein derivatives, there was a similarity with the weaponised Darwin-X virus. “I’m going to have to bring him up” she explained to Zimmer, who knew of Synths peculiarities. It was still painful, although somehow less than it should be. Nyberg’s body and personality were familiar, like an old jumper or something. Synth gripped the holo table tightly, wincing as her body rearranged itself into Nyberg. And where the body lead, the brain followed. “That always stings” commented Nyberg, frowning and slowly releasing his fingers from the holo table. There were slight indentations from his vice like grip. “Err….” Mumbled Zimmer who found it unsettling as always. “…forgive me, er, Nyberg, er….but it seems time is of the essence” he explained gently, pointing at the holo display of the weaponised virus. Nyberg smiled softly. “Don’t worry, I don’t forget. I am still Synth, just…well….it’s complicated” he said with a shrug. And indeed it was, not even Synth quite understood it. With that, Nyberg studied the holo-display more intently. “Yes, I think I understand. Paramutating microreplication on the umbral helix region” he explained, pointing at the twisting images. “It will be the devil to defeat” he said, scratching his chin complete with stubble. “But I think we can do it…” With that, he sat down by the Genomic Synthesiser, and started his work. He spared a thought for twenty years ago, when the journey had begun. He spared a thought for ten years ago, when Doctor Rimes and their sessions had started piecing his life together. And now, it seemed, he was doing what he always wanted to…

Calling out, but staying under cover!

Ronin What's this, some damn cult? Whatever it was, they were well armed. And...well, it was not quite clear what they were doing. Even if it was unlikely that a Church would be appropriated for such activities. The chains, for one, were not a good sign. But what were they chaining. Ronin stroked his carefully trimmed beard, wondering what to do. No action is an action. No decision is a decision. He could not stand idly by and watch. The priest, for one, had been in a mess. He was outmanned, and outgunned, but then so be it. "You there!" he called from outside, aware that he would lose the element of surprise. But again, so be it. He would not fire first. "What you doing on Nancy Street?" he shouted, full of demanding tones.

I think I shall ask for an HP for that (and to find a convenient cannister of N2 Liquid)....what kind of effect are you going for there? Coating the floor with liquid N2 to trip / impede? Damage effect? Freezing effect?

In case needed Stealth: 1d20+12 23 for Stealth Notice: 1d20+11 12 for Notice!

Ronin Curtis walked carefully down Nancy street, not too fast, not too slow. Eyes and ears open. Damn mystery. The priest would live, at least. Ain't nobody deserved to die, least not on Ronin's watch. Not if he could help it. He stopped outside the Church, studying it. How the hell did the priest get from here to my house? And how did he know to get to my house? I gotta rep, that's true...but he was busted up bad...and nobody knows Ronin lives under the house. Well, nobody I know of... Contemplation would not give further answers, but it instilled a reflective mood which would, he judged, served well. This was not of the ordinary. No sense barging in all gung-ho... Instead, he would creep through the shadows, and scout the church...

Do you want to post a reaction to that wolf attack / feedback attack, or press on with the round? (May make sense to a short post reaction to avoid me double posting )

GM The might vision of Bird of Arms, full of avian acuity, did not miss the incoming. She was a woman, dressed in what appeared to be a white and blue spandex costume, with a flowing blue cape that fluttered as she flew through the air. Her long blond hair flowed in the wind. And in her hand, a pistol. It looked pretty cool, although not the same as Flares guns. Jann could see she was flying fast, just a bit above him, and coming down. It seemed her cape was propelling her, like artificial wings, although they fluttered rather than beat. And whilst she was travelling at a good 50mph, she was not as fast, and arguably not as skilled, as the Bird of Arms. "Hold on, I'm coming!" she yelled through the air, bringing her pistol to bear...

Initiative: 1d20+5 13 for ? Round 4! 20 Spitfire, Staggered, 2 HP 17 - Flare, Bruised 13 - ? woman 100' away in air. 12- Bird of Arms, Bruised, 4 HP in the air 10 - The Plebs. Spitfire is up again, about 30' from Flare, but note above Of course any other options you can think of, go for it! Also the sprinkler system is still active so everyone is wet, and -1 to fire effects.

Could you throw me a notice roll for that? DC 10, with -1 penalty for range (mindful of your extended vision!)

GM The wolves pounced, two on Black Knight, biting and clawing. Another pair jumped on Lord Crane, who shook them off with a tear on his jacket. He snarled his own animal snarl, pulling out a knife and slashing at them, left, right, without cutting, but at least putting up a good fight. "Right with ya, Pard'ner..." smiled Joe Powder, grimly, and fired both revolvers at the Meteor as the Black Knights sword connected. For a moment all was still, quite still. Then the Meteor cracked, not quite in twain, but a formidable acidic dissolution of its strange metal. "Nooo!" cried Lord Crane, in despair, but before he could refine his rage, an almighty blast of green energy hit both Joe Powder and the Black Knight, a strange bolt of horror, a feedback from the damage they had inflicted.

And to follow on from the above (after your toughness save...) Lord Crane will pull out his knife and try to stab a wolf Stabs Wolf: 1d20+8 11 missing. Midnight Spear will delay action for now Joe Powder will fire at the Meteor, so combined damage... First off the Drain Toughness; I don't think the Meteor can resist that with a reflex roll, so Down to Toughness 10 (it was super tough!). Then, the combined damage effect is Damage 12, so a Tough 27 Save Tough Save vs COmbined attack: 1d20+10 28 on this front, it does better! But! Feedback damage to both you and Joe Powder! Damage 12 save, although Joe gets to half that for being ranged. Tough Save vs Feedback: 1d20+7 19 so Joe Powder is bruised. Also, as per IC, your sword changes into dual guns (don't worry this is a temporary distortion effect unless you really want it not to be!), and Joes guns turn into a sword. For reference the "Anarchy Guns" are Device 5, with one power: Blast 7, Penetrating, Homing, Affects Insubstantial 1, Improved Critical 1.

Ok so to round off this round we have the remaining wolves attack! 2 on Crane, 2 on BK : 4#1d20+5 16 22 19 11 So thats one hit on Crane, one hit on BK. They have Damage 2 Save vs Wolf: 1d20+2 20 Lord Crane makes it. Can you throw me a toughness roll (DC 17) Round 3: 28 Lord Crane - Unharmed 18 Midnight Spear - Unharmed 11 - Gunslinger - Unharmed 11 - Black Knight - Unharmed, 3 HP 9 Wolves [4] Unharmed

For refenerence are you doing combined attack with the Corrosion power? ( I presume so, but just checking!)

Ronin "Aww hell..." muttered Curtis, dragging the priest indoors and painting the floor claret as he did. "Jack, sober up and get the damn med kit!" he yelled at Jack. True, Jack was a bilateral amputee, but he was a marine. He had the will to act even if disabled. And Jack has seen worse than this. He had been worse than this. Curtis dragged the Priest to the floor and opened up the medical kit. He was no medic, but he knew a bit about trauma from his time in the army. Seen some nasty things. Pulse, thready, respiratory rate, ragged. Best case, just passed out from pain and concussion. Worse case, bleeding to death internally. "He said something about the Church..." he explained to Jack as he tried to stabilise the Priest. It had been some time, but a bit of his training came back. "I should check it out..." he muttered. "You, or Ronin?" asked Jack, knowing the answer. "I'll get my coat..." answered Curtis, ready to don the coat and katana of Ronin...

Taking 10 on medicine check to revive - if thats possible / story compatible. If not, at least to try and stabilise!

If needed, computer roll Hacking: 1d20+15 26