Supercape

GM A few minutes of wailing Sirens later... Paradise Casino, Southside... At this time of the night (or morning, depending on ones perspective), the Paradise Casino was still running, but the casual gambler had largely left. All that remained were the drunk and the addicted, trying somehow, against all reason, to win back their losses on the basis of "my luck's gotta change sometime..." "My lucks gotta change sometime..." sighed Flare into her mobile phone, deep in conversation with an intimate. She was dressed in black as before, with her red hair quite visible from the patrol car. She was stepping out of the Casino, in a hurry, a rucksack on her back. Jann and Spitfire had clearly arrived in the nick of time. "Oh shoot....my luck...." grumbled Flare as she heard and saw the sirens. She looked around, and saw her motorbike. In a split second, she made her mind up, and started running towards it, pulling out one of her fabulous guns as she did...

GM The mist grew ever hotter and denser as the party of four approached the epicentre of the crater. It was enough to cause profuse sweating, although nerves did not help the matter. Even Lord Crane, normally unflappable, was wiping sweat from his brow. More howling wolves. "By Vishnu, how can wolves suffer this? This is like a turkish bath!" he complained, taking off his fur coat. The visibility dropped from a few dozen feet to a half dozen. Then, in front of them, the meteor appeared. It was perhaps four foot above ground, although from the shape of it, an equal amount was below. It was almost spherical but with plenty of cracks and dents. It has a soft purple colouration that was not pretty. And Mr. Hale Esq. Could feel his sword thrumming with anticipation and more. "It is magnificent! A metal like nothing else in the world! My fortune is made!" cried Lord Crane, gleefully, reaching out to touch it... Mr. Hale could feel his sword virtually screaming to destroy!!!!

Flintlock Relieved, and somewhat bruised, Flintlock waved away the unsightly beast. It sank beneath the waves, bubbling, frothing, to seas beyond this earth. Where it belonged. The horrors of strange dimensions crawled around in her skull. This would call for Rum, and lots of it. But first, the Black Flag was hers again, but not the crew, who, she imagined would be sinking rapidly. One could only hope that the seas were not too deep. "Jennie! Get the nets!" she called out. "What am I, a fisherman?" she yelled back. "Today, you are" yelled back Flintlock. "So put away your viking axe and get fishing!"

Then let us finish this! Two move actions to command the Kraken and Sweet Jennie They shall both attack using +2 attack/-2 DC shift: Attck the ghost of M: 2#1d20+7 22 18 The Cannon looks like it will hit (DC 23 Toughness), not sure about the Kraken. If it misses by 4 or less then I imagine its the Attack Area Rules (p35)? (Attack hits but can evade, reflex save vs DC 23 for half damage, evasion rules in play). Its a DC 28 Toughness save base.

Flintlock Flintlock considered Moctezuma's words carefully. And then carefully considered her own. "Well then, sir, if there is no mercy or life left in your spirit, I think our parley is of no consequence, much as it laments me to say so. But know this, the bitter twisted shade you are now would turn the stomach of the Moctezuma in life. For he might be brimming with rage, but it was not his totality. There was love there, too, even if it drowned in fury..." "I grant you know mercy, then shade, for there is none in you!" She nodded to Jennie, who, with a smile full of half rotten teeth (or half-full of them, to be more precise), lit the fuse once again. "You heard the captain!" she called to the ghost, and fired once more, as the beast of a thousand eyes, the Kraken of blubber and tentacle, once again lurched....

GM At that, Boxy turned up, rubbing his eyes. His pistol was, fortunately, holstered. "What in the hell did you do, boy? Assaulting a god-damn officer of the lahw-err!!!" he complained. "I should arrest you. I should double arrest you!" he moaned. It looked like he was still seeing after glows in his eyes. "Dude, these guys just saved the hospital" complained one tall and rather pretty nurse. "Give them a break. Hell, give them a ride!" she demanded. "You saved the damn hospital?" said a confused Boxy. "Maybe I should give you a ride...but I can't see properly. Everything glowing real pretty in my peepers..." he lamented, not confident to drive after just being blinded. "Shut your cakehole" interrupted Jack, slowly wobbling towards them, still half-blind. "You...no...you...yes...you...I can see the wings..." he explained, his finger wobbling over various people until it hit Jann. "Looks like you need a ride, and quick..." He tossed the patrol car keys to Jann....

Flintlock "Hold your fire, Jennie!" called out Flintlock to the mad Swedish zombie pirate gunner. "What? I can't hear you!" pleaded Sweet Jennie, gleefully lighting the fuse. "I said hold your fire you crazy valkyrie!" hollered Flintlock at the top of her voice. Grumbling, sweet Jennie spat on her zombie fingers and pinched out the fuse. She did not look best pleased. With a wave of her hand the Kraken stomped flailing its tentacles. Flintlock called out to Moctezuma forcefully. "The game is up, sir! Yield, and tell me your story...mayhap even I can help. You would, I think, prefer my aid rather than my fury!"

Ok as he is on the ropes spending two move actions to command the Kraken and Jennie to stop attacking. Lets see if we can get something out of him with words!

GM "Let me think of a completely random place...." said the voice of Mr. Happy, quite carefully, quite casually. "Like the Paradise Casino, Southside. Maybe a room there. My favourite number is 73" chuckled the voice. "Now, I would imagine that if you are hunting a gun runner, then time is of the essence, yes? I know I wont be slowing down my activities. Not at all. Ha ha. Who knows, maybe purely by coincidence we might meet again...." The voice then squarked at the Chain Sore holding the camera. "Would you like a nice big buzz? You know where to go!" suggested the voice. "The BUZZ! The BUZZ! The BUZZ! I'll do whatever you ask, Mr. Happy! Anything for the BUZZ!" whispered the sweating lips of the Chain Sore. With that determination, the three members of the gang started to race out of the hospital...

GM "A hunter are you?" squarked the camera, as the three Chain Smokers whipped themselves into a trance like the flagellants of old. "You interrupted a most enjoyable evening. I shall have to be more careful next time..." mused the voice down the line. "Although I doubt you have anything on me. Legally, that is" he said with a laugh. "Nothing against the law in walking in the park, purely hypothetically, without admitting to, or denying, any such circumstance" Another laugh. "But I imagine you are after the gun runner, yes? Properly breaking the law, that one. I might want to speak to her myself, seeing as my evening was ruined. Would you care to help?" he asked. "I would be most grateful. I could make you very happy...." he offered. "The Buzz! the Buzz! The BUZZZZZ!" wailed the gang members.

The Red Rat 2007, Unknown location Initiating boot sequence… Loading…please wait… Emergency Protocols activated… Biosystem Interface optimisation… …. “Hello Agent X7” The Red Rat found herself in a perfectly featureless white room, with a perfect temperature, wearing nothing. She felt like she had forgotten to do her homework, or her teeth were falling out, or something of that ilk. Maybe she would give birth to a rabbit, or the Beatles would dance through the room doing a skiff version of the Soviet National Anthem. It definitely felt like a dream. “Is this is a dream?” “No, it is not, this is an emergency protocol” came the answer from behind her. She spun round, covering herself with hands that felt a bit like putty. Behind her, a three dimensional glowing sculpture of light. Hammer and sickle, gold, with red edged. It pulsed a bit when it spoke. “Emergency Protocol? What do you mean?” she asked. “And could you get me some clothes?” she added, bathing in that dream like humiliation. “This system has not been active for twenty years. Emergency Protocol activates for system analysis” bleeped the glowing sign. “Twenty years?” blurted the Rat, anxiety creeping in. It was not that she liked doing the dirty work of the USSR. But if she had been inactive, frozen, for twenty years, something was wrong… “Twenty years since last activation. Operation Buttermilk, Poland…” “Yes yes, I remember…” shuddered the Rat. Even in the sewage pit of her operations, Operation Buttermilk had been a dirty, strange mission. The cow! The cow! Came the flashback before she put it out of her mind. “…so what happened?” she demanded. For a while she wondered if she was in some kind of afterlife, although it was not an afterlife one would wish for… “Biocyebernetics analysis is running. Feedback monitors indicate mild anxiety activation. Would you care for some light music?” Without waiting for answer, the glowing sign started piping in some oppressive soviet anthem which was more vexatious than tranquilising. “Turn that off!” demanded the Rat, to no response. She paced around the virtual room, breathing virtual air, listening to virtual music, for a few minutes, until the music stopped at a particularly irritating juncture. “Analysis complete!” “About time…” grumbled the Rat. “No anomaly detected. Biological and cybernetic systems fully operational. Cryogeneic link uploaded, no error detected…” “So what’s that mean? Everything working fine? I’m just frozen?” “Correct” blinked the sign, without sympathy or malice. “So what now?” “Returning to normal minimal power operations…” “Back to sleep?” “Yes” “Wait!” snapped the Rat, as the sign began to fade. “Yes?” answered the sign, somehow giving the impression of impatience. “I have some questions!” she demanded. “Questions?” came the steely response. “Yes! Answers! Who built you? I mean, it must have been in the fifties, for Stalin’s sake! The fifties! Who managed to design a brain-computer interface in the fifties?” The question had been bugging her for decades. Of course, the first SLAVE system had been relatively crude, and each time she woke up, it had been upgraded. But still, it was cutting edge technology now, let alone fifty years ago. “I did….” At this, the sign blurred and distorted. In its place, a wizened old woman. She could not have been more than four and a half feet, and her weight must have been almost nothing. Aged, wrinkled skin, and an aged, wrinkled, over sized head. She was dressed in bland grey soviet clothes and had an unpleasantly functional iron cane she gripped on to. “I am mother” she said, with a horrible grin that had mirth and cruelty blended in a quite horrible fashion. And then, the Ice came down, and the Rat went to sleep… 2017 “This is awesome!” Charley Chalks was in the Safe House. She was one of the few people, perhaps the only one, who knew that Noemi von Neuman was the Red Rat, and she had insisted on seeing the old Soviet underground lair. Charley was an attractive woman who wore a little too much make up and a little too little clothes. Somehow, despite good cheekbones and a mess of wonderfully red hair, she didn’t have much luck with men. Maybe it was her mouth. In this matter, Charley was a mixed bag. She had kept the Rat’s secret with firmly sealed lips. If it was this important, to a friend, then she would not speak. And yet, perhaps to compensate, any gossip or tittle tattle of lesser gravity seemed to flow from her mouth like a broken sewage pipe. The Rat raised an eyebrow. In some ways, the Soviet Safehouses dotted around America were marvels. Expertly and covertly constructed underground, with their own power and life support, plus advanced electronic systems. But awesome was not perhaps the right word. They had a bleak, Spartan air about them. They were all about function, nothing about style. She had put a few photographs up. There was a cactus to be watered. She had tried to make it something less than bleak. But still. One cannot polish a turd. “I mean, you got all this stuff! Look at those flashing lights! And those computer monitors!” said Charley, excited. Perhaps it did look like a spy film set. Perhaps Charley was just being generous. “It all works, too” smiled the Rat, pressing a few buttons, which beeped and flashed. “I can watch all cable TV stations. Great…” she said, a small chuckle accompanying her words. To this, Charley laughed her great laugh. “How the hell did this get built anyway?” she asked. It was a good question, and the Rat did not have a good answer. “I don’t know” she answered, honestly. “It seems extraordinary. These bases were built decades ago, completely hidden from the eyes and ears of America. And these computers…” she mused, hands brushing over the dials and lights. “They look antiquated. Odd, even. Like a sci fi film made decades ago. But they are as powerful as anything of this century. How did the Soviets do it?” Charley piped up another question. Another good question that had irritated the Rat for some time. “And if they could do all this…why didn’t we hear about it? I mean, it was the good old U S of A that developed computers wasn’t it?” The Rat shrugged. “Babbage might say differently” she said, softly. She did not have Charley’s Jingoistic bias, but on the other hand, the essence of her point was correct. “But you have a point. If the Soviets had access to computers decades early, why only here?” The Rat had seen many odd things in the Darwin-X Soviet project. Anomalies, you could say. It would be normal for any such programme to have cutting edge technology. But the things she had seen were bleeding edge, or more. And she had her nagging suspicions that there had been something operating within that programme. Something apart from the KGB. A secret society within a secret society. But who were they? 2027 “Are you sure?” “Just get this damn thing out of me…” The Rat lay on the operating table, trying to relax. This was not easy. Her had was clamped to a vice like machine to stop movement, and was full of local anaesthesia. She would not feel a thing. “The risks…” mumbled Doctor Vorkampf, preparing his equipment. “I know. We went over them. A hundred times. Blindness, brain damage, death. But I can’t go on with this thing in my head, Doctor… I need it OUT!” she said through gritted teeth. She wished she had taken up his offer of sedation. Over the years, SLAVE had become progressively more overbearing. It was like it was updating itself. Slowly, the Rat had felt progressively that it was the master. “Very well then” said Doctor Vorkampf, resolved to his task. Bzzzzzz…..! “Can you feel that?” “No” answered the Rat. She could not feel a damn thing, but she could hear perfectly well. The sound of a circular saw cutting through her head. “Will it ruin my hairstyle?” she asked, sweating. She had shaved her head in preparation. Doctor Vorkampf did not, it seem, have much of a sense of humour. His talents lay elsewhere, in cutting edge cybernetic brain implants. “I usually put things in, not take them out…” he had explained, before rambling on about his work in deep brain stimulation for neurodegenerative diseases. Then came the burning smell. Doctor Vorkampf was cauterising the bleeding scalp and bone with a precision thermal laser. “Anyone for a barbeque?” asked the Rat, sweating profusely. “Please try to remain calm. I am entering the temporo-occipital junction…” he said, explaining the procedure to everybody and nobody. This time, the Rat could feel something tingling. Her body begun to feel strange, and her head was full of fluffy clouds. “I feel strange…” she slurred, as her consciousness faded. “She is going into status! Nurse! 20mg Fedazolam i.v.! Now!” screamed a Doctor Vorkampf who sounded a lot more anxious than reassuring. As the world faded to black… The Rat found herself in a familiar white room… Activating Emergency Self-Destruct…. Soviet Technology Must Not Be Appropriated… Mother knows…. Mother knows everything….

GM By estimation, there were another two groups of Chain Sores scouring the building, although there might have been more. Around the corner, the source of more pandemonium. Three more welted, infected fanatics, threatening some poor doctor, who was a drip with sweat and fear. "P-p-p-please! I don't know anything about a bird man!" he gulped, before spying Jann and Spitfire and raising his finger. "There! The winged one!" yelped one Chainer, giving herself a brutal slap on the back with her weighted chain. "The winged one! the winged one!" chanted the second, content with merely strangling himself with his chain, till he was blue in the face. The third seemed relatively sane; or, in other words, merely totally crazy. She swung around a small video camera. "We have found him, Mr. Happy! Praise be, may we feel your buzz!" he swooned to the camera, speaking over some radio link. "Good news! Every body Happy!" squarked a voice over the vid camera, Mr. Happy himself. The old man from the park. "Ask him how he knew about the deal!" Mr. Happy commanded the Chain Sore gang. "How did you know about the deal!" chanted all three gang members, pulling their chains this way and that.

Flintlock "Wait, what?" asked Flintlock. There was almost a trace of politeness in her question. Was she linked to this Ghost somehow? Surely, there was more to this than met the eye. Like always! But the coins once again smashed into her, bouncing of her skull. One flew into her mouth. She could feel a tooth chipping. At least I'll have the gold for a filling...she thought as her head spun. Gold, gold, all around! As the Kraken thrashed its multitude of tentacles at the Ghost, Sweet Jennie loaded the cannons once more. "I'll smash your Aztec bones! Grind them into toothpaste, I will!" she shouted, lighting the fuse. Boom! And once again, a mighty cannon ball hurled across the sea...

Right, so the Kraken and Jennie are just going to repeat their actions: Swings tentacles at ghost: 1d20+5 8 Kraken Misses Sweet Jennie will fire the cannons again, plus the missed one has a chance to swing back Fires Cannon, and homing cannon, at Ghost: 2#1d20+5 25 8 A hit with the first, so a DC 25 Toughness save, and the homing cannon ball splishes into the ocean.

Damage 15 effect, this is going to get nasty then! Damage save vs COins: 1d20+10 28 a lucky lucky roll, although I think she is already bruised, so a 27, making her bruised x2 and dazed?

GM The books flew through the air. Most were low grade disposable pulp, like Groan of Thanes, and Cutstab! but the odd piece of worthy literature joined them. And even a few medical textbooks. Cranial Neuroanatomy struck one stumbling Chainer unconscious. Emergency Head Trauma followed, and in turn knocked his fellow fanatic out cold. But the assorted crowds could not see for reassurance, and the screams drowned out any words of wisdom. From a few corridors, more panic could be heard, as more Chain Sore's whipped themselves into a frenzy, and (from the sounds of it) others into a pulp. "Where are they? Where are they? Mr. Happy wants to speak! Praise Mr. Happy, Lord of Buzz!" ranted one lunatic from around the corner. "Where are they, where are they?" shouted Boxy. "Where do I shoot? Where do I shoot? Everybody, stay clam! I'm trying to aim!" he shouted, still louder, his own panic feeding the panic of the crowd.

ok, so another tough 20 roll for both CS Tough save vs teddy bear: 2#1d20 8 12 ok I forgot to add in their tough bonus of +% but stilll, they are both knocked out. Dropping out of combat for now, although we are still in narrative "fast time", no resting!

GM "Pleasure and pain! Pleasure and pain! Pleasure and pain! Pleasure and pfftwhmph!" The chanting Chain Sore's ghastly and loud litany was rudely interrupted by Mr. Snuggles left foot being jammed in his mouth. He, and the two fumbling gang members to his left and right were sent sprawling, scattering patients and trolleys and wheel chairs this way and that. Pandemonium was all around now. Someone was going to get hurt - already a few blinded staff had tripped over badly. One had a gash on his head, bleeding. And that attractive young nurse had an arm that bent in too many places after a stumble. The Chain sore hit by the smoke coughed and retched, but straightened up valiantly, stuff as a board, his will like iron. Whatever else could be said of these nut jobs, they were certainly fanatic.

Fort Save vs Suffocate: 1d20+6 23 the luck runs out!

As per chat, that will hit three, and Tough Save vs Teddy Bear: 3#1d20+5 9 16 10 knock them all out. Round 1 16 Spit Fire - 2 HP - Staggered 9 Bird of Arms - 4 HP - Staggered 6 Chain Sores So there are two CS in view; amidst a pile of blinded people running this way and that. On that subject, for a few rounds, you need to make a reflex save DC 5 to avoid getting someone run into you (effectively a trip 0 attack) and stop you moving that round. Its a 50% move penalty even so, unless you can make a DC 10 on that reflex by dodging and weaving. The CS are about twenty five feet away. However, remember you are staggered!

GM The brilliant firelight flared into the eyes of all who beheld it. Which was patients, doctors, nurses, receptionists, and porters. "I've gone blind!" "I can't see!" "What happened?" came the various chimes of the distressed and panicked. The glare would only dazzle, of course. The Retina were stunned but not burnt. The Chain Sores heading their way were no exception, stumbling around. One whipped his chain this way and that, smashing medical equipment and computers and knocking the teddy bear out of a crying childs hand. "I need not eyes to see!" screamed one, bumping into a hospital trolley in clear contradiction to her statement. Boxy however, panicked, letting of a round from his automatic. The noise was sharp to blinded men, and the panic levels zoomed sky high. "They are shooting, help! HELP!" screamed a middle aged woman clinging on to her drip stand. And then, everyone, blind, ran and stumbled every which way, tripping over each other, bumping into things, and causing a most glorious mess of limbs and bruises.

ok so you dont need to make those rolls with immunity to all fire effects! Jann will need to make a Reflex Save however (DC 21). Ill give him a +5 situational bonus as he has the "heads up". Pretty much nobody bystanding (including our favourite cops) can make that save so I will rule they are all visually dazzled. The Chain Sores might be another matter. Of course, you don't know how many there are around the hospital etc but Ill say that five are hit by that. Reflex vs Dazzle: 5#1d20+2 13 6 17 20 14 all are dazzled. Jann can make one action in surprise round, but we best roll for initiative the next... Initiative: 1d20 6

GM Marching down the corridors came a group of young men and women of most peculiar and horrific appearance. Shaven headed, dull eyed, wearing rags, barefoot. Their skin was full of welts and wounds, raw and red. Each carried a length of chain, some a little bloody. Every now and again one of them would flagellate their poor bodies with the chain, grunting in a manner that was betwixt ecstasy and agony. They were the chain sores. Maybe ten of them, maybe more, maybe less, spreading about the corridor, shouting and screaming like some strange cult. It got violent now and again. A security guard tried to intercede but got a face full of chain as a result. Whatever else, this gang-cult knew how to handle their weapon of choice. "This ain't right!" mumbled Jack, backing off. "This is wrong!" mumbled Boxy, backing off. Neither cop seemed ready to pull the trigger quite yet. Perhaps because they did wanted to kill, perhaps because they were scared what would happen if they missed. But the Chain Sores, grunting incoherently, seemed fixed of purpose, scouring the hospital for...something? But they had not noticed Bird of Arms or Spitfire yet. Perhaps because of all the screaming and scuttling of patients this way and that...

Notice Stealth: 1d20+4 9 I am also proactively awarding an HP each for a ruckus in a hospital, with the understanding that there will be a lot of crap hurled around! Bird of Arms - 4 HP - Staggered Spit Fire - 2 HP - Staggered

GM "Security to reception! Security to reception!" came the squark over the loudspeakers. "Oh what now..." groaned the nurse trying to treat Jann. He was an experienced and able professional, it was clear, but he also had that spice of cynicism from a few decades of his job. Boxy and Jack looked at each other, and decided, a little nervously, to check out the disturbance. Then, a scream. Another scream. And panic started rising slowly through the hospital. No gunfire...yet. Just the sound of violence. And a clinking...