Supercape

Synth Fight the Power 8 Posts The Red Rat Soviet Kitsch 14 Posts Starshot Milk Run 26 Posts Flintlock Romance Dawn 1 Post GM Industrial Strength 22 Posts Finger Food 4 Posts There should be enough GM posts (I count 26 = 52 bonus) to boost Starshot (if he is not at that point already), the Red Rat, and Synth to 25 Posts/3 PP, Flintlock to 15 posts/2PP, and to boost Lord Steam and Bloody Mess to 1 Post/1PP

GM Synth felt the bullet creep under his ribs, with a splintering sound. He held onto the bleeding wound, and stumbled. Something was leaking out of him, and he had a good idea it was blood. The way it bubbled. That was more concerning. He felt a wheeze. Tension Pneumothorax... That was a terrible fortune. As he inhaled, he could feel the ragged breath of a collapsed lung. He slumped to the floor, gasping. "Hnnnn...you got me...." he wheezed.

So for narrative purposes, lets make this Synth's worst ever day and worst ever failure. Time for a PC to have an unmitigated failure! Failing the toughness save.

As request: Erde super-serum soldier gets blown up by resistance. Gets a lot of scars and the super serum seeps into her cerebrospinal fluid. Half mad she zips to another dimension and gets the psychic power to project herself. Vanity be her name. Power Level: 7; Power Points Spent: 105/105 STR: +3 (10/16), DEX: +0 (10), CON: +5 (6/20), INT: +1 (12), WIS: +1 (12), CHA: +0 (10) Saves: Tough: +5/+6, Fort: +8, Ref: +4, Will: +6 Skills: Climb 2 (+5), Concentration 4 (+5), Drive 2 (+2), Intimidate 8 (+8), Knowledge (tactics) 4 (+5), Language 2 (+2), Medicine 2 (+3), Notice 4 (+5), Sense Motive 4 (+5), Stealth 4 (+4), Survival 2 (+3), Swim 2 (+5) Feats: Attack Specialization (Custom Heavy Pistol), Equipment 2, Rage 2 (+1 Increased Duration x5 rounds) Powers: Enhanced Constitution 14 (+14 CON) [NB: Her base CON is low due to war injuries] Enhanced Strength 6 (+6 STR) Enhanced Trait 3 (Feats: Rage 2 (+1 Increased Duration x5 rounds)) Illusion 7 (affects: all sense types, DC 17; Selective Attack; Limited (People only), Limited (Phantasm)) (Psychic vanity - projection) ESP 9 (Alternate; affects: 2 types, inc. visual; Duration (sustained); Custom 2 (Medium: Pictures/Sculptures of herself); Dimensional 2 (group), Subtle (subtle)) Stun 5 (Alternate; DC 15; Range 2 (perception)) Morph 4 (morph: broad group, +20 Disguise; Custom (Phantasm)) Concealment 4 (Alternate; all visual senses; Custom (Phantasm)) Equipment: Custom Heavy Pistol (Heavy Pistol, Stun Ammo), Leather Jacket Attack Bonus: +8 (Ranged: +8, Melee: +8, Pistols +10, Grapple: +11) Defense: +8 (Flat-footed: +4), Knockback: -3 Initiative: +0 Drawbacks: Vulnerable, common, moderate, Explosions Languages: English, French, German Totals: Abilities 0 + Skills 10 (40 ranks) + Feats 3 + Powers 51 + Combat 32 + Saves 12 - Drawbacks 3 = 105 Fluffy stuff: Victim Volunteer of Erde Super Programme, shortly into active service was caught in mortart fire and nearly died. Badly scarred and traumatised, the experimental Tyr compound seeped into her cracked skull and then drove her insane. Waking up in an alternate reality (Earth prime) the horribly scarred woman swore of war and determined to make a new life. Her brain now effected, she can project herself psychically - seeing through images of herself, or creating phantasms of herself in other peoples heads. The projection is so complete she can even stun people by projecting her own psyche into other peoples heads. Complications 1: Hideously Scarred; if ever actually seen as herself. 2: Explosive fear: Aside from her psychogenic vulnerabilty to explosions, she will freeze or panic in the face of, or even witnessing any explosions. 3. Vanity; a previously beautiful woman, she will lap up and crave people complimenting her morphed beauty. 4. Insanity. Her mind has transported her to other dimensions and she was pretty screwed up to begin with. 5. Tyr. Her body is awash with the Tyr serum, which can negatively interact with conventional medical drugs. Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com Mutants & Masterminds, Second Edition is ©2005-2017 Green Ronin Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

GM The man...whoever he was...held up his hands, shaking them and his head in fear and denial. "Fight...no!" he spluttered, and the shadows grew, full of purple haze and cold. Hyperactive was feeling cold. And compressed. The strange dimension seemed to crush around him, collapsing in fear. "I don't want to fight...nggh....fight!" the man grunted, starting to panic. "This place...it's me!" he screamed suddenly full of insight and fear. And, just a bit of rage. He shuddered, feeling the shadows around him. "I always knew I was special. I could do things with my mind. Lock parts away, some kind of energy from them. I don't understand it. Must have got it from papa..." he wondered, hugging himself desperately. "Then you brought me here. Brought us. This place is dangerous. Its my mind, and my mind is dangerous. Like a tsunami held back by crumbling walls. It provides him...the Gold Star...with strength. With will. But if the damn breaks...." "we have to leave!!!!"

Sorry for the delay - do poke me if I miss something. Toughness saves vs pirates: 2#1d20+10 20 23 I think that passes both toughness tests.

GM "Talk?" muttered...well...who was it? His hands clenched and trembled, agitated. His eyes darted left to right, right to left. He was scared. "I'm not much good at talking" he explained. "I'm....scared. He always looked after me, and now he...isn't here any more" he said, tapping both temples with his fingers. "I just kind of...drowned...like I wasn't there. Bolted away. Locked up. In his...my...head...I just kind of went away..." he said, vaguely. "And now...what is this place?" he muttered at the purple haze around them. "This feels like my head...but all wrong...." Ominous cold shadows started encroaching from all sides...

The Red Rat "A trailer park, eh? Very American" she said, rubbing her eyes and taking the Tyelonol. Her head did hurt. The sonic mind control didn't appeal very much. How much should she extend her trust? "Guns and earpieces sound like a good idea. However, how to get my weapons of limited destruction back is the question" she explained. "Rather handy, they are - top of the range superior soviet technology and so on. But I only stole two on my way here, and frankly my ammunition is running low" she added. "I don't suppose you have any spares?"

The Red Rat Infra Red mode activated, darkness was the Rat's friend for the most part. But she did not complain. The Lady Horus seemed fun. As for the priest who seemed to have a thing against guns... Religion is the opiate of the Masses! informed SLAVE, helpfully. For once, she agreed. It was just she disagreed with communist philosophy of bulldozing religion more. There should be no tyranny of mind, and on this most dreadful tyranny, communism was guilty. And on this note, the priest man at least seemed dedicated to saving books. "allons-y!" she sang, launching herself down the corridor.

Starshot "Full of scum" muttered Starshot, under his breath. A little too loudly than prudence would suggest. He shook his head and gave a blunt "Sorry". He half meant it too. He clenched and unclenched his hands, both metal and flesh. He was without his gun, but he had no hesitation in straight forward pugilism if it came to it. Still, the landscape, both architecturally and socially, was not his preferred. "Lets get this on with it then" he said soft in volume, hard in timbre. He gave Cain a shove forward. "I'm pretty sure you have some oily plan in your head. When it blooms, I may have to slightly kill you" he threatened.

The Red Rat "Ice pack and morphine. Good idea. No better way to break your fast" she agreed, raiding her freezer for the first. It was cheap, and hummed alarmingly as it did its very best to sunder the ozone layer. "Sonic mind control, eh?" she recalled something about that over the decades. Soviet research. Doctor Zero. The Sleeper. Half of it was myth. The other half was rumour. The third half was probably true, but that made three halves and no sense. Like most of the cold war. For once, however, she was glad SLAVE was in her head. "My equipment? Well those guns were pretty handy. Although its all I have from my years as a spy. Ammunition is running low..." she conceded. "I could really do with some spares, if you happen to know of any lying about..." She rubbed her ears, trying to wash the sonic contamination from them. "So what now? Any leads?"

The Red Rat "The speed of Shu!" agreed the Rat, without knowing what Shu was. Or is. Or whom. But no matter. One didn't get by in spycraft unless one projected a clear air of knowing when one had not a clue. "or maybe the secret passageway, beyond the bookcase!" she volunteered, pointing her gun at the bookcase. One explosive round...but wait. This was a library. And some presumably very valuable books. The need for expediency was one thing, but perhaps the destruction of... Corrupt western propaganda! ventured SLAVE, helpfully, on her cybernetic eye HUD. ...valuable archaic tomes of wisdom was a step to far. And besides, someone stronger than she could probably shift the book case.

Flintlock Romance Dawn The Red Rat Are you my mummy? Soviet Kitsch Starshot Unsportsmanslike Behaviour GM Media Frenzy

Tentalces grapple pirate: 1d20+10 11 is about as bad as I can get so to stop this getting too tedious I will reroll with the one HP Flintlock has. Tentacle Grapple Reroll: 1d10+20 26 for opposed grapple. Hmmm, actually thats incorrect. The Grapple bonus is +20 and with a reroll thats 1d10+30 (or if you like the 6 roll was 16) making 36 (I think).

Flintlock Ducking under cover, Flintlock slumped against the old wooden beams of the Black Flag, listening to the sound of gunfire, clashing sabres, and no doubt all sorts of other eruptions of force supernatural or otherwise. Much as she liked a good sea battle, she only liked it when she was winning. The edges of her mind fraying under the strain of sorcery, under the stress of her mind in a horrible void of endless piping idiocy, she kept the summoned horror floating, spectral, in the sky, and clutched her pistol with both hands. "Slippery, slippery, but so are flying polyps!" she muttered at the airborne pirate, as the tentacles once against wound round and round...

The Red Rat Soviet Kitch 10 posts Starshot Unsportsmanlike Behaviour 1 post Flintlock Romance Dawn 4 posts Synth Fight the Power 12 posts GM Finger Food 11 posts Media Frenzy 24 posts Bad Beat 11 posts GM Posts = 46 x 2 = 92 Applies: +15 to Red Rat (for 25/3 PP), +24 to Starshot (for 25/3 PP), +21 to Flintlock (for 25/3 PP), +13 to Synth (for 25/3 PP). Leaves 19 15 to Bloody Mess (for 15/ 2 PP), 4 for Lord Steam (for 1 / 1 PP) and a few left over in case any mistakes made in my counts.

GM "I don't want to kill. I want to break...Her-er-er-er-er-er......." Something splintered in more than four dimensions. There was a juddering sound, like rubber vibrating. Everything felt truly terrible for a second. Or maybe longer. Or maybe shorter. It was hard to tell. The Shadow realm was present, then was not. Everything froze. Hyperactive found himself in a sea of ember, glistening, floating. It was like a beautiful hellscape. He could see, like ghosts, the people around him, still like statues. Zyte, Zane!, Bloom, Sugar. Perhaps they were moving slowly. Perhaps not. The buildings and set were made of moss-covered stone. Cracks webbed the ground and the architecture, and hot gas seeped like glaciers from them. On the ground, before him, was Gold Star. Frozen. Like a ghost. And then, from Gold Star, a more solid person emerged. Adam Altman, a duplicate. Whereas Gold Star was all cool determination. Adam was pure fear. "Uuuughhh...." he shuddered, looking around. "What did you do?" he asked Hyperactive.

Ok post the attack IC and ill take it from there. Dropping out of combat for a bit!

Would you be happy to make that some kind of interdimensional chaos effect?

Ok so lets call that a dimensional attack stunt for an HP?

Synth / Nyberg "I am afraid you cannot" answered Nyberg. "You have not persuaded me beyond reasonable doubt that AEGIS is not mixed up in this. Your words are plausible, but not definitive. You would say exactly the same thing if you wished to trick me into incarceration and dissect me" he explained. He was not angry, just cold. "And that is a risk I cannot take. SHADOW have been after my cells for years now, and I cannot take even the smallest risk that they will find me. For all I know, that has already happened thanks to you" He tensed, ready for action. "So now it is your choice. You may attempt to incarcerate me with my resistance, or you will not. If you are honest and true, then I apologise for my resistance - but it is the only choice I can make..."

The Red Rat "I have a clanging headache" conceded the Rat, pressing her fingers to the her temples and crossing her eyes. She got her self some paracetamol. Inferior capitalistic paracetamol, a certain something told her. "There was a DJ, playing some inferior capitalistic music. A party. Some thugs. Oh, and they got my guns..." she conceded, showing the scientist her empty palms. "Which is, from a tactical purpose, sub-optimal" she conceded. And rather irritating. "I'd rather like them back. Unless you happen to have a pair of superior soviet datalinked bleeding edge snub nosed pistols with multiple fire modes around?" She wanted to flop into the couch. She decided not too. "Other than that, well, it was all rather strange. I was hoping the computer would tell some tales on the matter..."

Not going to get much from that: Angel is not actually actively deceiving and that's not really enough to get a feel of his motives outside of the narrative IC.

GM "Morello. Angel Morello" answered the Man. He took out his right hand and offered it to John. It had, John noticed, a calloused look. Angel was no stranger to manual work, or at least physical activity. "It certainly is atypical. The Church of St. Howard. Abandoned in the 19th Century. Many stories. Maybe some are true. Maybe many are true, strange as it seems. But this I have read; it was an asylum, of sorts. Not the good sort, either. The local clergy decided to use it for care, and not the good sort of care, of the insane. Seems more people went mad inside than out of it, or at least that's what the stories say" Angel studied the building for a time, admiring the architecture. "It is beautiful, is it not? Even if it is cold" he sighed. He turned back to John. "I intend to go inside. I am an investigator. A seeker. Of sorts. I used to teach History and Occultism in Colombia, so I have a nose for the strange and mysterious" he added, giving his little chimpanzee like smile. "And as for you, come now. Everybody who walks within a dozen yards of this place turns away. You only come here if you are driven, so to speak. This much I have observed....and you do not turn away, so I conclude you are driven too....ah! But if you feel you must keep your secrets, I will not pry. I too, like everyone, have my own story, and some chapters are too painful to speak of..." he sighed, looking away, morose or even macabre, at the grey horizon. "Still, if I can be of assistance..."

GM At the Church of St. Howard 'Twas indeed an old church. In an overgrown, forlorn patch of struggling yellow grass. It was overcast in sky and a dreary light fell slowly to earth from grey and black clouds. Crows flapped around as John approached. He felt the presence of graves beneath his feet, forgotten for centuries. Nobody seemed to want to remember this church, not even the dead. A few lights were on inside, and John could see some signs of renovation, but they were thin. If this was a converted restaurant, it did not seem to be making much effort to attract custom; although one could appreciate from the architecture that should it ever do so, and sprinkle some gay essence on the place, it would be an impressive place to dine. "Feeling hungry?" A voice from behind him. Standing there was a man of shortish build, with a rather simian looking face - like a smiling chimp. He was far from handsome but had a confidence about him, an easy smile, and was of intelligent cranium and countenance. A mop of brown hair, a deep olive skin. Together with his accent, John would place him somewhere in south America by origin, maybe Colombian. "Not many people come here. Not many people at all" said the man, still smiling and ambling up to John in an easy manner, his hands tucked casually into his leather jacket. "You don't seem like many people though, Hombre?"