Supercape

GM Just drinking water, as expected, lifted her strength. She ordered a salad. Vegetarian. It was not much. It wouldn't put meat on her bony bones, but at least it had a few vitamins, a bit of protein. Even then, she tossed it round her plate. "Look, I can't trust anyone right now. But I can't go on like I have" she explained, by way of explanation. "I mean, I would really like to know who you are, but lets be honest, beggars can't be choosers..." She forced a fork full of leaves and avacado into her mouth. She made herself swallow. "It was a few weeks back. I don't really know when. I lost track of time. I got roped into cooking in this old church on the edge of town. Not a church now, a restaurant. Spooky place. Being renovated by a Monsieur Jaune. Creepy guy. But he had a ton of cash..." she shrugged, appropriately. "Gave me a bed too. I guess I was excited. Proper chef. You know, foot on the ladder to success..." she said, musing over her dreams. A faint smile wafted over her lips. "But it was sick. Rats in the basement. In the walls. A few creepy guys came in and out. Strange foods. Dried. Spices I couldn't recognise. It felt more like a chemical plant than a restaurant. Although I did cook, and Monsieur Jaune liked what he tasted..." "I could have taken it, at least for a bit. Till I woke up one day with something chewing on my hand...." She held up her hand showing John the stump. "Then I ran...I think something snapped..." she said, clutching her head again.

GM Piper's eyes were dry and unblinking, bloodshot. "Eat, yeah...sure, I'm hungry...." she mumbled. And she clearly was. John could see she was emaciated and more importantly dehydrated. It was a wonder she was still standing. "..but...I sure lost my appetite..." she added, rubbing the stump of her hand. She wobbled a bit, and dropped the knife. Clearly standing was taking its toll. "Oh shit..." Piper fell to her knees, clutching her matted hear. "It was horrible...horrible...every time I put something in my mouth I think of...Oh god..." She tore her eyes around the loathsome state of her appartment. "God, take me out of here. Anywhere. Ill...try...."

Could you give me a bit of detail on that? In general, there is some caution about "dimensional movement attack" type powers, as it removes NPCs from play etc. This kind of depends on what you had in mind though? Taking an NPC out of play - into a realm he cant escape from and where he cannot cause collateral damage is a bit of a stretch on first glance. How do you feel about it?

GM Hyperactive could hear some singing behind me. Like burning plastic. Bloom screamed and patted down her hair, which was encased in enough plastic hair spray to build a B-movie set. It was no alight and she was smacking the flames down into puffs of rather unpleasant smoke. Her scream seemed more of fear than actual pain, but it must have smarted all the same. Gold Star gave a look to the camera. "She is a bully. I give bullies what they deserve!" he said loudly. One of the junior grips, no doubt a frequent target of Bloom's acrid personality, actually started clapping...

ok So Bloom has a Toughness of +0 but its hardly a heavy attack (DC 16) Tough vs Gold Star Blast: 1d20+1 21 even with that stupid +1 my finger slipped on, she is unscathed. Post that IC and for reference: Round 6 23 Hyperactive Unharmed 1 HP, bruised 22 Sugar Foxx, unharmed 17 Gold Star Bruised 15 Smoking Wheels [5] Unharmed 10 Everyone Else 0 The Parrot Unharmed Meaning Hyperactive can act again!

Ok! First off, that is a suitably heroic action so no net HP gain / loss. I suggest we go for an opposed power roll? Opposed Power Roll: 1d20+10 25 The amount you fail, if you fail, is the amount of energy (up to 10) that hits Bloom. You may of course spend an HP to reroll any result. Feel free to post result IC. As for the "Can't stop moving" complication, play it out IC and we shall see if it hurts enough for an HP?

So now I write it, Gold Star fires at Bloom! Zap! I think best play loose with the rules here; how would Hyperactive react before we make what is probably an opposed roll of some sort!

GM A cloud of uncertainty seemed to fall onto the set. Zyte had the presence of mind to keep filming, such was his nature, and deeply ingrained it was. He would probably still be filming if he was decapitated. His spinal cord could do it. Gold Star was, however, full of certainty. "You mistake my intentions..." he said, a kind of cold fire in his voice. "Whilst your families destruction of mine is worthy of vengeance, it is also in the past. My eye is turned to the future..." He pointed his gun at Zyte, who still kept filming. "Keep filming!" he ordered the red-headed artist. He turned, rather dramatically, with a swish of his cape, to Bloom and Hyperactive. "I won't be manipulated. I won't be gnnnahhh" he grunted, a tic coming over his face briefly "hurt. Bloom is a cold, manipulative creature. You are a weak willed pawn, a man who is chained in his family. For someone so fast, you are so very slow" he said, a blunt smile on his lips. "And my father was an abusive, violent man that gnnnahhh..." again, the tic. "...hurt a small boy. Over and over and...gnnnahhh..." his hold body seized for a second. "...hurt. I am here as a product of you all, to transcend you all..." He gave a noble face to Zyte's camera. "Fall everyone who has been ground down, destroyed, ignored, and hurt. I salute you, and bring you justice!" he said, raising his hand, dramatically, to the sky. And then he fired at Bloom....

Ok so lets drop out of combat one second and have some witty banter! (as per IC)

Snyth / Nyberg "On the surface, yes" agreed Nyberg. He pointed a finger to the ground. "Underground does, in this case, literally mean that. I have no objection to showing you evidence. If you are indeed committed to stopping this and untainted by politics or money - which I have to say is both plausible and unlikely, then this will help you. If you are involved, it will aide you not at all" he reasoned. "If I have your permission to lower my hands and show you downstairs?" he asked, recalling the secret entrances and shifty rooms he had been in.

Synth / Nyberg "Yes...no....I can't explain" answered Nyberg, truthfully. "The self is more complex than the dull mind appreciates. What is I? my cells? my memories? the ego? what section of the brain? what proportion? Am I the same man as I was a second ago? an hour? a day? a year?" He rubbed his forehead. "I cannot truly answer you because their is no language for truth, at least, not in the time we have in our hands. But suffice to say I do not think we have met, although, ironically, as you insinuate, I have memories of you" "Tell me this then, what have you found out? have you seen his research?" "And you still haven't explained whose number I phoned...do you know about this place?"

Synth / Nyberg That was plausible. But then, it was also a good cover. "Jason Hull is the man you should be looking for. Scientist, worked in H&K. Maybe still does. And thus, my concern that AEGIS is involved. The thread is not confirmed, but even threadbare it suggests that AEGIS is involved" "And if it is, you should know I won't stand for it. You best shoot me now" I rather bold gambit, and unlikely to pay off. But you never could tell. "Jason Hull is unlikely to have the resources to pull this off himself. If he did, then he has a very interested buyer, and the skill to make a lot of people look the other way, either by deception or money" "Right now AEGIS is my top suspect"

Synth / Nyberg Synth kept his hands firmly up. He might be able to run, make a break for it. Probably had good odds. But he was tired, and it got him nowhere, really. "I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help" he said. Wondering exactly whom he was helping. "My name is Professor Nyberg" he half lied. "You probably won't find me on any data base. Paper files, maybe" he pondered. He rather suspected SHADOW had scrubbed his name out of existence. He had been duped into working for them, and they wanted his research back. "But I am an expert in biochemistry, genetics, molecular biology. And in particular, I know an awful lot on metahuman research. In particular particular..." again, a half lie "I lot about human augmentation" "This establishment has been running underground street fights, picking off the winners, and using them for experiments. You can put the pieces together, I am sure. I was looking into this, covertly, I admit. And I find your number on a piece of paper with a stack of cash here. So I have to ask myself, given AEGIS may well be interested in such experiments, what kind of corruption is happening..."

GM "You will?" The fingers around the knife handle relaxed slightly. Blood rushed back to the white knuckles. The door opened to reveal an apartment that was as dishevelled as Piper was. If not more so. The smell hit hardest, but the sight of discarded ready meals, dirty clothes, and miscellaneous filth was not far behind. "Come in...uhhhhhh....take a seat...." "Who sent you? Huh...I didn't know I had any friends left" she mumbled, scratching her hair. Some tangles left her scalp and ended up in her finger nails. All nine of them. "I used to be doing okay, you know...getting by. Was planning on opening up a food place someday. Nothing fancy, just somethin..." she started, her eyes getting a little teary. She wiped away the precious moisture. She had little to spare, given her state of nutrition and hydration. "Old Dick Young tried to get me interested in cooking at some new place. The Bad Beat, he said. I think I scared him off..." She showed the Tattered Man her hand again, rubbing the stump. "Last guy who tried to employ me...I woke up with something eating my hand....ran away. Nightmares ever since...." she said, shuddering. It certainly looked like she hadn't slept in a week. "What's your story? Why you being so kind and noble? Don't you know this is Bedlam?"

GM With a weak creak the door slowly opened, just a crack. A wide eye peered through the crack, studious. Apparently convinced that there was not an axe murderer outside, the door opened a little more to an impressive five inches ajar. Piper was dishevelled, gaunt, dehydrated. Her eyes were wide from many sleepless knights, her hair knotted and matted. "Who are you?" she asked suspiciously. "Come to take another I guess!" she snapped, showing John her left hand. The first finger was gone, leaving a stump without scar. The other hand clung onto a kitchen knife tightly. "I can hear them, you know! The rats! Come to take another! If not that, then slit my throat so I don't speak of it!" she said, looking left to right and back again in a highly distressed knife. "So who are you! Why should I trust you?"

GM And so, a bit later... Scroover street was not pleasant, even by Bedlam's standards. The crunch of discarded needles underfoot, the smell of excrement and sickly herbs. A few slobbering hobos knocked out on something intravenous curled up on the pavement. Appartments were pretty cheap to rent, and Piper had taken to one of them. Even for Scroover Street, it was run down. And that was saying something. The door was barred shut. John could almost feel the paranoia seeping out of the locks and wood. The barred windows outside were testiment. "Who's there! Who's there!" came the scared, loud voice of Piper through the locked door before John had even knocked...

Synth /. Nyberg With a flush of anger, Synth raised his hands. "They are in the air" he answered, barely containing his fury. AEGIS? After all of this, AEGIS??? He was sorely tempted to believe they were corrupt. He was not trusting as a rule, having been burnt by experience. And now, a phone call and AEGIS appear. What were the chances of that? The woman at the end of the phone was an AEGIS agent. This looked a sorry state of affairs. Every twist and turn, AEGIS at the end. He now no longer believed them. The coincidences were piling up. Hull was in bed with AEGIS. The only question, to his mind, was how deep and rotten this went. He could hope it was superficial. But he was not in a hopeful mood. "Show yourself. Explain yourself" he said, voice like gravel. "Try and tell me why AEGIS is experimenting illegally on involuntary subjects. And don't offer me platitudes and ignorance. You know something, if not everything..."

GM "Words? Plenty" said Fat Joe, thoughtful for a moment or two. "Everybody trying to move on Blowfish, finish him off. Some Mexicans apparently want in. The serpent, on something like that. The dice will be falling soon enough. Can't say which way they will land yet" he shrugged. Obviously there was some nerves, even for Fat Joe, but that was life in Bedlam. ""Felix Brown, the estate agent. He is a shifty guy. I don't like Dick dealing with him. I mean, the old fool was a cop, but he's an old man now" he said, fondly. He pushed some onions around on his stall, absent minded. "Yeah, and we got a crazy girl. Piper. Always been a bit strange that girl. Sensitive. But she can cook!" he said with a grin. "Even better than me! Yeah, yeah, I know, hard to believe what with Fat Joe's hot dogs being so perfect". Fat Joe knew otherwise, of course, But he would never actually admit it. Just give a knowing wink, like he did now. He patted his belly. "How do you think I got this incredible physique. Piper Pepper. Best darn cook this side of town. Just too loopy to hold down a job" he sighed. "Dick Young was trying to get her to cook for the Bad Beat when it reopens. But she is shut indoors. Won't come out. Gabbling about rats. And missing a finger..." He shook his head sadly. "Look, this is one even I don't want to know about. But I got a bad feeling. Maybe you can help..."

Synth / Nyberg It was more thrusting and jabbing with invisible rapiers. "I can't talk over the phone" he answered, bluntly. "You know Scrappers. You know what happens here. You know what's at stake..." Because I certainly don't.... "It will be more than blood next time. You need to see this for yourself. I'll be waiting. But not long..." A slight pause. "Half an hour, then I'm gone" He slammed the phone down. A gambit, sure. But everything was. For now, he went back to Scrappers and poured himself a drink whilst waiting.

GM Nyberg was slightly surprised to hear a woman at the end of the line. Whom could it be? "Hello?" he answered neutrally. No particular gambit sprung to mind. No particular gambit was safe. It was all a roll of the dice. Maybe blunt honesty, with a dash of selective information... "Who is this? Got your number from Scrappers. Hidden away with a ton of money..." Ok, a slight magnification of the truth too...

Flintlock (The Skeleton Crew) "Come on you bags of the bones! Lets show them what we are the made of!" sang Handsome Jack, happily. Of course, he had to stay behind on the Black Flag to pilot it. Such was the burden of being second in command. To various cheers, jeers, and songs, the Skeleton Crew - bar Billy the Fish who was still hooked to the Anchor deep below, and Handsome Jack himself, drew cutlasses and knives (or in Thin Lucy's case, a plank of wood) and marched through the portal on the USS Constellation. Bullets rang out. Swords glinted. The Skeleton Crew did not bleed, but rotting flesh was torn aside from bullets, and bones dry and brittle splintered easily enough. They were not exactly tough of flesh. It was more that they didn't need blood or nerves. They cracked and broke under the barrage of pistol fire, but they kept going all the same. And they were skilled enough swordsmen, and strong enough of limb. Soon, the USS Constellation was awash the sound of swords clashing and gunpowder firing. Tussles and mad melee were breaking out everywhere...

HOley Schmoley! Sorry!

Ok so whilst this is a little uninspired, just doing the same thing as last time: A grapple on the airborne pirate. We want storms dammit! Grapples Airborne Pirate: 1d20+20 26 Let me know result as prob best I post IC depending on the result?

Synth / Nyberg Nyberg thumbed through the notes. Damn, he was broke. But it was theft. Necessary theft. But theft. Theft from thieves. But still theft. He hardly had enough to eat, and he might need have. He pocketed the money. "Pure" Synth wouldn't have, but Nyberg was older, wiser, and dedicated to protecting Synth, in bone, blood, and brain. As for the Shotgun, he picked it up, sniffed it. Any clues? Irrespective, he ejected the ammunition from it. Stealing some necessary dollars was one thing. Shooting a different thing altogether. And now, the phone number. There was a simple way to investigate that: he looked around for a land line... Dialling it....

GM "The Bad Beat, huh?" nodded Fat Joe, smiling broadly. "Say, you remember Dick? Dick Young? He was a big fan of Jazz. He went to the Bad Beat pretty often. Didn't like the customers much, but it did have some good music" He helped himself to one of his own Hot Dogs. One could not help but notice he had a particularly large one. Fat Joe was rather generous with serving himself, as his girth could attest. Impressively, he swallowed it in two bites. "Well, Dick and some old timers. They are trying to buy the Bad Beat at auction. Not worth much now, of course, just a hollowed out carbonised cellar. They think they can get it running again. Dedicate it to Vanity. That helps with popularity" he explained. "Maybe get Amber for the opening night. But nobody seen her" he asked, raising an eye to John to see if he had any useful titbits. "But you know Bedlam, its shady deals and shady lawyers and all sorts. I sent Dick a guy. A mister Felix Brown, he sorts out real estate in Bedlam. Which means he is a crook, but stays on the right side of the law. Used to work for Blowfish, they say, but Brown works for himself and himself only. Still, if anyone can sort out the Bad Beat's legal hocus pocus, its him..."