Supercape

Ok! So I am awarding John 1 HP for the PLOT device of Smokey Ace, who may feature in the future (depending on your taste). I am awarding another HP for having a fight in the hospital, and Jane being vulnerable. Which makes The Tattered Man - 4 HP - Unharmed And in need of an initiative roll! As for Blowfish and he thugs, Initiative: 1d20+4 6

GM Blowfish was advancing, with his goons. Not fast, but with full forceful footsteps nonetheless. The card in his hand started smoking. Not on fire, but slowly smoking. "Now Smokey Ace, he lets you ask questions. Him and his hwfff...cards never been wrong so far" he said, firmly. "And I'm betting they ain't being wrong now. So I got to asking. He burnt down my club?" He pulled out another card with his other hand. The Burnt Man "Now him, I want to speak to. Maybe even more than you" he shouted this time. "But I got to thinking. There was something off, that evening. Amber was in on it, and you best believe I got her card too" he said, threatening. "But somebody else was in that club that night. Some new face, somebody who I wasn't that inclined to trust. Someone disrespectful...So I got to asking Smokey Joe whom that was...and what he wanted..." He once again thrust the Tattered Man card in front of him. "Guess what he pulled out...this damn card. And with it, Ruin!" he almost screamed, livid and red, his tic worse than ever. "Now I gets to digging, and I hear talk of the Tattered Man in Bedlam. Someone, it seems, I don't want around. Someone who has it in for me. Just because I disposed of some dumb broad who didn't show me respect" He paused, shivering. "I gets to asking all sorts of questions. And I am goods at getting answered. The Tattered Man, and Vanity's sister. Ruin. And I hear about the hospital. About a car crash. About a little Miss Silverfinger" he smiled. "And now, I get here and my card starts smokin'" he said, waving the Tattered Man which was now beginning to disintergrate into embers as he got closer. "And I know you are here. And I am guessing your new girlfriend too!"

GM "Well for what its worth, I think you make a love.." She was interrupted by a scream down the corridor. Two orderlies were being brutally shoved to one side by Blowfish - or more accurately, his entourage of goons. Six of them, as far as John could see. They weren't carrying weapons openly, but it seemed unlikely they had come unarmed. "You!" shouted Blowfish at John. He held up a card, a scuffed, almost charred card. For all its distance, somehow John could see it from a distance. It was a tarot card. The Tattered Man... Wait. There was no such thing as a Tattered Man in a standard Tarot deck, was there? But there it was, plain as day. Plainer, in fact. Somehow he could see the detail at a few dozen yards. The Tattered Man. The card was trembling in the hand of Blowfish. "You! I got friends in high places, I got friends in low places. I got a friend who knows sorcery. Didn't believe it at first, but tried him out. Smokey Ace, master of cards. Now, I owe him, and I don't like owing people. But I needed to know just who you are..."

Activating Astral form for Flintlock - quite happy to fiat that away due to magic, or just not be effective. Maybe Shiar can come up with something better

Flintlock "Very well, Lady Hannah of AEGIS, ye asked for our help, and ye shall have it!" "The foul undead, present company excluded, shall be destroyed! Now, one thing...we don't actually know where they are...or indeed if they are here at all" she said, contemplating the map. "'Tis time, then, to cast eyes on shore and sea, to see if we can't find this here Zombie plague...now then, me friend here, the kid..." she gave a wink and a kiss at Shi'ar "might have some fine sorcery up his sleeves, see if he can't locate the necromancy by various spells eldritch and arcane, and so on and so forth and suchlike" she rambled. "As for me, I'll be having an out of body experience. Not my favourite type of experience. I prefers me in the body experience, haha, eh, my friend?" she nudged Asad. "Wake me up for the Rum!" she ordered Handsome Jack, who knew the drill, and put a pillow behind her head. And so Captain Flintlock lay down, closed her eyes, and fell into an almost motionless trance. And off, off, off, went her spirit, insubstantial and ethereal, flowing over waves and land to see what carnage may, or may not, be happening...

The Red Rat "Ohh...but I am..." she said, clutching her head and her stomach. "I have a blinding headache...blurred vision...." Basic trauma medicine was part of her training. She knew enough. She wobbled on her feet. "Nausea...its a subdural haematoma!" she blurted. For added effect, she slurred her words just slightly, and allowed a hint of dribble from one side of her mouth. The muppets would surely be ignorant? "If I don't have surgery, I will die!" she pleaded. A solitary tear flowed. "What are you doing locking me up here? It's against the law!" she whimpered, playing a dumb blonde.

Bluff check "Help meeee!": 1d20+15 24 bingo

Do you need to? You can just take 10 to automatically hit?

The Red Rat What was this, a rave party? It all had the most strange ambience. Although she quite liked the music. She may have grown up in the cold war fifties, but her music taste had become quite eclectic and fully embraced the modern decadent style. She cracker her knuckles. Even without her guns, she was an expert in martial arts. Sambo, savate, judo...the standard fare of the Russian military. Whilst she could do flashy if need be, her style was based on quick effectiveness. She knocked on the door. "Help! Help!" she yelled. "I'm hurt...real bad..." she moaned. "I think I'm dying...ahhhhhhh...."

GM The thug flew away like a rag doll, flying through the large window entrances of the Gold Star retirement home in a shower of glass, landing on the road outside, out stone cold. The last two standing thugs looked at each other, and decided, based on adrenaline rather than logic, to run. In fairness, they were fleet of foot and agile. Not that they could hope to outrun Hyperactive, but they made headway, jumping into the road. At this time, Ztye, Zane! and Michelle had pulled up in an open car, with Zane! driving, Michelle groaning, and Zyte wittering on about something awesome. Probably himself. "Awesome!" he yelled as he caught the action. His speed with a camera was not to be taken lightly. In the blink of an eye, he was filming everything. The two thugs leapt on to the quad-bikes they had left outside the Gold Star. "Quad Bikes! Awesome!" yelled Zyte, pumping his fist in the air.

Thats an automatic hit, and, for that matter, and automatic knockout. For their action, the two remaining thugs will run, scoot outside, onto some nifty Quad Bikes! And in the nick of Narrative time, Ztye, Michelle, and Zane! are arriving outside for more civillians at risk! For all those civvies at risk, an HP, So: Hyperactive 2 HP - Unharmed

Flintlock Pirate ladies! I hope he didn't make zombie pirates to...no...let us not dwell on such thoughts on this plane! "He sounds like....what does one say these days...a Neek? a Gerd? I can't keep up with all this chapping and swanging of lords and wetters" she said, tapping her temples furiously. She sprang up. "So then, I would venture we need to put these pirates down. Give em the death they deserve! And...well...now I thinks about it, it may not be that simple, hmmm!" she ventured, strolling up and down the bridge of the Black Flag. "How to kill the undead? Burn them? Bury them? Smother them with kipper oil and dance an Irish Jig? The possibilities are endless!" She spun around, finger waving to the sky. "We need to know how the fool raised them! Know thy enemy, or something like that. Napoleon always told me that!" she concluded. "A terrible man! How I adored him!" "Mayhap we can reverse the spell? Aha! reverse the thaumity of the necrotic flow!...or...something like that..." she said, confused.

It certainly does hit (they are minions) Fort Save vs Paralyse: 1d20+7 19 now, I had a brain fart - their fort bonus is actually +4 not +7, which would make their save 16, just failing. On the principle that minions take the worst result (some debate about that for non damage but Ill ignore it), and we dont want splattered brains at this juncture, the thug is paralysed (and effectively out) Open fire on Hyperactive: 3#1d20+5 13 19 18 they all open fire, they all miss Hyperactive. Post your zipping around IC

GM "Wha...?" "But...?" "How...?" Came three voices, infused with panic, confusion, fear, and even a hint of bravado. "Don't you move man, or I'll blow..." Came the fourth voice, the thug holding his pistol to the nurses head. The poor nurse - a small, tired looking woman, probably working two jobs to fund her acting classes, screamed. Clearly at this point no acting classes were required. Perhaps the experience, if not destined to traumatise her, might lead to a well of experience she could draw on for future C-list, straight-to-DVD horror films. Time will surely tell. But right now, time was in flux, and Hyperactive was moving even as the coil fell...

ok so for the purposes of IC cohesion - the thugs will threaten you with shooting the nurse...now is that coin in mid air, and is HA going to act before they get more than a few words out?

Could you throw me an intimidate roll for that?

GM There were four of them. They looked like action stars. Or rather, the kind of goons one saw in action films. They were dressed in leather jackets, t shirrts, jeans, sneakers. A few tattoos, a few more piercings. And guns. Yes, they were carrying guns. Snub nosed machine pistols that looked pretty neat. Of course, they were also functional, in that they spat out bullets. "Where is he?" demanded the first, pointing his gun at a petrified nurse. "What the hell?" gulped the second, pulling his gun up towards Hyperactive. The groups nerve, previously strong, dissolved at the sight of a superhero. "He ain't bulletproof..." volunteered the third... "We hope..." prayed the fourth.

Synth / Nyberg Damnation...AEGIS.... This was a problem bordering on the impossible, but he swallowed despair. "It will have to do. It must" he answered Sarah. "But I fear AEGIS won't crack him. He is too good...nobody really understands the science of what he is doing" he said, frowning deeply. "My connection with Bella? Is...complicated" he said, kindly. "Don't judge her too harshly. She tries to do the right thing, and like all of us, she fails. She was helping me, but I fear she failed to do so, and just ended up scarring to hearts" he explained. "I wish I could offer more consolation to you" Even Nyberg felt the sadness. It was not in his nature to hurt. "I would walk away now, but the truth is, I need something to bring to AEGIS. Evidence rather than speculation. If you have any idea how to help me...? Did Hull do anything, or act, suspicious?"

GM Hyperactive could hear, from outside, a car arriving in a brusque manner. Squealing tyres. It sounded like a bad action movie. Altman pondered Hyperactive words. Despite his sour soul, he was not unmoved. "You...do speak kind words, boy" he muttered, so faintly. "But I wonder, was it my agency or your parents that changed the world?" he asked, not sure of the answer himself. "It is hard for an old man to ponder such things. But it is all an old man can do, whilst waiting to draw his last.." he explained, looking as much tired and sad as bitter and angry, now. "You can't go in there....." heard Hyperactive, a call from the reception area. Along with the marching of feet...

Ok you take 20 for that notice roll with quickness. Enough to hear stuff as per IC.

Starshot "Pleased to meet you, madam" said Starshot, giving a stiff bow. Diplomacy was an oddity to man of action like himself. He had learned how to not put his foot in it. But not the niceties and subtleties of statecraft. Opinion would have to be reserved when it came to diplomats. But there was nothing to indicate antagonism. "We need help" he said, frankly. "This piece of junk" he prodded Cain "wants to sell these" he pointed at the Baby Tyrants. "And Bugtown...ahh...this place" he muttered, looking away "is his market stall..." "Do you know about illegal trading here?" he asked "Illegal and, in this case, dangerous?"

GM The Parrot spoke slowly, finding it difficult to articulate words post - stroke. "Who are you...Hyperactive, you say?" he said, his voice faint. "The son of...ah...." He paused. There was anger and bitterness in his eyes. "They ruined me, you know. I could have been...so much more. Famous! I had...talents..." he said, wistfully, turning his eyes around the sad scene. "And now look at me...waiting to die. No legacy...huh...even my Son...no legacy there. My boy, what I put him through, chasing my dreams" He became more bitter and angry still, tears falling. "Every child disappoints there parents. This is the...unspoken truth" he whispered. "We...seek immortality of sorts, through them, and at the end of the day...we are dust and they are not us, but something else..." "So what do you want to talk to a helpless old failed man like me for?" he said, more animated, more cruel.

Synth / Nyberg Nyberg actually breathed a sigh of relief. He pressed his eyes with his thumb and finger, pinching the bridge of his nose. The echo-psyche was feeling the strain, both psychologically and physically. Synthetic flesh was still flesh. The traumatised Synth was still below, and the sight of Sarah was toxic. Not now...not now...he told himself, determined to keep the emergency psych protocol running. "Thank you" he said, full of honesty. "I...ah...that's such a relief. Hull has been preying on my mind, and my heart his heavy" He breathed in and gathered himself. "You have given me hope I...we...can stop this. Please, do what you can..."

GM "Walter Altman?" said the receptionist. "Why, nobody ever visi...I mean, sure, of course. One of our customers!" She got up and lead the way. "I mean, very respectable man. Had a stroke a year ago, poor man. But here at Gold Star nursing home, we give the very best of care!" she said. As she strolled through the depressing corridors of the establishment, it was evident to even a non-medical eye that the care was "adequate" at best. "Here he is, in the common room..." And in said common room were a pair of half asleep nurses waiting for their shift to end, plus a half dozen elderly infirm residents, with various physical ailments and, in a few cases, dementia. A TV was blazing at top volume in the corner, some cheap cable show. Walter Altman was in a wheelchair, slumped to one side, but alert. His eyes widened as he saw Hyperactive approach. He was terribly frail, thin, and had left sided paralysis from what must have been a major stroke.

Synth "Williams and Knight told me" he replied, honestly - although he had no idea what the woman's name was. "And no, nothing you say will be used against you. I'm not interested in burning anyone except Hull...I just cant live with myself if he carries on doing what he is doing..." "As for evidence, I haven't got anything. But have you seen the research and Williams and Knight? The research that says not for live subjects? I have, and I can interpret it too. Its horrific" A melodramatic magnification. But he felt the need to drum home his point. "And you know who developed that research, don't you? If you don't take a guess..."