Supercape

GM Zyte was frowning, stroking his goatee. "He looks crazy to me...I mean, I know a little psychology from college. Looks like he is strung tight, repressed rage. Dissociating, maybe..." "I mean, yeah, crazy. And I say that working in Hollywood, so it must be damn crazy. Makes me doubly glad I have you around. I mean, he could beat me to a pulp..." he said. He did not, however, seem afraid. Or maybe Zyte was afraid, but boldness was second nature to him. A moment later Hyperactive whizzed to the Gold Star nursing home. A quick scan made it plain that is was second rate, if that. A cheap arrangement for those with a little, but not much, money. A bored, disinterested receptionist brushed the potato chips off her blouse as Hyperactive entered. She wore too much make up, and dyed her hair a cheap peroxide blonde. "Oh lordy! A Superhero!" she said, trying to smarten up her act. "Welcome to the Gold Star Nursing home sir! What can we do for you?"

Synth / Nyberg "My name is Doctor Nyberg" he said. It was not exactly true, he was more the echo, the blueprint, of Nyberg. But the half-truth would serve. The real Doctor Nyberg was dead. "I'm looking for Jason Hull. He works for Williams and Knight, and I understand you might now where he is..." He paused, taking a gamble. "Jason Hull has been using Williams and Knight research to illegally experiment on humans. That's why AEGIS is crawling around the offices. But nothing is going to be found. Williams and Knight are clean, and Jason Hull has made very sure he has left no tracks. But I have seen the research, and seen the data. Not many can understand it, but I could" He became forceful. "And I need to find him so nobody else gets hurt. I know you have had a bad day. I know that AEGIS is putting the screws on everybody. And I know you have no reason to trust me. But all you have to do is tell me where Hull is. And if you don't...maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not next week. But sooner or later what he is doing will be exposed, and the trail of human suffering he has caused will be in the papers. And you are going to read that and no that if you had just told me where he was, those people would still be alive..." His patience had run wafer thin. No, it had gone completely. He was doing all the running, all the work. Everybody else was washing their hands of responsibility, choosing not to look. Time for people to show their backbone...

GM "I don't hate you, why would I?" answered Altman, his eyebrow twitching, his smile placid. "My father is sick...yes..." he twitched. "Perhaps we should go see him. Maybe you could..." he swallowed, dry and bitter. "Thank him?" he said, again even and placid. "He had a big impact on my life...he...was a failure, ultimately. He wanted fame and glory, that was all. And he succeeded in neither despite his gifts. No charisma they told him. So he tried to make his son into the star he was not. A gold star, he told me..." his eyes seemed to shine off into the distance and his face contorted into bitterness before once again becoming a mask of calm. "So here I am, trying to make it in Hollywood. I'm going to be a big star one day, I know it!" he said, determined. He punched a fist into a palm to emphasise the point. "I can meet you there. I need to huh...freshen up...first..." he explained, pointing to his sweaty gym gear.

GM "Hyperactive?" snarled Altman. "Your family..." his faced grimaced and then it became perfectly calm and still, as if a mask had been put on. "Yes..Hyperactive" he said calmly. "Of course. Of course. Yes, lets talk somewhere private" he said, with a waxy smile. "Although nowhere is private in Hollywood. Perhaps outdoors would be better?" He lead Zyte and Hyperactive out of the Pumpathon like a zombie in a trance, before turning to them. The air was hot and sticky, cars trundled past. A few disinterested characters walked past. "The road is a private as you could care for round here" said Altman. "So speak freely. We can always say we are shooting a film ha..ha...ha..." he laughed like a hollow bone. "This is about my father, isn't it. Also known as the Parrot?" he asked. "I've known since I was a boy. I'm not surprised someone finally found out about him..."

Synth / Nyberg "I am afraid it is an emergency" answered Nyberg. "I don't wish to intrude. I just need a moment of her time" he said, more politely. "Or, more precisely, I just need to find somebody, and I think Sarah might be able to help me. I hope she can anyway..." After all this deception, he tried the truth. At least, an edited form of the truth. "I'm looking for a man named Justin Hall. I think he is doing some very bad things. I need to find him before he hurts anyone" he explained. He wondered what the nature of Sarah's personality was. "Are you alright in there? Sounds like you are a bit...worn down? Can I help?"

Synth / Nyberg It must be the Cornhall community, logically. As well as by necessity! Now, how to approach? Shaw would not recognise Nyberg. He had no wish to dredge up the horror of their relationship, such as it had been. Synth's brain was already wracked. He paused for a moment, contemplating options. He didn't really know what the Cornhall community was. Blind. But I have to proceed...Shaw knows where Jason Hull is.... He would have to bluff his way through this, although his chances seemed thin. He would pretend to be an associate of Jason Hull. Best he could do. At least he had the look of a scientist. He pressed the Bell. "Hello, I'm looking for Sarah Shaw?" he asked.

The Red Rat Soviet Kitsch Starshot Unsportsmanlike Conduct Flintlock Romance Dawn Vignette (its a biggie!) Synth Fight the Power Lord Steam None Bloody Mess None GM The Sick and the Serpentine (12 Posts) Media Frenzy Bad Beat GM posts distribute to push Starshot, Red Rat, Flintlock, Synth to 50. The left over GM posts, split between Bloody Mess and Lord Steam (I think to 25 each).

Synth / Nyberg Without a word, or even a nod, the increasingly frantic Nyberg stepped out of the bus. He patted his wallet. Empty. Such was the life of a part-time refuse collector in Freedom City. He should think about maybe getting another job. But Refuse collection gave a unique olfactory insight into the city. And, now he thought about it, had landed him in his current situation. He paused to remind himself that, despite all the hardships, he had purpose. Illegal human experimentation. For Nybergs composite psyche, that was even more distasteful. The pause gave him time to adjust his nose to the new scents; it was there, certainly. What was Shaw doing? Going back home? He avoided thinking about exactly what he would say to Shaw when he met her. Not an easy situation. Right now, he focused on picking up the scent...

Starshot "The more eyes we have the better" He was feeling a prickly sweat. Nerves. Too busy, too crowded. Anyone could have a Telaxian shock blade and stick in his back. He felt a mild agitation, a restlessness, in his hands. Cain.... he is a slippery customer....friends and contacts everywhere....yes, Cain was making him nervous. "Especially in a bar" he added. "We better watch our step. Cain is cunning if nothing else" he said, putting his hand in his jacket just so they were doing something. "Lets hope your friend is trustworthy. For what its worth, you have earned my trust..."

GM A little later... ...Hollywood, "Pumpathon" Gym As it happened, Adam Waltman was at Pumpathon Gym. He seemed to be there half the time, finding little in terms of gainful employment. "Sure, he hitting the iron" said the Receptionist, a bored failed actress just the wrong side of thirty (and thus, virtually on the scrap heap by Hollywood standards). She stopped doing her pink nails for a moment. "Careful though, he is a bit of a...." she crossed her eyes and tapped the side of her head. And in the gym itself, smelling of sweat, exercise, and chemical help for sweat and exercise, was Adam Altman himself. By first glances, he should have made it. He was tall, about 6'2", and whilst not incredibly handsome, he had a certain look to him. He was pushing insane weights, and had the body to show for it. His face was contorted in a mask of equally insane effort. "Gods, look at those Guns!" murmured Zyte, observing Adam curling some horrifically big dumb bell. "Mr. Altman, Mr. Altman? Could I have a moment of your time? Mr name is Guyst. Zyte Guyste...you may have heard of me?" he said, boldly interrupting. "Huh...what do you want?" grunted Adam. He has a smooth voice, but it seemed sort of flat, controlled, almost vacant. "And whats with him? Come to make your name in Hollywood?" he asked Hyperactive, with a foul bitterness to his words. "Maybe Superheroes have a chance. Rest of us have to suck it up..." he spat.

GM "Simple" replied Zyte "I created a computer algorithm tracking down web hits for The Parrot and cross referenced them with web search psych - profiles...and...ah....well, yes, it may have been a little bit borderline grey kind of area in the possibly not quite legal sense" he squirmed, his pride and caution fighting a battle. "Tsk hsss...." hissed Michelle. "Anyway, its not actually proof so to speak but between digging around in the internet and good old fashioned bribery...I mean, financial incentives. I am 97% sure I got him. Walter Altman...lives in the Gold Star retirement home right here in Hollywood. Not sure its a gold star service, though..." "The best way, I think, is to approach is son, Adam Altman...some second rate action actor. Third rate, maybe. I mean, he hasn't hit the big time..." he frowned. "If we can persuade him to see Walter, maybe we get the tears flowing, we all start being open and honest and, like, healing, you know?" he explained. "In any case, I can see your family have tried to help the Parrot. Maybe you could give yourself an image boost, awesome - style, by helping the Altmans?"

Synth "Thanks" he said, without meaning it. He turned and ran as fast as he could reasonably get away with - without looking superhuman - towards the bus. The speed...the power...its wonderful! he noted, admiring the instant firing of nerves, the smooth powerful response of his muscles. He had been a reasonably fit man in life, tall, broad, strong. But nothing could compare to this! "One ticket to...." he looked around tried to work out where this bus went to. "End of the line" he concluded. "Where is that, exactly?" The trail was running cold. Sarah could have got off anywhere. He could only hope there was some clue somewhere...

GM "I think she needs some rest. She went through a lot, you know" smiled Gomez, patting John on the back. She sighed deeply. "This is Bedlam. I doubt there is any country in the world that has more gunshots and trauma than we do. At least, no country at peace". She paused, thinking for a moment. "But then, I guess Bedlam is at war, isn't it?" she said, opening the door to let John leave. "Its a sea of darkness, and we are drowning in it. I guess you just threw out a rope to her. Saved her life. Gave Bedlam a little glimmer of light" she said, actually admiring John for a moment. "So tell me" she asked, walking him out of Janes room. "Do you love her? Her hero?"

GM A few minutes later... Recovery Suite 2 "Mmmm...John?" Jane was awake, although loaded on morphine. She had a drip up her arm. "Careful" said Nurse Gomez, a pleasant rotund lady with a handsome face and Mexican accent in her forties who still looked pretty. "Her last HAem was 7.1, she is pretty anaemic. She needs that blood!" she said, tapping the bag on a stand that was dripping into Janes veins. "She was asking for you as soon as you were awake. Sounds like love to me" she smiled. "What happened, John? I remember seeing you where....where....where Vanity died....then....its all gone black..." she said, drowsy and mumbling, her forehead frowning. "Are we safe?" she said, more quietly. If it was not for the morphine, she would have been scared.

Flintlock... "Aha! Missisippi!" said Flintlock, fondly, examining the coastline with her rather splendid telescope. "I remember her well! Ah, what sweet times we have. Except for when those Lemurian Cultists tried to impersonate the mayor and that Jazz singer started laying eggs. Poor thing! She had such a sweet voice too..." she sighed. She folded in her telescope. "Well that was a herculean bit of strength there, Sinba.....err...not Sinbad" she slurred, saluting Asad heartily. "Haven't seen anything like that since...since..." she pouted. "Well I haven't seen anything like that before at all" she conceded. She turned to Hannah. "Now then, my splendid wench" she said, with a little jig towards the AEGIS agent. "What type of man woman or tentacled horror from Mootlestain are we dealin' with? I believe you referred to the jumped up flubberbrain who raised them as a pillock and more so, as a dead pillock. Now I won't be contending that. No, it takes a special type of flair to properly raise pirates from the dead!" She emphasised the last point and did a dramatic bow to her crew, who clapped. "But now here's the thing. Pirates tend to have captains. Well, till they stab their captain in the back and throw him overboard and the next one comes along. So, do you fancy speculating who said captain might be?"

Synth / Nyberg "Are you asking for a bribe from a man who has lost his wallet?" said Nyberg, almost laughing at the man. He was as stupid, it seemed, as he looked. "If you want a reward, I can give you one. I'm not a rich man, but if you help me, I would be grateful" he said, more amiably than he felt. What a jerk... "Ill give you half of whatever is left in my wallet when I find it. That's fair. And it also means that I best find that wallet quickly. The sooner I do, the more cash will be in it" he explained, teasing a motivation for compliance. Damned if he was going to give this guy a cent...

GM "What a jerk" mumbled the police officer. "Hit and Run, leaving a girl like that. Could have been a murder..." he sighed. "Look, we need to get a few statements, look at the vehicle. Call it in. We'll try to catch the perp, but...well, this is Bedlam, and without plates..." he sighed, looking a bit shame-faced. "We'll get some paperwork signed off for the insurance, of course" he said, more brightly. With that, Jane was whisked off to surgery. An hour later... Doctor North came out of the surgery theatre and wiped his brow. He was a tall thin man, approaching retirement with an intelligent forehead marred by close set rodent like eyes. His demeanour was friendly enough, however. "Thanks to you, she is going to be fine. Well done" he said, congratulating John - rather modestly, in fact, given he had just been operating on her for an hour. "She's lost a lot of blood but we have stitched her back. She is in plaster, the bone fixed. Just had to repair the vascular damage, the only tricky part really. She should be into the recovery ward in a few minutes" he explained. A nurse came up to Doctor North and whispered something in his ear, looking nervous. "Oh..ah....well..." he muttered, looking at John, perturbed. "Its not our place to get mixed up in this. Tell the police..." he hissed quietly at the nurse.

The Red Rat Normally, a routine reboot would have been a pleasant time, when the Red Rat could watch TV without her eyes blacking out Inferior Capitalistic Propaganda. She didn't fancy it right now, however. Not least of which, because it might leave her blind. Literally blind. Her eyes where tied to SLAVE. Time to get out of this joint. Her ear piece was gone. Her own internal radio transmitter - it was short range. Unlikely to pick up anything helpful and too risky. It might be picked up. Instead, she made her way to the door, leaning in carefully, seeing if she could hear anything from the men behind, and also seeing if there was a lock or bar. Not that she could pick it without tools, but good to know what was keeping her in...

Synth / Nyberg I am hungry actually... "Sure" said Nyberg. In this form, in this psyche, his English had a slightly Scandinavian twist. He swam in the sea of spices and scents. "Never turn down a free meal. It is free, right?" he said, smiling in a friendly manner. On the other hand, his stomach might have to wait. "I'm looking for a woman...about so high...." he explained, giving a brief description of Sarah "...she has taken my wallet by accident" he explained. "So no money for your lovely meal!" he explained, hopefully killing too birds with one stone. "I think she went past this way. You didn't happen to see her, did you?"

GM "Arll be the judge of that, Sir. Now then madam, if you would just let me see what this so called injury is then...Ao Maw Gawds!" screamed the police officer going white at the sight of the protruding bone and blood. Lamentably, their were casualties. A pink strawberry choco-creme donut slipped from numb police fingers, hit the dirty road, and rolled away to the gutter, soaked in dirt. "We gotta get her to hospital!" came the blubbered obvious conclusion from his spluttering lips. "Ahmm..gonaa...Ahmmm gonaa....she-oot! Ahmmm gonna drive ahead, you farla me!" He waddled off into his car, beckoning his partner to follow. "Damn woman had a damn bone stickin' out of her damn arm!" came his mumbled explanation to his partner. With that he sped ahead of John with lights blazing. And thus, a mere minute later...at the hospital... The two police officers flapped about, trying to be useful and important, demanding that everyone acknowledged how useful and important they were, and being neither one, nor the other. The hospital staff were however, a different matter, quickly seizing upon the case, lifting Jane onto a trolley bed and starting to stabilise her. "What happened?" came the question, from both police and doctor, to John. "Ooohh...I feel faint...stay with me...." whispered Jane to John, gripping his clothes with now weak hands.

GM The night air blew cold through the absent windscreens. John could feel something dragging on the road, sounded like a loose exhaust. Only one headlight worked. Unsurprisingly, a mere quarter mile to the hospital, John saw the flash of a police car, which pulled up in front of him. A fat policeman and his fatter buddy came out, hoisting their belts over their girth. They looked like o.k. of fellows, if one discounted the brightly coloured donuts they had in their patrol car. "Sir....ahhh need you to step out of that their ve-hear-cull" drawled the less (but still palpably) rotund one. He had his hand laid casually on his pistol. This was Bedlam after all....

GM "Wow, awesome stuff!" said Zyte, giving the thumbs up and turning off the camera. "That's just the warm up though. The real bite is I think I have tracked down a supervillain called the Parrot, whom I believe had a few run ins with your parents. Huh, great stories. I loved the robotic emu stealing the duchess' pearl necklace. You couldn't make it up!" he said, pleased with himself. "Living in some hospice now. Had a stroke, wheel chair bound. Guy is over eighty. I wanted to get his side of the story, too, and his Sons. Now, admittedly I haven't actually got proof he is the Parrot. But I figure with you there, a camera, and the chance to tell his story...well, it might push him, you know? Nobodies going to prosecute now, anyway. He hasn't been active for over thirty years and never really committed anything worse than theft. Plus he's an old, sick man." "What do you say? A chance to explore your past?"

Enough for John to accurately diagnose and temporarily first aid the bleeding (torniquiet probably best bet undless you fancy popping the bones back together and clamping an artery with some engine tools....) Whilst the door is jammed, STR 26 gets you opening that with a minimum of effort. John also realises that even with his first aid measures, Jane needs surgery - no critical, but she will bleed out sooner or later.

GM One look could tell that Jane was not ok. Far from it. Her arm had twisted, and broken. Worse still, a compound fracture. It was enough to make one faint just to look at, but somehow Jane was still conscious, albeit disorientated. The forearm bones of her left arm were both broken and protruding out of torn flesh to the tune of copious bleeding. Jane was already looking pale from the blood loss. The rest of her looked in fair shape. Plenty of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Maybe a broken rib or two, but on nothing more serious, as far as John could see. The compound fracture was bad news, however, threatening exsanguination. "Huh..what happened....?" asked a groggy Jane as John inspected her. "Oh dear..." she said, dreamily looking at her broken arm and blood. "That's not good is it?" was her calm comment, born from shock. It was not good. And Jane had managed to bent her car so far out of shape, the door was jammed...

ok so that just hits (G has a defence of +6 / +3 flat footed) DC 21 Toughness save for G: Toughness Save vs The Tattered Man: 1d20+2 9 a fail by 12. But I think given the situation we can wave that as being staggered and only PL 4 defensively, Georgy is out. Feel free to narrate the double knockout how you wish.