Supercape

Ok he sees the strangler jump Vanity, and, well strangle her. Feel free to narrate the details. You can get a mental image of the attacker -5'7", wiry strength, bald, a scar on his head. Enough to know he is indeed, as predicted, Goergy the strangler. If the strangler speaks it will be relatively brief like "Blowfish told ya not to leave", and in a Russian accent.

GM A bit later, around 1am... ...Mootle street. Jane had a black car, second hand but functional. Perhaps a target for theft, but it was not too ostentatious. Functional, reliable. Maybe even fast if you were inclined, but it was no sports car. It was not exactly filthy inside, more chaotic. Bits of paperwork, a few miscellaneous books, foodstuffs, and bottled water. A good enough ride. And she dove with hands gripped on the wheel, hey eyes on the road, full of anticipation. Mootle street was not a famous street. Run down, rough. Rougher than even your average Bedlam street, but not barbaric or anarchic enough to make it infamous. It was a block from the Bad Beat. A few poor artists and students lived her, amongst street hustlers, drug dealers, and the men and women who worked nocturnally. At this time, even those trades were beginning to fade. On a corner, tucked into a wet and rat infested side alley, was the dumpster in question. Jane pulled up. She was both angry and sad again, like a curtain of steel had fallen on her face. "There it is. Lets get this over with. Do you need any chants or runes or anything?"

Red Rat The Rat paused, studying the building. No rush. Hours till dawn. She wished she had brought some coffee. For the moment, she stuck to the shadows. Plenty of them. Just the annoying neon flicker of that damn lamp. She brought uyp her hand, took aim, and fired her mime finger at the vexatious thing. She was actually half tempted to shoot it out. But it would draw attention. So for now, in the shadows, her face intermittently half lit. She felt and looked like a cheap horror film stalker. But one thing she did have that most axe wielding psychopaths did not was state of the art cybernetic eyes. And before doing anything else, she calmly waited a moment, a minute...scanning the building with X-Ray vision...

GM "No, it isn't" If anything, Jane looked excited by the prospect. "And I couldn't have asked for something better" She gulped down her coffee, invogorated. "It's past midnight but I say we go now. Mootle street. Its a rough area of town, but you look like you can handle any trouble. Most likely, any trouble coming your way will probably have the sense to turn around and run" she said, full of encouragement. A thought grabbed her. "I'm not exactly a believer" she said. "Brought up Catholic, never quite left the faith. Stuck between cynicism and hope, and just end up dragged in by the days and weeks, trying to make it through" she explained. "But I have heard whispers of the supernatural. Enough to make me believe you..." She frowned. "...and, maybe believe in other things too. Blowfish employs a lot of strange people. Uses some witchdoctor type guy. Smokey Ace, he calls himself. Card shark just as home swindling you in poker as he is cold reading you with Tarot cards. Says he can tell the future, and other things. Never believed Blowfish was that stupid. But maybe he was onto something...."

GM "Yeah, its almost as if Blowfish has paid off some of the medical examiners" she said, bitterly. "Make no mistake, he is one of the small fry in Bedlam, but he has money and the will to use it" She put a pencil to her lips, chewing it vexatiously. "One thing to consider. The Bad Beat burning stung him financially, but that's not really why it hurt. He can rebuild and repair. Its a bloodied nose for his wallet, at best. But he lives on reputation. Now that really did sting him. I wouldn't be surprised if other criminals test him out now. See if he really is who is says he is. More importantly, he will need to show strength, and quickly" "Blowfish acts when it suits him. He isn't impulsive like other crooks. If he gets emotional, his tic comes on, but he doesnt act rashly. He considers everything. Right now, though, he has to act quickly. Not his usual style. He is at his weakest" she explained. She smiled. "Degree in criminal psychology as well as law". "I appreciate everything you are doing to help. But one more request. Bring me along. i need to see this for myself..."

Flintlock "Wha...wha..." mumbled Flintlock, before bolting straight upright, eyes glazed. "The walrus! With tea! Three times!" she said, blurting incoherent meaningless nonsense, before snapping awake. "I was just resting my eyes!" she said, defiantly, reaching out for her hat and placing it, lopsided and clumsy, on her hair which was quite the state. Her head hurt most awfully. "Pirates? Resurrected? Yes, yes, terrible thing!" she agreed, wondering who this woman was and whether her own crew of resurrected (well, technically undead) pirates was somehow to blame. "I'll be right on it. Promise. Top priority. This century, for sure" she said, standing up. She felt giddy. She sat down again. "Hrmm...might need a moment. Who did you say you were again? And do you have any rum?"

GM Jane took her coffee and beckoned John to her study. It was a little cramped, and a little more cluttered, but it had an almost homely feel to it. Wooden stained furniture. Leather topped desk. Shelves bent with the weight of old fashioned books and papers. "It's all here" she explained. "She was found in Mootle street, Strangled. No fingerprints. Forensics say a man between five foot eight and six foot four. Thanks forensics" she said, tossing the worthless report aside. "In a dumpster" she said, coldly, unable to feel the ignoble ending. Her make up was still smudged. She determined not to make it worse. "I am guessing its one of Blowfishes men. He has several. His favourite is a nasty little Russian pair, especially Goergy the strangler. That's his name, and that's his job. And he fits the bill..."

GM "Dead, but still moving" she said, not quite recoiling. Maybe even the reverse. "Seems anger is epidemic in Bedlam. Maybe that's what keeps us all alive. One way and another" she mused, finally bringing her coffee to her lips. She had the faintest dribble into her mouth. Her mind was still stewing. "I don't want to use you. That would be the Bedlam way, and I'm sick of Bedlam. But I do want to ask you. Will you help me?" she said, looking at him full on, her eyes snapped back to the moment. Large and black, but warm this time. "I want to find out what happened to Vanity. I want to find out who killed her. And who ordered the kill. And I want justice. One way or another. It can't happen again..."

GM Jane nodded, hanging her head. Perhaps she had some dust in her eye. Perhaps her hands were shaking. She turned around, gripped the edge of the kitchen surface, and breathed again. Shaking her head rather than her hands. Her coffee was untouched, fragrant and deep, but getting cold. "My sister...Kim...Vanity...was beautiful and talented. Smart too. She loved singing. Loved Jazz. Made her feel alive. Me, I never quite got it. I had to be in control" she said, back to the Tattered Man, trying to find a rhythm to her speech to stave off the emotion. "She didn't deserve Bedlam. Didn't deserve to get sucked in. She never cut corners, she just sang her heart out, true to herself. Me? I had good intentions, but they got tempered by pragmatism. Then corners got cut. One, two, more. Too many to count. It becomes normal, and my idealism was no longer tempered, it was crushed. All I cared about was getting paid and avoiding the chaos around me" she sighed. She turned again. Her make up was a little smudged. It made her more dark, like a well of beautiful stillness. "So what's your game then? Trust has gotta start somewhere. What do you do? And why do you do it? Can I trust you?"

GM "Trust is dead in Bedlam" She kicked off her shoes. Flat, sensible, good for running in. But shiny and black, stylish. She made the coffee lost in thought. One foot rubbed against her calf. As her hands percolated the coffee, so her mind silently percolated the evening. She handed him the coffee. Black and aromatic. She wore a half smile that seemed genuine. But as The Tattered Man had just pointed out, this was Bedlam. "But lets keep a small part of it alive, right here" she offered. "Its my good fortune to run into you then. I want to bring Blowfish down....well, if I am honest, I would first like to know, rather than almost know, that he killed my sister. But beggars can't be choosers. I don't really know what I was doing in the Bad Beat, other than asking for my head to get blown off" she said, the reality of the danger crawling over her skin. She wiped her brow and but her hands through her hair. "Oh God! What was I thinking! I should be dead!"

GM Jane nodded, taking it all in. "Nice trick you have there. Handy, in Bedlam. The man that can walk anywhere, do anything, without recrimination" She picked up the key and turned it this time, swinging open her door with the faintest of creaks. "Come in, then. If you can do that trick, I guess you can do others. And I wouldn't be able to stop you if I wanted to. Not even armed with determination. And you best believe I am packing a lot of determination..." A few seconds later, inside Jane Silverfingers appartment. Jane was a public prosecution lawyer. Not the best, not the worst. Just doing her job. She had enough money to live comfortably enough, but was hardly rich. Somehow, it looked like it had been warm once, but was now cold. Her mind had been blown sideways by "Vanitys" death. Something cold, and hard about it. The shotgun by the entrance was the fest testiment to that. "I don't drink. But I can make coffee, if you want" she said. "If...you drink coffee, that is. Or anything. Come to think of it, mind telling me who and what you are???"

GM This time, Jane dropped her keys. She took a deep breath in, shocked, but not totally afraid. "Amber?" she whispered through stunned vocal cords. She pulled herself together again, and stared at the Tattered Man. "Amber? how do you know about Amber? Who are you?" she asked, even as her brain woke up to the possibility of just whom she had been speaking to that night. "Do you know me?...wait..." she paused, looking at him even more intently. "It's a different face, but...were you at the Bad Beat tonight? speaking to me? helped rescue all those scoundrels? and Amber?" she asked, curiosity now seeping in through the fear.

Starshot Starshot gave a smile that was grim but joyous. "Well, I am a hunter. And I do like a trophy..." He reached over and pulled out a giant sabretooth from one, after much wrenching and wrangling. His cybernetic hand almost went into overdrive from the effort. But out it came. "I fancy a necklace" he said, pocketing the tooth into his belt. WIth regards to the two babies, he was less sure. "As for those ones. I'm a hunter, not a slaver. Animals belong in their home. The wilds. To live by tooth and claw and sinew. Its true, I do capture animals that are endangered, or needed for medical research, although I am not overtly fond of it. But there has to be some purpose to captivity other than a pet..." Or worse, a weapon.... "But whilst I may not like the taste of it, we should bring them along. They may be our key to the Rel. We can work out the details on the Xeno. I hope you can come up with a good plan..."

Synth (as Marie Shane) So...my suspicions look confirmed... But no evidence. Of course. Jason Hull however, now that was a name. Her abductor! She contemplated taking the files, but they were of limited value. And it would be dangerous. She could not afford to take such a risk. Instead, she turned to go out the way she came, wearing a skin of relaxation. As she passed the secretary, she snapped her fingers as if remembering something. "All looks clean. But....Jason Hull, do you remember him? He might be a...ummm....leak of disadvantageous material..." she said, diplomatically.

GM He did not have to wait long. A few blocks down, Jane Silverfinger turned into a low lit street to the tune of mewing cats and scuttling rats. It was a nice appartment she was in, despite the small street. Old, with character, but without the accompanying decay of mortar or brick. The little road was deserted, bar the urban animals crawling around, and she took out her key. Her hand shook with adrenaline and her composure cracked. But it did not disintegrate. A few seconds of focus, and she regained a steady hand. A deep breath, and she put t into her front door. Ready to turn, there was a slight cold breeze, and something made her look around, perhaps half aware that somewhat was watching her. Perhaps just shaken by the event of the night, Perhaps appropriately worried about the vengeance of Blowfish. "Calm. Get it together Jane" she muttered, and made to enter her appartment.

GM The fire crew had just pulled up, and with slick professionalism started pulling together a response. Perhaps they were afraid. Blowfish was looking angry. "Boys, this has cost me a lot of money. I am angry" he said, in a calm voice. "But more importantly, the other gangs will be looking to see if they can't make a meal out of this. I don't want my reputation burned along with my club. So that means, I get to..." The rustle and bustle of the fire crew half obliterated his next words. "Find Amber, and that stranger, and ask them a few questions, And then put their [&^%!] in a vice, cut of their [*&££] and stuff it in [%$£!!!&^] fried in garlic with a pencil and two tennis balls" His minions seem to go white at the prospect. Jane had come out relatively unscathed, and was helping with some first aid, at least at a basic level. As the emergency crews, amublances, and police started piling in, she elected to leave before too many questions were asked. Hugging herself for some kind of comfort she walked off. John couldn't help but notice Blowfish being very friendly to some of the police. And they were even friendlier back.

GM Amber nodded, the prospect of being "dead" sinking in. "I...alright then..." she said, recoiling, angry with herself and John, but capitulating. "Now is my only chance. Your right, the only way I walk from Blowfish is if one of us is dead. I wish it was him, but if not, then best I walk away appearing to be dead, rather than actually so" she conceded. "You are a hero. My hero. Not many people like that. My Johnny was before...." she started tearing up. "Oh Johnny, what he did to you..." She turned back to John. "Just make sure Blowfish pays for what he did to Johnny..." she said, before turning heel and walking away as fast as she could...

GM "I....don't know....." said Amber, regaining some of her composure as she regained her breath. "How can I live with myself, running away? Johnny is still out there, planning hell knows what. Blowfish is too, and probably speaking to his gang right now. Or paying the right people to do the wrong thing" she muttered, wringing her hands. "And...he knows, doesn't he? That song I played. Oh! How I wanted him to hear, to see, as he went up in flames. But its all gone wrong. Blowfish may look like a stupid thug, but make no mistake, he is smart, careful. And he isn't prone to impulsive rages. He bides his time, strikes when it suits him, not his heart's fury" she explained. "Wherever I go, he will want me back. And get me back too. Or worse. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. Maybe not this year. But sooner or later he will..." Something seductive, weak and strong at the same time hit her. Perhaps the stress made her fall back on her normal pattern of responses. She pursed her lips. "Hey handsome, you saved my life! And been so sweet too! How can I repay you?"

Synth (as Marie Shane) Not fit for life tests? that was both ambiguous and ominous. Presumably the scientist who had abducted her had jumped before walking. She imagined that Williams and Knight had developed something that was too unstable, too dangerous, or just too unknown, and he had decided to make his fortune gambling on it. Perhaps he had other warped motivations. Resentment, envy, fear. A host of other possibilities, with which one could have various sympathies. But in any case, it had driven him to experiment on live subjects. But was there a military application? Why had he experimented on fighters. Maybe they were fit. But that seemed unlikely. Athletes would have been fitter, and less dangerous. She flicked through pages of genetic microdeletions, triplicate repeats, qauntum RNA substrates. Mitochondrial DNA. But computers had security. Whereas files did not. But the clock was ticking. She got up and decided to do a targetted search of the files. SHe could not afford more than ten minutes,she thought, but she might strike lucky...get a flavour, at least...maybe even a lead...

GM Amber was too weak to resist, even a token resistance was out of the question. She was not even sure she wanted to, anymore. Not sure of anything. When everything had been so clear just minutes ago. Still, despite the smoke, despite the leap, she was conscious. "Did...Johnny make it? Poor Johnny..." she cried. "He was never the smae after they burned him....made him the burner...." At this point, John noticed the Flamethrower he had throw out of the window, just by the fire escape. Or rather, noticed it was not there. "Please...don't hurt him....he is living on rage. It fuels him...keeps him alive. Take that away from him, and he has no meaning..."

GM "You...you think?" asked Amber, dropping the gun, clutching her head and retching. "So hard to think...." She entered and violent coughing fit. "We have to get out of here...you...are right I have to go on, just so I can wipe that smile off his blubbery lips another day" she said, face scowling. "There is always more fire!" she said, defiantly, rising to her feet in defiance. "And Blowfish deserves all the fires of hell. Ill burn him! I swear it!" she spat, despite the fumes. A second later, another coughing fit, and the reality over took the emotion, with tears of despair. "But he has this place insured twice over. And fingers in so many pies. Maybe the other gangs will take this as a sign of weakness...maybe attack...but he is no fool! Curses!" "Lets get out of here" she said, swirling between rage and despair.

GM Amber wavered for a long second. "He did, did he?" she snarled, before letting out an unfettered scream of rage. She had a good pair of lungs, but after the scream expired, she sucked in two mighty sacks of smoke, and started coughing terribly, collasping to her knees, which only made things worse. She might pass out any moment. "He has ruined so many lives...taken so many....and still he smiles and tortures....why can't there be any justice...." She brought her gun up. Not pointing at John, but at the universe. "Just one bullet...between the eyes...damn the law...we must make our own justice..."

Ok so you can, with that roll, accurately know who will clearly make it, who is at risk / injured but will probably make it, and those who are dying / dead. Ill leave it up to you and your palate to determine how many are in each category. And whilst that is technically an HP spent, we can waive it as John has just been brave and heroic and earns it right back.

I guess you are holding your breath as per rules, but a Fort save might be needed (DC 15) if doing any lifting or the like. You may wish to rolll Medicine DC 10 to see the status of those crushed underfoot (not a precise diagnosis, but a triage).

GM The smoke was curdling like cream on the floor, and it was making good headway into the upper parts of the club. It was dark, not that that mattered to John. But smoke was another matter. It was hard to see through it, and it slammed up his nose to prevent he smelling much at all. Except burning. But the fire had not spread far, he could see. The backstage was lit, but it had not blossomed as fully as the Burner might have wanted, and had not yet spread across the stage itself. It was hard to breath, with smoke in your lungs. He could see a few people passed out on the floor - some from smoke, some from being trampled underfoot. Hard to judge. Amber was clawing her way through the smoke, coughing violently, gun in hand. "Where are you Blowfish? Don't ya want a kiss?" she said, seductively planting her lipstick'd lips on the gun, and giggling hysterically.