Supercape

Synth With his muscles like this, drawing little oxygen, he could hold his breath for several minutes with ease. Even so, he stretched it longer, just to give him an edge. So coming up for air, he gasped mightily, almost coughing. The current might not have helped. His nose caught the men before his eyes did. Gentlemen of the street, he supposed. Slipping onto the shore, dripping wet, he took a look at the men. How can I steal from the most disposed of the city! There are some things.... He shook his head. ...I cannot do! no matter what reason tells me is reasonable! No, taking clothes from old men seeking shelter under the bridge from the rain. I cannot! "Er...excuse me, could you spare a blanket?" he asked, politely as was possible in such a strange scene. He was not shy by nature, what with his upbringing, but even he felt a flush in his cheeks.

Summary of a few chat ideas, with standard apologies for impertinence: Complications: Fascinated: Due to her artistic personality, when infused with energy in her alt form she is easily hypnotised or distracted by flashing lights or other pretty twinkles. This might even lead to epileptic activity. Color Blind: Any created or transformed objects (or snares) take on a monochromatic hue (which she can determine). This might make it noticeable. In addition, other monochromatic objects can treat the created objects or snare as intangible, moving right through them. This might also cause problems when there is monochromatic - only lightning. In addition, whilst mainting these effects, Zenith might not be able to see other objects of that hue. Mental Block: There might be a childhood phobia or trauma that makes her unable to transform or create certain things (like wood, or smoke - from a fire). Power loss (Calm): her powers do require emotional state (of any type). If for instance under the effect of emotional control (calm), she cannot muster up energy to use her powers. Very extreme emotions might not boost her power, but might make them clumsy or poorly controlled. Powers: I would be inclined to make the alt form array protection and immunity only, maybe flight (although you may wish to consider having no movement powers at all, radical as that might be). Given her array you may want to give it morph or something like that (maybe low power?). If you are going really radical, you could even add in a morph attack somewhere. Projection on the alt power might be a consideration. One alternative transport power might be to use teleport (medium: created or transformed objects) so that she can strategically lay out points to travel to. This might be more interesting in practice, although also might mean a continuous duration. As for the main "molecular rearrangement array" I would be inclined to lose a few powers (like blast, not sure a damage attack is even needed, might force other interesting strategies with snares and transform. Also, drain might be dropped?). I wonder if feedback might be an interesting flaw, and sensory link an interesting extra (given psychological component to the powers). You might find these things spice up the powers interestingly. you might wish to contemplate an aura effect given the nature of her powers. For instance replace Snare with Snare (Extras: Contagious, Sensory Link, Sustained Aura [+3], Flaws: Touch Range, Feedback. Feats: Selective Aura, Variable Descriptor, Reversible] [Admittedly this is 43 PP] Other auras might be damage or drain toughness, or even a dazzle (radio and visual?) Finally could always consider something like boost to toughness (strengthening paper to the consistency of steel), or if you feel really wild, boosting an aura: you could turn a twig into hard as steel and with a contagious snare aura (encasing anything it touches with steel hard wood). E.g Boost 40 (Snare [As [per snare power above], Extras: Total Fade [40 mins], Affects Objects Only [+0], Flaws: Affects others only]

Synth Going from bad to worse! Despite the flush of exhilaration, running across the roofs of freedom city, the main thought running through his brain was the deteriorating situation. He cursed his foolishness. Now that he had displayed non-human powers, the stakes had been raised. Back up would not be a few cops with guns, but trained agents, or MAX armour. And he wasn't even a crook! Lamentations later, he decided. Instead, he continued sprinting and running. The rooftops would surely end soon, but the ground would do fine now he had cover. He dived off, landing easily. He thanked fortune for the relative darkness, although nowhere was truly dark in Freedom City. There was, however, one way out he could see. He sighed. He threw off his clothes, which would mark him. Stark naked, he took in a deep breath and threw himself back into the river, diving hard and fast to the depths, down, down, and down further...

Synth (as ?) Stoppning!* He could feel blood on his hands, both literally and metaphorically. Shattered glass tended to do that. "Sorry" he mumbled, awkwardly, feeling stupid even as the words came out of his mouth. He was in no mood to fight the police, even if he pulled every punch. The police did a difficult job for little reward. They were fine men (and women), at least, by and large. Whilst he was not chained to the law himself, he was full of respect for those that kept it. And now, he was about to get shot. Not if I can help it! Instead, he charged away, weaving left and right, to the next building, this time putting all his energy into a jump, straight up onto the roof of a second story rather crumbling building, which looked like a dry cleaners. A bit of masonry fell away as he clawed himself on to the roof, but he was lightning fast with his reflexes. *Swedish for "Darn!"

GM "Mwah...hmph...Matilda? You...oh! Who are you?" said Dick, with a start. He pushed the hat up, so he could better see the Tattered Man standing above him. "You betcha ass you won't hurt me, son. Ill kick your ass, see if I don't!" he said, reflexively. He paused a moment to look at the Tattered Man, and seemed to realise that he could firstly not kick his ass if he tried, and secondly he did not need to. "Coulda knocked you know. I swear Bedlam, gone to the darn dogs. Why do you think I have a cat? Cos' the towns gone to the dogs. Yes Sir. Gone to the dogs, and smells like the back end of a dog too" he complained. He got up, a little stiffly. He was a venerable man, and walked with a limp. "Whatcha come here for, Son? You don't look like ya twitching from drugs, and if ya wanted to steal somethin', ya wouldn't have woken me up. Guess its questions. Well, don't stand there slack jawed, son. Ask away. But first, tell me why you askin' em...."

Synth Well, that should give me an hour, maybe two. Time was pressing. Silently, baseball bat in one hand, second rate sneakers on feet, hood over head, he scuttled to a window. Wasting no time, he turned his head, and swung like he was a pro. The window quickly caved in. There was no more alarms to sound - and perhaps the alarm might even have obscured the noise. He couldn't count on that, but he could hope. A quick second to scrape the glass remains from the window with the bat, and he dove through, landing in a roll and springing to his feet. He did not even wait to see if had been seen. Either he had, or he had not. All he could do now, was run as fast as he could...

Synth Knight and Williams! The next target of the investigation was clear. Evidence, however, was spartan at best. It could only mean that for now, Synth was going to have to operate outside the law. Not his preference, but the cards had fallen that way. He had no wish, at least yet, to sacrifice his identity and be hunted by SHADOW again. "Tell it to the cops. See what kind of deal you get. Because the house of cards is coming down" With that, he turned and fled. Even those words might have cost valuable seconds, and every second counted. What he wanted to do was get back to the lab where they had tied him down, but wearing the scientists face. That would mean evading the cops, and ensuring that the real scientist was at least tied up with cops and the law for an hour or two. So he didn't run that far, not just yet. Just through racks of clothes, and cut price sports gear. Even picked up a baseball bat, just in case. And then, he hid, observing...

Synth Time was running out...one way or another. If need be, he could give the cops the slip. He hoped. As far as he could tell nothing indicated "super powered" activity. But still, getting arrested was not something he intended to do. "It's your project? all on your own? Those sirens are getting awfully close. You must want to get thrown in jail. Or worse" Synth had noting but contempt for the death penalty. Savages! But still, the implication may help right now. "So you can either tell me everything. Right now. Who supplies your subjects, and who do you sell your results too. Who bankrolls you? Or you can get in more trouble than you can ever conceive. The choice is yours. I've stopped you. The only question is am I, or am I not, going to bring down the people you know..."

Synth "Officer, it was me! Yes, me! I have to confess! I was experimenting on unwilling suspects! I caused a crash at the bridge! I'll confess, please, I'm willing to cooperate!" said Synth, doing his best to impersonate the scientist. "Ill give you the address. You may even catch the people I was working with. Just tell the judge I was helpful, grant me leniency!" "Yes, that's right, it was me. Take a good look at my face! Of course officer, I am happy to pose for a mugshot!" he continued pointing to "his" face. He reverted back to his own voice again, this time addressing the scientist. "The game's up. No road out here leads to freedom and a relaxing two week vacation on a tropical island. I told you I would stop you, and I will. The only question now is, how hard do you fall, and who are you going to take with you? Because if you don't tell me how to bring the empire down, its going to be as bad a fall as I can make it, and as you can see, I can make it pretty bad. And in fact, I can make it even worse than pretty bad..."

Synth Awesome Aces Said the sign. It seemed to be some second rate sports shop which looked neither awesome nor ace. It probably had a security system. But Synth would not be able to disarm it, and even if he could. He didn't have the time. Besides which, the cops where already on the lookout. All he needed was a minute or two. Swelling his muscles, he kicked the door down with a mighty grunt of effort. He had to presume an alarm would sound, either silently or audibly. But the police were somewhat tied up already. In any case...out of options. Contracting his muscles to normal size again, he whipped on a new hoodie and joggers to replace his torn outfit. And then...yes... It hurt of course. This fast, it always hurt. But at least he didn't have the burning of changing skin tone, or the agony of gender change. In his cheap gym wear, he know looked just like the man he had dumped on the floor. The mysterious scientist.

Synth (as Knuckles) The terrain was not giving. If only he did not have an unconscious man to worry about, he could swim underwater and have every chance of evasion. But, alas, the man was still out cold. Perhaps the alternative, the man flapping and screaming, would be worse. There was not much for it, but to cross his fingers and hope was on his side, and eyes did not stray. "Come on, you lump of meat" he grunted, swimming as fast as he could - and in fairness, that was very fast - towards the norther bank. If he could make that, then it would be a sprint to the buildings and look for cover and clothes. Synth was opposed to breaking the law in principle, but he was not married to the law, either. If he needed to steal a few clothes in order to stop human experimentation, then that was a fine balance of ethics to his mind.

Synth There were some things that were invisible to the eye or the nose. Or even to skill examination. Percussion to the chest, normal resonance. Central Venous Pressure, normal. A concussion or bleed, well that would take a little more to spot than even Synth could muster, with several world class experts memories clustering around her brain. It might take a while for the man to come around, and with police cars rumbling on the bridge time, whilst not critical, was still a precious commodity. He hauled the man over his shoulder, recognising that they did not exactly blend in. For one, his clothes were ripped, wet, and hanging off him. A hiding place for brief reprieve would be best, although emphasis on the brief. And somewhere with some clothes, would be a bonus. Those thoughts in mind, he scanned the banks of the river...

Its probably academic, but taking 10 on Medicine (with skill mastery) for a 26 result.

Notice Roll underwater: 1d20+16 33 for notice which I presume does the business (including extended 1 visual!) As Synth has the swim power, taking 10 (a freebie with the power) for an 18 result. I'm guessing swimming at x5 human speed is fast enough!

GM Dick's flat was first story, small but pleasant. Dusty sunlight streamed in, giving a languid air to the place. There was a smell of coffee, and a radio playing big band through slightly cheap tinny speakers. A few medals were on the walls, a few photos of family now departed from Bedlam. Happy faces, for the most part. An urn full of the ashes of a dead wife. Some framed papercuttings of minor cases solved. Not big news, but little carvings of pride. A young cat curled round his feet as he entered, keen to get to his milk. The bowl had "Old Pussy" wrote on it. Dick Young was an old man, with little hair. He had a pleasant dark tone to his skin, suggesting a blend of many immigrants and heritages, although he tended to wards African in look. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers, with a light hat on his head. His clothes were a little too big, as if he had become withered and shrunken. He was perhaps a little on the short side, and his physique gave the impression of a frail man in contrast to his strapping youth. He was lightly asleep, a faint smile on his head lost in memory or music or both. John could almost imagine that Dick was tapping his foot to the music even whilst asleep.

Synth To be on the safe side, he spent a second concentrating,reducing his swollen muscles to a more normal size. It would reduce the metabolic demand. Might need to stay under for a while... It was dim but not dark at this depth. Of course, the labcoat may have sunk further. If he passed out, he's going to be breathing in water... Various memories bubbled. The scientists of that research facility. Oxygen saturations. Lung physiology. Drowning. A half dozen medical experts seething to help almost reflexively. Useful information, but.. Not now...! If he could find the man, he would need to swim as fast as possible to catch him...

So taking a move action to change to hyperefficient muscles (and endurance 5 feat), then a notice action to spot where the labcoat is. I guess that will mean a swim roll to actual grab the man? Not sure what rolls and mechanics you want for that broad action so let me know (or feel free to roll yourself)

So he can pretty much find the Bad Beat easy enough, It isn't concealed. With that Streetwise roll, he can confirm what Fat Joe said: Its full of musicians and crooks and the police don't really touch it (at least, in any obvious way). CUrrent Events wont give much. The Bad Beat is out of the news. Vanity barely made the local press although you can find a short orbitury in a rag of choice. Feel free to narrate that (it is short though) and add in any details you think might be cool or resonate for John. The salient point is that she was a Jazz Singer, self taught, considered good, unmarried, no kids.

GM Something in the hot dog tasted off. Well, it wasn't exactly the best of cuisines normally. But it didn't taste like wet paper either. Fat Joe had put a scrap of paper in the hot dog. "Dick Young. Old Frend. Used to be a cop. Giv him a cawl" with a number scrawled beside it. Even with the onions, fat, and mustard, Even with Fat Joe;s terrible handwriting (and spelling), John could make out the number on the paper. Local number. This neighbourhood. Land line. Maybe Dick didn't like mobile phones. It was food for thought. Went with the hot dog for the stomach, one might say. And it was Fat Joe trying to be helpful. He knew plenty of people, did Fat Joe, and most of them weren't clean. But there was a kind of community of sorts, and Fat Joe was the gravitational force that held it together. He was certainly big enough, of flesh and persona, to exert that gravity.

GM Joe gave a grin, but if felt poisoned with discomfort. Joe didn't get all awkard very often. He stroked the back of his neck a moment, a neck that was thick and now covered in sweat. "Have the damn onions. They are good for your spleen" he said, shoving as many slightly caramalized onions as he could onto the meagre hot dog. "And help yourself to my special mustard. Only for valued customers. Like you" he said, shoving a plastic yellow bottle into Smith's hand. "Look, I know you can handle yourself. Gotta real good nose for trouble. Finding it, and causing it. Least, if it needs to be caused. I my be stupid, but I ain't dumb" he winked. "There was this girl. Vanity, they called her. Real nice. Pretty. Sung in a Jazz Club called the Bad Beat. Sticks of smoke and sweat and even a little gunpowder, if you know what I mean. Half full of starvin' jazz musicians trying to be cool, half full of crooks trying to be cool. Don't know which half I would spit on first, but that's not the point". He said, hugging his armpits. "No, the point is Vanity, well she was good to me. Had the sweetest voice, like crushed velvet on warm ice. Man, I could hear her sing all day. People liked Vanity. But she was turning sour, ya know? Singing sadder songs, and then she stopped smiling. At least, not real smiles. No, the kind of smile you get when you ain't really smiling at all. Like people stretching her mouth to make one. Well, then she got a whole new smile. She wound up dead in a dumpster" He was almost crying. But it must have been dust in his eye. 'Cos Fat Joe didn't cry. No sir. "Cops barely even filled out the paperwork. Cops don't really dig anything to do with the Bad Beat, unless it involves getting paid off, I guess" "Anyway, folks round here, we liked Vanity. She could melt a man's heart and even the ladies didn't seem to get green over her. So, I thought I would ask you, seeing as you are you are. Wondered if you might fancy righting a wrong" he finished. "And the answer to my question. What's brown and sticky? A stick!" he said, with a laugh. But Fat Joe was upset, and he couldn't hide that. Least, not completely.

Synth (as Knuckles) I may just be a fool, but no road is wise right now... That was his last thought as his feet hit the water. Wffff! That stings! was his next. It stung more than he thought. The water, for a moment, felt like hard steel, just before it parted almost explosively, and then he was sinking. The water rushed around him as he felt his body go numb from the impact. It swished up his nose, and for one moment he thought he would pass out. His vision constricted and he felt his grip loosen on the man he held above him. Perhaps the man had suffered worse, or perhaps Synth had taken the impact and now his prisoner. But withe vortex of water and the shuddering jolt, he had lost grip of the man...

Acrobatics check to reduce falling damage: Giving myself a -5 penalty for carrying somebody but let me know if that doesnt sound right anyway the roll with the penalty is Acrobatics Check to reduce falling into water: 1d20+15 22 which I think makes a -17' reduction. Not sure if your round up or down for height DC. Anyway toughness save is: Tough save falling into water: 1d20+10 14 Ill take the hit from that!

OOC thread for this this be the mood.

GM Early evening Saturday Night, Bedlam City, April the 8th. Fat Joe was rotund as ever. He was a tall man, bald, always wearing sunglasses in the worst of weather, with a smile that nearly split his face and wobbled his jowls. He knew plenty of people in Bedlam, and got on with most of them. He sported a missing front tooth from the one time his friendly demeanour just got some crook up the wrong way. But, as he said, he was damned if he was ever gonna stop smiling. Fat Joe sold hot dogs on the street. They weren't particularly good, but they weren't bad either. More onions that meat, usually. He just liked selling them, and people like buying them. He liked telling jokes, and demanded his customers tell him good ones. If it was a good one, they got extra mustard and two sausages in the bread. He didn't make a whole lot of money, but he didn't starve either. Clearly, he didn't starve. He was 25 stone, easy. "Say, Smith, what's brown and sticky?" he asked the Tattered Man, giving him his toothy smile. "And how about I give you extra onions if you help me out?"

Synth It was higher, now, when one was directly above the water. It would be easy enough to dive for Synth; but carrying another man? "I'm serious. And you started this, not me...." he answered soberly to the man, judging the distance carefully. but there was no time. It was now, or it was never. "So I really hope you can swim. And believe me, there is plenty more of this kind of fun coming up. Until I stop you and your friends" With that, he seized the man, holstering him easily. And with a pneumatic spring, he leapt from the van, clearing the barrier, and into the yawning drop. There were only seconds in the air, and it was a devil holding the man through the jump. But as the water approached, he did his best to twist in the air and land feet first. A belly flop would be dangerous even for his herculean constitution...