Supercape

Echohead has analytical mental senses so I guess would pick up any brain activity (INT 1+), but I rather suspect they are dead! He has Knowledge (Life Sciences) at +7, but is going to see if he can copy any examiners brain (Mimic power) to boost that up. Also using Microscopic Senses 1 (Dust) to see if he can pick up anything interesting. Taking 10 to start off with on a search scan, for +17

Diamondlight The mechanistic approach to demographics and pop psychology was starting to grate on Diamondlight. He kept a poker face, but... inside, it felt nauseating. He was no stranger to psychology, he studied it. In depth. And he knew the nuances of manipulation. Advertising was part of the Zoss business. But this felt somehow fragrantly awful - blathering on about who was selling what. The volume knob of the whole enterprise seemed turned up to eleven. Perhaps this was a culture clash... but one rule of manipulation, perhaps the golden rules, is dont let the manipulated feel manipulated. He took the drink... hesitated. Was it safe to drink? It didn't matter. He couldn't turn down the opportunity to drink an alien martini. He swirled a sup in his mouth. "What are we gambling with?" he asked Tun. Hoping the answer wasn't "your lives."

Lighting up the cave with independent environmental control: Bright light, 250' Radius.

Gamma Buzz "Oh shoot! Things have gone wrong..." lamented Baltazar, his antennae drooping. Although on a positive note it was excellent distraction from his ham-fisted innuendo. He had already decided to vehemently deny he said what he had said and change the subject if it ever came up again. What had he said? He couldn't remember. And obviously he hadn't said what he couldn't remember. There. That suited his brain very well, thank you very much. Red eyes blinking, he strode into the cave after the others. "I think we need some light..." he said, and, with a few seconds of conentration, the walls and the caves started to glow...

Yippee!

That hits (because he is flat footed / surprised) And he scores a meagre 18 on grapple, so fully pinned!

GM Inside the Tower of Bolts! the Iron door slammed open, coliding into the concrete, sparking blue sparks. And the reason? GENERAL SPARKS HIMSELF! His costume was purple, outlandish, with golden military shoulder pads, and an outrageous military hat that was two feet tall. Sparks himself was square jawed, with a fiendish moustashe, and sparking blue eyes. Sparking, not sparkling. There literally were sparks flying out his eyes, as well as his fingers. "So! The Traitor finally talks, like all traitors do! Soon, the world shall be in my grasp. Your foolish compratriots have almost no chance of defeating my army, and almost no chance at all of defeating me! MUAHAHAHAHA!"

Haven "A Scarecrow... and one without brains, too..." said Haven. He adjusted his digital tie. "The intruder has been detected, but has left. Report for upgrade. Modern anti-crow visual deterrents are now available, improving counter measurement efficacy by 200%. Report for upgrade. Inefficient software detected." He highly doubted anything would work. That was thing with simple programmes. They were less likely to fail. "Insert programme. 1 Goto 1. Repeat." All the while, Haven started scanning the bar for a window to jump through, or, if things got really desperate, some kind of digital weapon...

GM "Fascilities... I... uh.... yeah...." Predator could almost hear the awkward expression on the other end of the line. "Well, we got some fascilities...." A bit later... The WEST office in Freedom City was small, and obviously not well funded. Officer Lyong was waiting for Predator. She was a woman of entirely average build, extremely dark skin, and spiky (dyed) red hair. She was obviously competent, and dedicated, but also a bit socially awkward. This was not helped by the rather meagre funding WEST had. Basic kitchen. Tattered chairs. The cheapest coffee. Although Lyong did offer Predator a cup. What could be said about the WEST office is that it had up to date computers and communications. WEST were more an advisroy body who relied heavily on their (limited) leverage with other agencies. Everybody, politically, agreed for the need for the united nations to fund the world exotic science taskforce. But stumping up the money, building the infrastructure... a work in progress. However they did have a basic laboratory, able to analyse any chemical, cell, or energy. And they were likely to be a small target for interested parties. Although somone obviously had Dr North in their sites. He was well and truly missing in Alaska!

Haven Operation Ares (4 Posts) Gamma Buzz Survival Class- Survival in the hereafter (3 Posts) Never Was (2 posts) Diamondlight House of the Caged Sun (3 Posts) -> Roll to Snakebite Echohead Dennis Deacon of Woodbury New Jersey (3 Posts) Vignette (1.1 K Words) Rev Torque Talk (3 Posts) -> roll to Snakebite) Red Rat Vignette (1.1 K Words) -> Roll to Snakebite Captain Cosmos Vignette (1.1 K Words) GM Cool Drugs (2 Posts) Hot and Bothered (5 Posts) Digital Hex (13 Posts) Animal Whip (1 Post) Hong Kong Hair (2 Posts) Total of 23 Post = 46 Boosts. Haven +6 to bring to 10 posts/2 PP Snakebite +4 to bring to 10 posts / 2PP (and +2 Vignette = 4) G Buzz +5 to bring to 10 posts / 2PP Echohead +7 to bring to 10 posts / 2 PP (and +2 Vignette = 4) Captain Cosmos +10 to bring to 2 PP (and +2 Vignette = 4) Peak +10 to bring to 2 PP 4 Boosts lost to the void.

GM The bound thug was in no position to bargain. Begging was more his style right now. Lying on the floor encased in a snare arrow with a menacing superhero kind of made negotiation a rather lopsided affair. "This freak's blood is the source of synthetic. And before you ask, I have no idea who or what he is. Not even a hundred percent sure its a he. Didn't dare look. Seems a bit short of brains though..." "Ugghhh...." mumbled the albino. "He got dropped off in a truck a week ago. By some boffin. Maybe the freak is some kind of mutant, or has been infected with something. I don't know. AllI know is the boffin paid me to sell synthetic. Paid me, that's right. Get paid by the boffin, get paid by the druggies. No fool is going to turn down a deal that good!" He smiled at his stupid cunning.

Awesome! Feel free to pretty much narrate whataver you fancy with that!

Diamondlight Four earthlings... most of them no more than a score years. And can any of them play poker? Are any of them even allowed to play poker? Earth rules, he reminded himself. A sage lesson to remember. They werent on earth any more. The rule book was out of the window. Had Tun even made sure the tables were accurate? What was his/its game, anyway? Ratings? Earth poker was exciting. Maybe gambling was an excitement shared by all cultures, but Diamondlight furrowed his burrow slightly, alert to the fact that he must not use Terran Paradigms here. He must be on alert. But a table was a table, and he could not resist. He adjusted his cuffs. "Pleased to meet you all," he said, graciously, to all his three fellow travellers. "I think this is a conversation to be had over a martini and a poker table?" "Assuming you serve vodka?" he asked Tun.

Haven in Memory Leek It was the leek that did it. The smell. Every four years, the charming and twee agricultural village of Blossomwell Rivers had a festival. A leap year festival. Meats, vegetables, fruits, specially planted early and harvested early (For Blossomwell was a southern town, blessed with fair weather all year round, fertile soil, and blossoms that, yes, blossomed very well). Haven fought boldly against existential melancholy. He studied philosophy, maths, theology. He would lose himself in digital worlds, and even just digits. But some blackness would ever remain, no much how much light he reflected upon it. Who was he? He was not Milo Mekano, not any more. That was an echo, a shadow, no more than a series of memories, a blueprint at best. His brain was a sphere of quantum positrons in an iridium shell. A mimic of a human brain. He was unique. Haven had no problem with being unique. In his view, most (if not all humans) craved uniqueness in some fashion or another. What beckoned the gloom as the though that he had human feelings, human thoughts, human passions, but was not human. There was the grind. It was, he had come to think, best epitomised by smell. He had no sense of smell, not any more. Just the memories of what smell was like. How he missed it! No digital recreation could create those sensations. Cooking steak, burning manure, it did not matter. There was nothing. And so, slamming his fists in frustration, he had set off to Blossomwell Rivers, to try and stimulate his senses, such as they were. To remember the memories. It was custom, on this festival, not only to serve and eat the harvest, but to dress up as vegetables and livestock. Cows, sheep, and chicken strolled past, waving at the crowds, doing occasional dances. It was rather silly. Haven liked the silliness, and disliked liking it. He sat down at one of the café’s, playing with a cup of untouched and now tepid espresso. Another taste lost. With every passing vegetable or animal, he tried to recall the smell, the taste. His gaze swept across the side stalls. Here, street food stewed and sizzled, but he smelled nothing, nothing but memories. Was the memory of barbeque sauce accurate? Did it really taste like the memories? He frowned, pressed two fingers to his forehead. Was this a journey of discovery, or had some masochistic impulse driven him here. The frown deepened, the skin furrowed. Here was the core-an existential anxiety. He needed no air, but he breathed anyway, air filling artificial sacs in his chest, then expelling. Does it matter what I am? For ultimately, like all things, I am me. A soothing philosophy. But he still missed the taste of things. What use had philosophy for grief? A thing, a pleasure, occasionally a pain, was lost. Something so very organic, a map to lost humanity. And then the leek sat down next to him. “I need a breather,” said the Leek, who proceeded to take of his leek-hat, revealing an elderly, sweating man with a grey beard, grey hair, and a broad smile. The rest of his body still wore the leek costume. The Leek man wiped his brow, and ordered a sparkling water from the waitress. “Enjoying the show?” he asked Haven. Haven slowly turned his head, and nodded silently. He didn’t feel the heat, his crisp suit was free from the stains of perspiration. Watching the old man, he realised that sweating was something he absolutely did not miss. And yet he would have the sensation for a moment, just to remember. We only miss things when we no longer have them. An obvious truth, oft forgotten. “Out of town?” asked the old man. “Yes. Emerald City.” The waitress brough the sparkling water. Haven studied it, almost hypnotised. Water, he recalled, had no taste, no smell. But it fizzed. He could still feel the fizz. “One for me, too…” he asked the waitress, who nodded. “Come here for the show? We are a bit eccentric, I guess!” said the old man, with a wry chuckle. “Why do you do it?” asked Haven. The old man waved his hand over the procession. It was hardly organised, and yet flowed all the same. Like a river. “Because its fun!” “Why is it fun?” The old mans face grew a note of sourness. “Why do you need to know why something is fun? It just is.” Haven gave the slightest of shrugs. “Because happiness eludes me, today. And I would know how to find it.” “Son, if you try to bottle happiness, you are going to end up miserable.” The words slapped Haven. “Then it appears I may be engineering my failure.” “Ain’t no failure in the blues. That thinking just makes you all the more blue. I think if it like blue waves in an ocean. They come, they pass. Would you want a life without sadness?” Haven shook his head. “It would be a lesser life. And sadness makes joy all the sweeter.” “Right, right, you got it! So enjoy the ride, cowboy. Don’t try to control the waves, surf them!” Haven turned back to the crowd, closed his eyes. Yes, he could remember the flavours of life. He could even… …recreate them. In his digital world. His brain working at quantum speeds, one second withdrawn to his digital reality was a week to contemplate. In a Bedouin tent in the desert, in a Viking hall in the snow. And then, recreations – a Tokyo restaurant, sizzling noodles, perfectly cut sushi. Or an American diner, selling greasy burgers with sauce. Yes, time to enjoy memories. Were they real? Did it matter? They were real memories, and Haven could afford the pleasure and lamentation of letting memories leak into his consciousness. Week, after week, after week. Second after second after second. But memories were seductive, and living in them addictive. It was a trap. He had to make new memories. He opened his eyes. “You okay there mister? Seemed like you had a fit or something…” Haven smiled at the old man. How long was he lost in the virtual reality halls of his mind? Months…. Maybe half a minute in the real world. How seductive! “I am quite well, thankyou, just lost in memories.” “Nothing wrong with a bit of remembering, young man. Especially a my age!” laughed the old man. Haven got up, and shook the old man. “I think you are right, sir. Remembering what we lost… I find it makes me appreciate what I have. And maybe, just maybe, what might yet come…”

GM The agent at the WEST office recognised Predator's voice, and this time was clearly anxious. "Director North has gone missing!" she said. "We can't make contact. The Hotel he was at said he just vanished, bills unpaid! Two days ago. We had some phone calls from him over the last two days, just checking in. I've reviewed the logs... he sounded a bit... odd. Confused, maybe. Oh maybe I'm reading too much into it. But, do you think he is well? WEST agents can get exposed to some odd energies. Maybe his brain got scrambled!" She paused for breath. "I've checked the local hospitals. Local police no nothing. Last confirmed sighting was the White Regent Hotel, Anchorage!" "Do you think you can help?"

Starshot "That doesn't look right..." said Starshot, through his helmet intercom. "Was it the spell? Something has disorientated them. If they keep bumping into each other like that, they could start a chain reaction." Which would not be good. "Doc, do you think we can try to communicate with them?" All the while, he was wondering why... why would the Grue tamper with the Sarcota (although it was not entirely clear they were). Why? Was this an act of sabotage? trying to weaponise them? Or were the Grue after something else entirely?

Gamma Buzz "Heads up! There are heads up!" yelled Baz, looking up and scanning all the drones. What could he do? Punch them? There would a lot of punching to do. Maybe release his atomic breath, but would that really work on drones? Were the organic, or robotic, or a bit of both? Time was precious, and he didn't have time for a long debate with himself. "Insect heads, that is. I hope they have insect eyes! Fireworks time!" He leapt straight up, several dozen feet, spread his arms out, tilted his head back, and lit up the sky with a radiation flare. A burst of lurid green light!

Baz will jump up to the insect drones (45' high Jump), and let loose a Radation Flare Dazzle 8, Area: Burst 20- 200' So keping the burst to a 40' area to save his allies!

Diamondlight "Shooting Star? Pleased to meet you. Don't worry about the costume. I never do!" he smiled. Truth was, he regretted being open about his superhero alter ego. It painted a target on his back. But he was famous enough anyway - enough to be the target of stalkers and madmen. And besides, he figured he had enough skeletons in the closet with a Nazi Dakana Cyrystal in his mansion in Switzerland. "Do you play?" he asked. "Or just here for the ride? Because its looking like its going to be quite the ride. I couldnt turn this down, but I do have a voice in the back of my head saying that I am a mouse, and this is a fabulous lump of cheese." He scanned the tables. "If you don't know poker, don't play poker. Roullette, maybe. Its a game a total luck, although the odds are stacked against you..."

GM With a bit of tinkering here, and a bit of tinkering there... Getting the olfactactron working was a bit of a challenge. It needed seven perpendicular marzal veins in a semi-lotoid postion. By isometric encabulation of the delta spurving bolts, Predator could align the modial capacitors on the prefamulated amulate, alowing the spurving veins to move in a fluroescent skor motion, hence reducing side fumbling and allowing logarathmic retroactivation of the drawn cardinal meson pipes. And, thus, hey presto, Presto had manufactured the Fleshometer. Investigation into the flow of chemicals and import / exports was more complicated. Shell company accounting was not really Predator's forte. It was a mess, that was for sure....

Yeah that works Do you want to put in an IC post for that construction or shall I narrate it?

ok as per rule book It would be 1 PP for straightforward scent detector (as it would be rare - just this particular flesh), 3 PP for Counters concealment. Design check is Knowledge (Tech) DC 11, or 13 Craft check is Craft (Electronics) DC 11 or 13 It would take a few hours, but you have a few hours so no need to calculate that.

Diamondlight Diamondlight was used to glitz and shiny, but the teleportation was a bit overwhelming; and now - this garish casino. He owned Zoss design, who prided itself on a subtle, even minimalist look. Not this overwhelming monstrosity. Still, a poker table was a poker table. He straightened his tie. He gave a look to Shooting Star. Tall, human, female. Probably human and female, he reminded himself. He wasn't in Kansas any more. He offered his hand. "August Zoss. Also known as Diamondlight. Come to join the fun?" Is she a bit young? "I fancy the poker tables, myself. That's where the fun is. Roulette is just plain luck." All the while, he was thinking - what is a good story? And did he have one? One that he could tell?

GM And meanwhile... At Thunderbolt tower... A booming voice came from the steel door. No knock, no pleasantries, just a voice of arrogance, projected by hubris and hubris alone, a voice used to power and obedience. "Rebel Scum!" it started. Deep, booming, threatening. Someone barrel chested was surely behind the door. "Your Rebel freinds dare to defy ME! GENERAL SPARKS! Their INSOLENCE shall cost the DEARLY!" Cerebral could almost see the face behiind the door darken, dark red blood flushing a face twisted in fury. "Tell me all you know of the TRAITORS! And I promise I will ONLY SLIGHTLY KILL YOU!" A few silver sparks flew from the door.

Feel free, both of you, to post IC and find the health kit and bazooka amongst the rubble.