Supercape

Seb took it all in, digesting everything as well as he could through his fractured memory. "Sounds suspicious" he commented. Then again, after his rehabilitation, nearly everything sounded suspicious. "And dangerous" he added. He took the folder. Homework. And probably interesting homework too. For all his psychological conflicts, one thing his old life and his new one had in common was that it was pretty interesting. He was, at his heart, a thrill seeker. That was probably how he had survived, or possibly why he had needed to survive. Or, her reflected, both. "Ill look into it Sir. I guess we need to establish surveillance on the Shop. In..ah...the interests of national security" he added, in a questioning tone. He wasn't a lawyer but he knew the legal systems ins and out to a degree. This would be a touchy area, but ever since his rehabilitation, his loyalty had swung, as firm as iron, towards national interests rather than personal rights. His resolve was stiff as a board on this one. "What kind of...parameters...do we have for the mission and surveillance, Sir?" he asked, diplomatically.

Cap'n Flintlock could speak many tongues, but generally she had sailed the seas of the America's. European languages mainly, plus, naturally, the languages beneath the seas. The noble Atlantis, the hideous Lemurian. But African and eastern languages were, by and large, unspoken. What would African language books be doing in Singapore? Not implausibly, but notable, perhaps. "Ahmed?" she asked, perhaps a bit too pointedly. True, she would not be able to help with computers. She could use them. Just. But defetaing their electronic locks would be quite beyond her. "Who is he?" "And what is this?" she mused, spying the book. Perhaps this book would be the key they needed. She reached forward, gently pulling and twisting the book from its shelf. She had an inclination that a secret door would open...

"hssss!" In a moment, the serpentine man was no more, he spun, but was no more a man. Rather, a serpent. Six feet tall, thin, green and purple, with a forked tongue and scales, with the most black of black eyes. "Dagon!" he hissed, ominously. He pulled out a small revolver, which looked both antique and alien. Grey black metal, nub nosed, spiked, large barrelled. Like something that might have been found in some horrible version of Victorian England, or 19th Century America. He fired once, wildly, almost like a reflex, spitting out something acidic and ghastly, that chewed into the wall besides Gretchen, eating it with acrid and foul smelling smoke. "It isthhhhh MINE!" he hissed, with furious volume, as Gretchen flew out the window...

With her power set that all seems completely reasonable to me, so no rolls required.

Erasmus Bolt, I think! (Although Volt sound cool!)

"The Rat will be fine" answered the Rat. "Or Red, if you feel like it. I've been called worse" she smiled. Thief, is she? I wonder quite how solidly she means that. Plenty of hackers are thieves, after a fashion. But not thugs. The Rad did not really approve of getting paid for this kind of work, but didn't really disapprove either. Herself, she made a living working for EZ cabs, but that was about it. She could certainly supplement her income with acts of thievery, but she was disinclined to. It felt slightly wrong, it felt too much like her old life, and, when push comes to shove, when UNISON or AEGIS finally caught her (and it was a question of if, not when), she would like her criminal sheet as clean as possible. She put her Jacket back on, inside out. Now introductions made, no need to draw attention. "Just a note of caution, my friends. Insider, your name is on the internet. Had to be, I know, but I might not be the only one who tracked us here. A public space is good, less likely to get shot or jumped. On the other hand, easy to spy on you. Plenty of people around also means very hard to spot a snoop" she explained. She couldn't pick up any airwave chatter....which was half reassuring.

"I'm not from Freedom City, m'dear" said Lord Steam with a little bow, making sure it was not too deep a bow. "I'm not even from this world. I do apologise if I sometimes fumble the etiquette. And yet, I do fancy that man is a brute" he said, firmly. "I appreciate your stepping in, young man" he told Aaron. "I'm not from round here, very much not from round here, and I don't wish to pour water on the party, so to speak. Churlish it may be, but I should point out that he started it!" he said, with a wink. "I dare say not many tears will be wept by his absence" "I would be more than happy to have your company for the evening, Madam" he said to Rona. "Ask me anything, as long as its interesting, and as long as we have fine wine and excellent food" he aired, lazily. "And if you could both tell me a little about that brute, then I would be all ears. He has neither wit not charm, and I doubt even that he has inherited wealth. Please correct me if I am wrong, but I can only conclude that his money comes from ignoble means at best, and quite probably criminal ones..."

At the mention of workers, SLAVE gave its commendation Long live the workers! Long live the revolution! Whilst unusual, this was not the first time the Rat agreed with SLAVE. Liberty was her thing, but she did have a touch of socialism in her. The rich screwing with the poor didn't sit well with her at all. Back in the fifties, protesting against communism at the University, it was not socialism they were fighting, it was totalitarianism. "You can count me in then, friends" she said from behind, tossing back her hear and taking of her jacket, to reveal the red tone and the rat sigil. Her high tech guns swung into view at her hips. "Sorry for sneaking up on you. Its a spy thing. Or in your case, Mr Insider, a slightly clumsy spy thing" she said with a friendly smile. "Was just listening in to check I had the right people" she explained. "You must be L0vel@ce" she asked Sofia. "I heard a bit about you. Top of your game in the cyber world, I guess" But still inferior to Soviet Expertise! Ignoring SLAVE for the umpteenth time, she pressed on. "Guys, I'd love to help you, and I think I can..." she asked hopefully. Her one niggling doubt was the mans reticence about exposing HBC. Sure, she was not exactly sworn to uphold law. Hell, she was wanted by UNISON. But on the other hand, these guys sounded dirty. Her heart was with the poor saps working for HBC, but the guys running the drugs, they needed to be taken down....

Cool!

Cool.. for clarification does that spell affect teleportation into and out of Silverman or within it too. And in the case of the handyman, his personal teleport power only or his teleport attac power array too?

The Red Rats eyes zoomed in on the newcomer. Surely, this must be the meet? One could never tell for sure, but it was the right place, the right time, and the right kind of tension. She had seen enough spycraft to spot the signs. Not for the first time, nor the last, she wished her ears could zoom in to. At this distance, she couldn't hear. The man dressed like some kind of low life, but the Rat was far from convinced. He didn't seem to match, somehow. He looked, well, not particularly out of the ordinary. Hirsute, could probably look good if he scrubbed up. As her reflex demanded, she studied him, sizing him up. Looked strong, real strong. Could be a problem in a fight, if he was trained. No way of knowing that, however. Still, she wouldn't treat him like some two dollar thug lurking in the alleys. Best never to underestimate anyone. No question, she would need to get closer. She took off her red rat jacket, reversed it, and put it on, now grey and featureless, zipped it up tight. Guns hidden underneath it. She mussed up her hair and brought it down over her face. It was hardly the most effective disguise, but she was no longer instantly recognisable. Walking not too fast, and not too slow, she made her way towards them. Until she was a little closer, or a least close enough to overhear...

I doubt there is time for a protracted search so a quick one, Search office: 1d20+2 20 gets a lucky roll! If it comes to the computer I will say this is out of her skill set; she is wise enough to know most modern appliances but short of turning one on and maybe using mouse and click, she wont really know files. I imagine Cik does, so even if it was pertinent, unlikely to be a complication.

"Shhhh!" whispered Flintlock, needlessly. They would have to whisper. Remaining silent was not an option. "There is a hidden room, behind one of these bookcases...don't ask me how I know" she hissed as quietly as possible, using gesticulation to augment her words. "Must be a secret level or button, or something, methinks" she suggested, gazing around the room. Of course, she could just send her spirit through the bookcase, but that had limitations, not least leaving her physical body on the floor and vulnerable. And with Cik. Which was, despite her growing confidence and trust, still something of a gamble. Or, she could just summon something horrible to rip the bookcases to splinters and dust. But, simple solutions first. It was time to search the office. Maybe even take a look at this new fangled computer thing, if it came to it...

Black could understand that. Things got pretty crazy around that time. Everything went to hell, as far as he could see. But then...well his brains had been pretty scrambled by the Quantum Field Gun. Difficult to trust anything... "Can't stop every battle. Can't win every battle. But got to do what you can" he said, keenly. "I'm sorry Sir, my memory for history, well, I can't promise I remember everything like it should be remembered, you see. You know I got my brain fried. I don't always get the right...perspective...on things. Besides which, I was a different man then. Before you guys..." Did what?...it was....well, it was better than being locked up for the rest of my life....before they... "before you guys fixed me. Made me better" he said, firmly. "So I only trust you, Sir. Not my memory of things..."

GM "Oh yeah, you sure deplore violence" retorted Deadbolt, as the Hockey Stick snapped into a limp piece of wood. "Ever heard of Denial? Its not a river in Egypt. D'Nile...Denial...gettit?" he laughed with a strong flavour of hysteria. The cackle resolutely resounded around the shop, with several of the dazed customers stopping what they were doing. Including the young child trying to stuff a tennis racket in his nose. "Oh well. Violence is golden, as my mother used to say" he laughed, and punched Echo with considerable speed and force, straight in the face! "And now, I must be off!" he said, finger in air. "You are quite amusing, my dear. But amusing as you are, I still wont go back. Under any circumstances! I'm not insane! Haha! Haha!" he cackled. And off, in a blur, he zoomed...

Deadbolt: Standard Action: Punch Echo Punches Echo: 1d20+10 28 That hits, so a DC 25 Toughness save and a DC 25 Will Save (Confuse Effect) Move Action: Bolt out of the shop!

Toughness: 1d20+9 24 just brused this time (burised 2) Post away, and feel free to use a tennis racket, ski, or mannequin (or anything else amusing), for variety if you wish!

..n/a (mistake post) please ignore!

So Lord Steam cannot abide threats to women! Intimidate: 1d20+13 16 Intimidate roll. If it is relevant Ill throw in an intiative: Initiative vs big thug: 1d20+8 16 Its probably not relevant as he has a prepared block attack, and if he wins initiative he will just prepare a block. If the thug does attack, feel free to make the rolls for that block on Lord Steams behalf (to aide in speedy resolution!)

Now that was enough! "Hold Sir! This young lady will not be intimidated by your brutish manner, nor your brute!" he said menacingly, bringing his cane up. "You are devoid of class, devoid of wit, devoid of charm. A black hole unto which all positive qualities of man vanish without trace. I It seems to me sir, that the only virtue you can honestly claim is wealth, judging by how often you profess it. And, given your evident lack of anything approaching a talent, of any sort, given your clearly inferior intellect, that you incompetently mask with bluster, I can only conclude your wealth has come to you buy inheritance, or crime. If the former, clearly your more competent ancestors have bred with baboons, and fat ones come to that. If the latter, you are an piece of excrement on society, and one I will joyfully take down..." "No doubt your pathetic ego now rails against the truth I speak. In order to satisfy your own ego you will order your even more mindless goon to give me a good beating. He is no doubt stronger than me. Yet I will soundly thrash him, and thrash him well. I have fought larger, fought stronger, and thrashed them too. And then sir, your humiliation will double..." He pointed his cane and the thug. "Come on then, Sir. Give it your best shot. A pugilist are you? had much actual experience fighting someone who can fight back? Have you trained in boxing? jujitsu? savate? do you know pressure points? joint dislocations? chokeholds? Ever fought someone who knows all of those and more? Come then, this will be educational for you if you are foolish enough to follow your masters orders. And, trust me, it will hurt you. I will make very sure of it. I may even leave some of your teeth so you can at least chew soft foods..."

So Echo is up again.

So posted.

"What a wonderful day. I can almost forget about quantum foam disturbance in relative dimensional lensing" remarked Erasmus Bolt, hand in hand with his wife, Verity. "Stop showing off, you ass" she replied, happily. "Mmmm. Its the little things that flavour life" he answered, equally happily. The roar penetrated the air. "What a remarkably vexatious interruption. Doubly so, since I have left my splendid superhero costume at home. I always feel particularly dashing in it" he sighed, cracking his knuckles. "It certainly adds a certain something" laughed Verity. "Why yes! I'm glad you think so" answered Erasmus with a wink. "Well then, Ill just be Erasmus Bolt, instead of the Worlds most handsome superhero!" he finished, with a smirk, distorting space and time, and probably some other strange dimensions around him. His legs and arms lengthened, or perhaps the universe around his legs and arms shortened. It was quite a sight. Then, rising above the park, he strode towards what appeared to look very much like a dinosaur.

Black considered for a moment, consulting his memory. Everything before 2016 was recalled through the training. *Flashback Shock* A burst of focus and obedience washed through him, like a Pavlovian Dog hearing a bell. "I think so, Sir. Sneaky vigilante in the Fens. Uses Claws. Or something like Claws. Nasty. I remember thinking it was bad form before I..." *zzzt* "before I joined up Sir!" he stiffened. He half wished he was standing again. His fingers started itching. "Sorry Sir, don't recall much else. Word on the street is all about claws in the night. Got a reputation, you might say. Beware the Grimalkin..."

GM Deadbolt slumped against the wall. Shaking slightly, as if the vibrations of the splintered and shattered baseball bat had somehow transmitted to his trembling limbs. They jerked independently in a dance macabre. He dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. It was not pretty. A young man started demanding the King of Egypt pull his troops out of Venice. The elderly woman to whom he made his impertinent demands started mumbling something about blue cheese and a Walrus named "Bertie". Deadbolt stopped twitching for a moment, and gurgled a giggle. "You like violence, don't you? Hehehahaha! Why don't you visit my universe, you will fit right in with all the mad!"