Supercape

Yeah, Health Kit! Bruises evaporato!

A bit low, but how about you find yourself a bazooka with a single rocket? Blast 10 (Area Affect)!

Ok lets go with searching for power ups and extra lifes! Could you both throw me a search roll? We can assume that taking 20 is not feasible with gunfire and patrolling tanks etc. DC 10 to find something slightly helpful DC 15 to find something moderately helpful DC 20 to find something very helpful. And if you could give me a flavour of what you would like (health potion, bonus hero point, Gatling gun, Missile launcher, unused tank)

GM The chains were no match for Madame Raven. As soon as they were off, Wrack rubbed her raw wrists, and flexed her fists. "Water? Good, good. You can drown that beached whale in his own factory," she said. "Do fat men float? We shall see!" Vengeance abated and a less palatable thought emerged. "But I can't swim. Bent spine, bent legs, bent arms. A true witch. So I hope one of you can carry me..." Her eyes glanced at Tsunami. "Remember the Codus..." she hissed at Tsunami, quiet as a snake. Perhaps another would have not caught the words, but Madame Raven was keen eared; she heard well enough. The basement had pipes, and Tsunami had noted many pipes running through the factory. More, perhaps, than might be expected for a textile factory. But perhaps this was no ordinary textile factory - plenty of chemicals were sloshing around upstairs. Acids? Poisons? Drugs? Perhaps all three. So plenty of water to work with - but things might get a bit unpredictable...

Just spotted some redundancies in fluff (working in Bedlam, redundant powers) so deleted a few paragraphs.

Rev in Spare Parts On a long dusty road in the middle of a southern desert lay a small dusty town. The town made poor look rich. It was built out of paper thin wood that would blow over in a stiff breeze. An agricultural village, built in a desert. The story behind that idiocy was never fully known, but its consequences sure were. Barely a hundred people were left living in a so-called-town that should have housed twenty times that. What was left? A gas station, a bar, a store. And the few defiant farmers who tried to keep the fields going with rusty machinery and ineffective irrigation. They would have been better off harvesting cactus and tumbleweed that wheat and maize. Old “One eye” Jack Jones had it harder than the rest. His tractor had broken down, and he was danged if he knew how to fix it. He had twisted this, oiled that, and eventually, in frustration, thrown his spanner at the infernal machine. “Can mah fortunes get any worse?” he lamented, wiping engine oil from one part of his forehead to another. “What in darning darnation did ah do to deserve such luck?” He shook his fist at the blue sky, and also at himself, for being so foolish as to try to make a living out of agriculture on land that was almost a desert. He should have been hunting snakes for snake skin. Or snake oil, come to that. His angry eyes scanned the dusty horizon. There, in the distance. More dust than there should have been. A streak of dust, like a Wild E Coyote. And then a belch of black smoke, a small like of flame. The streak of dust was heading straight for him and his broken tractor. Sliding, scraping, sometimes even bouncing of the poor soil and outcrops of rock. A few cacti were trampled. As the object grew nearer, Old Jones was gripped by panic; he might get hit! Or worse, his heap of junk tractor might be in the collision path. The Object was nearer now; a vehicle. Large tires, wire frame. Some crazy driver inside, trying to control the uncontrollable. With great skill, the driver was keeping the car from flipping, even though the engine seemed to be on fire. With a final slide, that sounded like two sheets of metal tearing into another, the car stopped a dozen feet from Old Jones, who had discovered that fear had welded his feet to the ground. He stood, mouth agape. “Now there’s sumthin’ yah don’t see every day…” he mumbled, taking off his straw hat and wiping his brow. A woman climbed out of the wrecked car. Limbs shiny and chrome, fingers made of steel. Dust over her mechanics clothes. “Shoot! Sorry mister, over charged the engine. Got in a bit of a scrape for a moment, but no harm done, eh?” “No harm? What in the darning darnation heck do you think this is?” replied Old Jones, waving his hand at the scar that had been cut across his field. “Errr….” Replied the woman. “And who the hecking heck are you, anyway? Nearly ran me over!” “I’m Lexa Venn. You can call me Rev!” smiled Rev. “What does that mean? You some kinda alien? Some kinda robot? You invading Earth? I seen it, I seen it in the movies… always starts in some kind of backwater, it does. You building a stronghold?” “Stronghold? No, I mean why would I build a stronghold here, this place is like, nowhere? I mean… wait, I’m not an alien, or a robot! I’m a superhero! Rev!” “Never heard of yah!” Rev sighed. It was true, she wasn’t exactly world famous. Even in Freedom City. “I’m a cyborg…” “A what? Sounds like a robot to me!” Rev clinked her metal arms together. “Cyborg Half Robot, Half…never mind. I’m the mechanic superhero! You need anything fixing?” Old Jones sly eyes turned to his Tractor. “Well, jess’ so happens I having a little bother…” “Well, happy to help! And maybe I might need to make some repairs myself. Some really heroic repairs.” Rev’s sly eyes turned towards her smashed up Dune Buggy. It was a tough old bird, but Rev had overcharged the engine in an attempt to break the 10,000mph speed barrier. It hadn’t ended well. She huddled over the tractor, muttering to the world about the various components that were bent, worn out, or twisted. Or that could be recycled. A few tubes and bolts were hurled out, and landed rather near her own buggy. She was cannibalizing the tractor for her buggy. “Hey now. You are tearing my tractor to bits,” complained Old Jones. “Wont be anything left of her by the time you finished. What are you playing at?” “Robbing Peter to pay Paul,” explained Rev. “But cool your jets, mister. I’m going to do it the other way round, too!” Rev leapt over to her Dune buggy and repeated the process, tearing out odd bits of scrap and hurling them towards the Tractor. After a few minutes, Rev leaned back out of her buggy engine, faced smeared with oil and grease. “Dang it! Even I can fix this. Not enough parts.” “Well hold your horses, young lady,” said Old Jones. “Don’t be giving up quite yet. We are a tough old breed down here, and we always look after each other. Plenty of folks got stuff to fix, and if you are so good at fixing…?” And so, a few phone calls later (and yes, Old’ jones was not so old, nor so poor, that he didn’t have a mobile phone) the various flotsam residents of the broken town turned up. Grandma Sprouts, Carrot-head, and Worm-eater where just some of the colourful and occasionally obnoxious nicknames of the eccentric residents. All poor, half mad. And plenty with things that needed fixing, A microwave, a freezer, a washing machine. Vehicles of all descriptions. And a few very bizzarre items, such as the whirly-thing, and the Hopper Bopper. Rev didn’t know what they did, but she fixed them all the same. It was not easy, even for Rev. She had to swap parts, steal them, twist them, and keep track of what went where in what engine or motor. Her brain hurt, but she kept at it, making sure she helped herself to water and – to keep her jets going – some petrol, which she drunk straight down her throat, to the gasps of wonder from the town folk. It was dirty, requiring lots of improvisation, but eventually all the machines and vehicles came to be fixed. Except the Hopper Bopper, which seemed to spin every third hop. But no matter – perhaps the child’s toy would be even more exciting with this unique quirk. At least that what Rev said to the dubious mother. And so it came to pass that a small town, barely holding on, had a slightly brighter day. They had a fighting chance now, with most of the machines working. And perhaps a visit from a super hero had given a little jolt of morale. And maybe, just maybe, Rev might pop in again, to check Old Jones and the gang were doing ok. Plenty of stuff to Fix, and Rev loved a bit of fixing.

GM The Tattered Man heard some rapid scuffling activity as he left the trailer - the Ringmistress, propelled into action. He had gone maybe two dozen yards from the trailer, nearly by the barrels of Ape-Juice, when he heard the trailer door spring open. The Ringmistress, half dressed in Ringmaster clothes, whip in hand. One boot on, one barefoot. A patchwork red jacket and bare legs. A magnificent top hat - the only item of clothing that looked new and quality - sat lopsided on her messy brown hair. She cracked the whip. "Tattered Man! The Circus is in town! And we will be performing whether you like it or not! Bedlam is in for some monkey business, and you aren't going to stop us!" The whip cracked again. "One more step and I will set the animals upon you!"

Gamma Buzz "I'm hungry, too..." conceded Baz, licking his armour plated lips. "Snake would be good. Or rat. Rats would be good, too. Better than cactus soup and tumbleweed pie, that's for sure..." In fact, one of the first powers Baz became aware of was the ability to eat practically anything without any ill effect. HIs stomach had apparently turned into a nuclear powered furnace that swiftly extracted valuable proteins, fats, and micronutrients, before sizzling the rest into atomic ash. A handy power living in poverty in Mexico and on the arduous journey to Freedom City as an illegal immigrants. Rats had often been the dish of the day in the sewers. "I reckon we need to get a fire going first. Part of the course, I suppose. So lets get some twigs, and lets make a fire. I am sure we can rub one out..." His antennae trembled at the clumsy words. "I mean I am sure we can rub them together really hard and fast and get them hot..." His antennae turned bright red. ".... ah I'm sure we can light a fire is what I mean."

GM And meanwhile... In Thunderbolt Tower! Cerebral knew she was in a boss level tower. It was reinforced concrete, two hundred feet tall, and - with frankly ludicrous architecture - she could see it was constructed in the shape of a thunderbolt. Everything here was reinforced. The window - overlooked a ruined city - was off thick bulletproof glass, and had a reinforced steel grid mesh on both sides. The walls were thick, and tough. The door was iron, also thick. There was no doubt that with enough time, the mighty Cebebral could tear the grill apart, or push the door off the hinges, or even crack open the concrete walls, but it would take time. Maybe just seconds, but more likely a minute or two. Boss level tower, indeed. And what was outside the door? She couldn't see. Could be one guard, could be a dozen, could be none. Could even by a nazi cyborg octopus carrying eight chainsaws. This was a crazy nazi nightmare, after all. And outside... Scanning around the ruined city the two teens could see plenty of hiding places in the rubble - although they looked structurally unsound. Good for cover, not good for burying you in a pile of bricks. Half destroyed buildings littered the city, from a hospital to a bakery to a fire station. And, if they fancied getting dirty, there was a subway and a sewer system. But what they did notice was, at the centre of the city, an impossibly large and impossibly constructed tower in the shape of a concrete thunder bolt. And, lamentably, it was riddled with guards, tanks, helicopters, and machine gun posts.

Thanks Fox, Should be PL 10, so Protection 7 is the order of the day (Tough +10, Def +10) - Corrrected. Reflex should be +13 (so +4 Dex, +7) - Corrected this and the PP cost Ignite powered corrected to 30 PP You are right in powers, should be 95 PP, corrected this (247 PP) BUT, on reflection I think Rev is a little quicker off the firing line, so added in another rank of Improved Initiative (1 more PP), so bumped up the initiative, the feat count, and the total at the bottom.

GM The poor tank driver realised as soon as the telekenetic grip tightened- the jig was up, the show was over, and it was lights out. "Oh dear..." me whimpered, before dropping his pistol from panicked hand. Then, his body was thrown around the tank like a rag doll. "Ouch...ouch...ouch..." he yelped as he slammed into the tanks edges, getting crushed like a ping pong ball in a vice. In a second it was over. Outside, Michael was still face down in the dirt. Fortunately, no more falling masonry had collided with his head, and the various burning fires had not been blown onto his hair. And he was starting to regain consciousness...

Also probably not good enough to create a detecteron, although you could try the inventor feat?

GM Predator carefully scooped up the mush of flesh - and did a good job of it, carefully preserving all the evidence in uncontaminated scientific tubes and bottles. Perfect for analysis. It looked like flesh, but under the microscope it was clearly different. Further chemical analysis clearly showed that whilst it was based on human DNA, it was not human. Complex interwoven DNA strands for starters, but more importantly, every cell seemed, essentially, a stem cell, capable of regenerative powers, able to assume the function and form of any other cell. And supercharged, to, perhaps explaining the North-persons enhanced strength and lethal hyperthymia. The metabolic rate was of the scale. As for the tube? It was designed to slowly release the chemical inside, perhaps some metabolic booster, perhaps some stabilising agent (for the flesh was clearly unstable). As far as Predator could tell, it had, at a certain moment, released all its contents in one massive infusion, resulting in the spontaneous combustion. Fortunately, Predator had acted quickly, cooling the flesh. Without that, there would be no evidence but ash.

Predator - Unharmed - 1 HP Results as per IC

NO i added an IC post so just follow up with however you want to punch the nazis lights out! And if you have drive skill, you now have a tank, yippee!

Ok so its nearly wrap time - the driver is a minion with a small pistol so feel free to auto hit him with whatever and we can waive the combat at this stage! (You can even narrate punching him out if you wish :D)

GM The Hatch was still open, and the crumpled bodies of the commander and the gunner still lay over its rim. It was fairly straightforward to shove them to one side and drop into the tank itself. It was musty, cramped, and ugly inside. Lots of lights, levers, and pipes, all seemingly designed to look like an oppressive instrument of tyranny. A framed picture of General Sparks, dressed in blue, with sparking fingers and a cheesy grin, looking into the horizon. The driver turned round, shocked, and pulled his gun... with a fumble and a panic... giving Cerebellum time to ACT!

None, for that, just post jumping and climbing into the tank

Yes of course

Phew! Feel feel to lose a shoe or something under the tracks. And then you are up again.

GM the Car crashed into the Tank to the tune of grinding metal. The Car - already a wreck, decided to bend and distort, bouncing of the tank in the shape of a exotic abstract sculpture that might be named "Car huled against a tank by telekenesis". The machine gunner did not fare well. He was crushed. Dead? Well, what was dead really, to a computer programme? He seemed to only have the intellect of a Nintendo 64 in the first place. Was he ever alive? The tank itself too a big dent, but was still running. In a last ditch attempt to crush the anarchists, the tank driver decided to put the Tank into full speed ahead and, well, crush the anarchists. More specifically, trying to put Cerebellum under the tracks!

Awesome. So in a last ditch attempt to crush the anarchists, the tank driver will try to run you over! Lets call that a DC 10 Reflex save to avoid, @Dracostern if you fail, ill call that a DC 25 Tough Save.

Diamondlight Gambling? Diamondlight couldn't resist a gamble. He was driving when he saw the avatar of Tun. He wisely pulled over, adjusted his tie and leaned over to sign. What matter the danger, what matter the terms? This was the gamble of a lifetime! A different civilisation! His mind turned over all the myriad of possibilities, each one sizzling with exotic excitement. Only a fool would turn down this opportunity. Tun's prize - to him - was nothing. Nothing but a medal made of metal, whose only quality was incredible difficult to forge. Diamondlight had more than enough money. He had his own company, his own casino, and super powers. He didn't gamble for the prize, he gambled to win. That was the flush! He sat back in his car, waiting for further instruction. Would they hold this on earth? on another planet? Would he have to drive?

Gamma Buzz Baltazar scratched his antennae. "So this gem is like we need it but its dangerous. Maybe it just needs to be hidden away? Like in a black hole or something? Or maybe the bottom of the ocean? Or up the headmaster's a.... ahhhh.... up the headmaster's super secret safe that has a chute you put things up. Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?" He shook his head. "Really... like, dont we need to save that world, or something? Cant have a whole planet depending one teeny weeny gem?" He shuddered at the thought of the earth being in such peril. "Can't we move the planet to a different part of the universe?"

Investigation time, @Spacefurry! Investigation roll to collect evidence (the mulsh and maybe non-mulsh like fingerprints etc) Knowledge (life sciences) to examine the mulsh Knowledge (physical sciences) to examine the broken vail in the ?North's mulshed chest. Feel free to make any other rolls (knowledge, craft, and so on) that you might feel pertinent.