Supercape

GM By the pool... "Perhaps. Perhaps you are a Selfish Lothario. Or maybe not". She finished her drink. She almost looked disappointed. Perhaps even anxious. But she soon steeled herself. "I don't think you are. Not when it comes right down to it. Oh, you may play at being one. Perhaps even, you live and think as one. But I think...I hope...that when you are really needed, you will be there" she answered, firmly. "But tell me. Are you really a man who is reactive rather than proactive? do you merely respond on a whim, when trouble arises, then you fly in to save the day?" "Not that I would object if there is trouble. I would very much like you fly in and save the day. But here is the thing. Perhaps by then, it is too late. The damage has been done". She stood up and put one hand on her hip, giving him a penetrating glance. "I am here to stop trouble before it starts. That gets dangerous, that gets complicated. That gets...dirty. But it also works. I am proactive. So, what are you, mister?" she asked, challenging him. "Are you going to help stop the storm, or just fight the storm when it arrives?"

The direction to take is yours; just a few suggestions from Jack but I will roll with whatever you have planned. I suppose you may want to make some Gather INformation rolls depending on your action.

GM "The Sewers, the streets, under a bridge, in a cardboard box. Tin-Hat is part of the urban mythology of the hobo population of Freedom City" explained Jack, feeling progressively more awake. "And no, I don't know how to find him. At least not directly" he conceded. "I mean, I can listen out. Listen out pretty good. Scan the sewers for mumbling. Something human. I can remote-hear, but it doesn't mean my hearing is still that good. I wont pick up the rustling of tin foil" he explained. "But if we asked on the streets, we might get a better answer. I don't know if you hang around with tramps and the like. I tend to avoid them, I guess. Being a stuck up middle class ass" He took in some more coffee, and stifled a yawn. "I guess the other thing to do...it's more risky. But clearly Neutron Industries are searching for this guy. Possibly others too. We could follow them..."

Young and stupid. Maybe not stupid, mayhap. But young. "Why, can't be the standing for turf - takin'!" she answered, slapping fist into palm. She was hardly a businesswoman. Her long life had been taking or paying or selling, but not in what might be termed a regular business model. But it was still skullduggery, still thieving. Whilst she had little sympathy for thieves and backstabbers, despite (or perhaps because) she was a distant cousin to organised crime, she knew the reality of blood and broken bones. Lives taken, and lives broken. And not just those of the warring thieves. True, the cut throats cutting each others throat would not right highly on her agenda, but on the other hand this smelt funny. A needless war, despite the relative virtue of the soldiers, was still needless. "Tell me though, how do we know it was the triads, and not some chess master playing us like unwitting pieces? Things move strangely in the shadows, and I would not be taken for a fool, or, worse, as a tool!"

GM Slowly, with the aid of some rather masterfully brewed coffee, Jack was slipping back into the world of the awake. "I'll count my lucky stars I bumped into a superhero in that coffee shop" he said, his wits knitting themselves back into shape. "Otherwise, well...lets not think about otherwise" he said, concentrating on his coffee. "Radioactive sewer zombie, huh? Well, I suppose it fits with what I heard. Some kind of moving dimensional anomaly. The reason its moving is that the anomaly is a person!" "Although I don't like the sound of an a zombie. Sounds wrong. Dead wrong" he deadpanned. "Look, I'm still half asleep. But perhaps I can help. I heard talk about the sewers, and more importantly, heard a name. There is a guy that lives down there, I think. Half rumour. Half mad. Guy called Tin-hat. Guy got screwed by some super-powered boost or something, now his brains are scrambled and he lives on the streets. But he knows the sewers like the back of his hands. Asked me a week ago, I would have said a good chance he is just an urban legend. But then, I heard his name when the Neutron people started talking about tracking him....only put it together now...." He paused. "Look, you be honest with me, I'll be honest with you..." he said, a bit reluctantly. "I'm a mutant" He paused. "Yeah, that's right, fat, out of shape, well past my prime. And I don't know karate" he said, putting up his hands in a mock kung fu gesture. "I just got one gift. Listening in on people. I can't quite explain it. I can hear things in different places. A roving ear. Its how I get a whole lotta gossip. And its how I get screwed when I publish it. I know its true, but I can't prove it. And I sure don't want anyone knowing I can do it" he said, meaningfully.

GM Jack was clearly still light head, full of cobwebs and dust. And sleep, oh yes, sleep. How he wished he could close his eyes, they were as heavy as lead... But no! "Radioactive Zombies?" he said, the mere term keeping him (relatively) alert. "Gah..I can't think straight...barely know my own name, let alone yours. Get me some coffee!" He paused a moment before giving a wry and friendly smile. "Sheesh, sorry. Here you are on your time off, having saved my life, and you still get to hear me order coffee!" he chuckled every so faintly. "But still, get me some coffee. And tell me everything!" "And for that matter, tell me what we do about it? I wouldn't know even if I hadn't just be knocked out by sleeping gas..."

Will do! Ill treat Jack as an NPC contact of yours. Gas Man, im inlined to play this jazz style, see what happens, but no wide super ID reveal (without your explicit agreement).

Flintlock collared the nearest gentleman. Or at least the nearest Gentleman she judged to be of weakest character and flimsiest resolve. "Ahoy there my friend" she said, blending a lippy seductiveness with a grey steel to her eyes. "Tell me, what do you think of the Yakuza? Spineless swine, to be sure, but how do you think it has come to this? A war of bullets and knives might fill the streets. Why would they risk such blood?" she asked, pressing him. "What have they done to you?" she asked, a pertinent and penetrating question of a personal nature. "Why do you join this night? I know I have my quarrel with them, but before we stand together, I would know what bends your heart to stab and shoot and cut throats by moonlight?" she said, all bluff and iron.

This may not be needed, but Ill throw in a sense motive to try and pick out the most tongue-wagging spineless member of the meet. Judging the weakest resolve: 1d20+12 21

Whats an Australian doing here? Bunch o' em descended from Crooks. And worse, prison guards! She gave a little smile. How she wished she was not drunk. Still, restraint was not in her nature, and neither was it, in her experience wise. Or fun. "Damn the Yakuza!" she said, shaking her fist and spitting on the floor. "I'll gut 'em like a rotting fish! Let me at them! I'll make a soup of their entrails! Spiced with chives!" she added for effect. She always quite liked chives. "Where are they? If they attack us directly, I say we directly attack back! No surrender! No Mercy! Victory!" she said, loud and proud. Of course, she had no intention of a gang war. But on the other hand, the mood was tense, and confidence was her shield. Or so she hoped.

GM The rooms were most splendid, and did indeed largely live up to the hype. Nikki and Dawyne had rooms next to each other, single, but at a size which would be more than enough for a small family. The free standing bath was particularly luxurious. "Yippeee!" yelled Dwayne, more than once, and with plenty of (and perhaps an excess of) enthusiasm. Most excellent champagne was in both rooms. A most excellent champagne in a most excellent silver plated ice bucket. Presumably the ice was spring water too. Just because. "Wow! Can I?" asked Dwayne, tossing the bottle from hand to hand. Both rooms were also equipped with state of the art laptops computers, with the Royal Buck logo as the screen saver, and free internet access. They even had popular games like Planet of Battleworks, and The Cyberpeople loaded onto them. Again, all free of charge. A complementary card was with the champagne. Hi Lover! So glad you could come! I'm in room 212, above you! Can't wait to meet you! You can videolink me on the hotels website...Theroyalbuck212....! Kisses!

Possible replacement for Lord Steam, who is pretty much finished on his journey and should probably be a guest star at this point (although if you have any thoughts on what to do with him, please share). I am also mindful that I have refined my preferences towards low PL, small scale stuff. Hence a new PL 7 is attractive to me. I present, the Handyman. There is a slight element of sanitised "Clockwork Orange" to this - not the violence or sex, but a less radical version of psychological rehabilitation which may still have a brutal cold edge to it. Something I would work out in play I suspect; an adult theme but a PG rating. (Also, I suppose themes of "who am I?" and Phillip K Dick, which also run, i think, in many superhero stories). Any thoughts on narrative (crunch too but secondary importance) please share. I am aware of the reticence about teleport attacks due to its abuse; teleporting someone into the sky for an awful fall, or into a cage, or pit of lava. Shame, as I always liked that - the below build circumvents pretty much any such abuse (I mean, yes, he could teleport someone into a pit of lava, but only if he was frying in it too...) Character Name The Handyman Power Level: 7 (105/105) Unspent Power Points: 0 Trade-Offs: None In Brief: Teleporting Ex-crook turned AEGIS agent. Catchphrase: “I’ll take that…” Alternate Identity: Sebastian Black Birthplace: Freedom City Residence: Freedom City, The Boardwalk (Apartment) Occupation: AEGIS agent, Gambler Affiliations: AEGIS Family: Amber Black, Sister (Jazz Singer), Ace Black, Brother (Marine), Daisy Black, Mother (Elderly and Infirm) Description: Age: 32 Apparent Age: 32 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5’10” Weight: 75Kgs Eyes: Blue Hair: Black The Handyman, as an AEGIS agent, wears a black fedora, coat and costume. He wears an eye-mask to conceal his identity. This is unusual for an AEGIS agent, but done so that nobody recognises him as an ex-crook. He is a man in reasonable, but not exceptional, physical shape. History: Blessed with nimble fingers, sharp mind, and smooth tongue, Sebastian Black soon became a gambler, a cheat, and a thief. He was pretty good at it, and amassed a small fortune. He also amassed a Quantum Field Gun, an experimental weapon stolen off a Russian scientist. The QFG was very effective, but also completely unreliable. When Sebastian tried to use it, it blew up in his face. The field generator did not do his brain any favours (and in fact has given him epilepsy), but allowed him the ability to generate quantum entanglement fields himself – namely, teleportation abilities. Flush with the disorientation of his accident and his new powers, Sebastian was busted by Foreshadow. Faced with either a long jail sentence, he agreed to undergo intensive, experimental physical and mental rehabilitation with AEGIS. Personality & Motivation: The Handyman is actually a people person. He likes people, talking, friends, and is naturally inclined to look after them. Broadly. He also has compulsive lying, stealing, and cheating behaviours. Experimental hardcore AEGIS psychological “rehabilitation” has made him unquestioningly loyal to AEGIS, the government and the military. This has left him with slightly paranoid and suspicious traits. Powers & Tactics: The Handyman can cause specific local quantum field effects. He can teleport himself short distances. He can also teleport distant things into his hands, either to disarm people, grab objects, or even take out chunks (damaging them). With concentration, he can even teleport air into his hand, suffocating his opponent. His “accident” has also rendered him naturally superhumanly resilient to harm, although not impervious to it. Aside from his acquired power, the Handyman is a very skilled thief and conman, and has additional basic AEGIS operative training. He only has basic combat training experience. Whilst the Handyman likes to taunt, deceive, negotiate and steal to solve problems, in a fight he will try to maintain mobility, teleporting around, and will always disarm opponents who carry dangerous objects. Power Descriptions: The Handymans teleportation powers make an audible “pop” sound with a slight smell of ozone at the point of departure and arrival. Complications: Kleptomaniac, Gambler, and Cheat For all his rehabilitation, the Handyman is obsessive-compulsive in all these areas. He might not do major crimes like bank robbery, but he fights urges to pickpocket, gamble, and cheat at cards all the time. Whilst there is some acceptance (due to his value and mitigating circumstances) of these crimes, it can still land him in hot water. Psychological Programming As a result of his intense and experimental psychological treatment, the Handyman is unquestioningly loyal to AEGIS and (to only slightly less intensity) the Government, the State, and the Military. Due to his other psychological problems, it does not apply to the Police. Nevertheless, this programming could be used against him by deceptive or cunning individuals (or groups), especially if they have appropriate psychology training or access to his AEGIS medical records. History / Secret ID / Mask Back when the Handyman was plain old Sebastian Black, he scammed and cheated (or even fairly beat) a lot of rich and powerful people. If they recognise him, they might be ill disposed or malignant. This list might include heads of state, royalty, businessmen, or criminals. It is for this reason that the Handyman wears a mask. His actual ID can be found out (not easily, but certainly with effort). The flip side is that whist he wears a mask, he might be treated with suspicion regarding his AEGIS agent status. Point and Click Due to the explosive nature of his power acquisition, the Handyman has a psychological block on his powers. He must point his finger and click his fingers, like a play gun, in order to teleport somewhere, or teleport something into his hand. Epilepsy the Handyman has acquired epilepsy. This is normally controlled by medication, but if deprived of his twice-daily dose, or exposed to other pro-convulsant effects (like flashing lights or large doses of caffeine), it might resurface, especially at times of stress. Scrambled Brains If exposed to Quantum field effects again, his brain can get scrambled (as it was when he had his accident). “Quantum” descriptor effects (other than his own powers, unless, plausibly, he uses them excessively) might cause confusion, panic, distraction, or a seizure. Abilities: 2 + 8 + 2 + 6 + 4 + 6 = 28 Strength: 12 (+1) Dexterity: 18 (+4) Constitution: 12 (+1) Intelligence: 16 (+3) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 16 (+3) Combat: 8 + 12 = 20 Initiative: +4 Attack: +4 Defense: +6, +3 Flat Footed Grapple: +5 Knockback: -4 Saving Throws: 3 + 4 + 4 = 11 Toughness: +8 (+1 Con, +7 Protection) Fortitude: +4 (+1 Con, +3) Reflex: +8 (+4 Dex, +4) Will: +6 (+2 Wis, +4) Skills: 48 Ranks = 12 PP Bluff 8 (+11) Diplomacy 4 (+7) Gather Information 4 (+7) Intimidate 4 (+7) Knowledge (Streetwise) 2 (+5) Language 2 (English [Native], French, Spanish) Notice 4 (+6) Sense Motive 8 (+10) Sleight of Hand 12 (+16) Feats: 1 PP Benefit 1 (AEGIS clearance) Powers: 9 + 23 + 5 = 35 Protection 7 [7 PP] "Hardened Body" Quantum Field Array (21 PP Array, Feats: Alt Power 2) [23 PP] BP: Teleport 7 (Extras: Attack [Other only, Reflex, +0], Perception Range [+2], Flaws: Limited [Teleport into his hand only]) [21/21PP] “Into the hand” NB: As the Handyman can only teleport things into his hand, he could not use this power to teleport people into the air or into hazardous materials (unless he was in such peril himself) AP: Damage 7 (Extras: Perception) [21/21 PP] “Take a chunk” AP: Suffocate 5 (Extras: Perception) [20/20 PP] “Suck out the air” Teleport 5 (500’, Flaws: Short Range) [5 PP] Drawbacks: 2 PP Vulnerability (Fear and Intimidation Effects; Frequency: Common; Intensity: Minor [+1]) [-2PP] “Rehabilitation trauma” DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch DC 16 Toughness Damage Teleport Perception DC 22 Reflex Teleported Damage Perception DC 22 Toughness Damage Suffocate Perception DC 20 Fort Suffocation Totals: Abilities 28 + Skills 12 + Feats 1 + Powers 35 + Combat 20 + Saves 11 – Drawbacks 2 = 105/105 PP

"Aye, you be a handsome fellow, I just had to kiss you!" said Flintlock, pecking his cheek. She got, up unsteadily, planted her feet on the ground, and her hands on my hips. "Now this, my friends, is a party! I had to come! It would not be seemly to miss out on the guns and knives" she declared, eyes indicating the surely - armed guards. "Allow me to introduce myself" she said boldly, bowing deeply. "My name is Captain Flintlock, scourge of the seven seas. And seas beyond" she declared. "Now, I heard this is the place to do trade, and more than that, the place to trade in things that would not otherwise be traded elsewherelike" she said, mangling her words but doing so with steel. "I come to sell, I have Penguin fat from the Arctic, Elephant Horn from Africa, Spanish Gold, French Furs, and even, if you have the money, the famed black moon-eye of the Nile!" she waffled. "But most of all, I come to buy!" she said, calling their bluff.

So done. I think she will be inclined to avoid combat / let herself be captured / bluff her way out in the first instance. She doesn't unleash her powers without exceptional reason.

Azazoth be damned! I is in for it! She stumbled this way, stumbled that way. Neither her drunken head nor her drunken feet knew which way to turn. They both came to an excellent decision, one which would guide her from a collision. And yet, her drunken head and drunken feet had taken different decisions, and as a result she twisted, spun, and stumbled, and collapsed into the rushing man. There was a hiss, a smell of rotting roses, and a damp sickly wetness to the air. The dread mists of Leng lifted from her body, back to the land of nightmares. "Ah! Gazooks! D'ya fancy a dance, handsome?" she asked the man she had stumbled into, looking at him with drunken eyes, clinging to his tie, and puckering her lips, which gave out a pungent alcoholic odour.

Hell, lets go for a completely drunken screw up, losing concealment. More fun!

With a -2 penalty for sickened status, and thus +5 total acrobatics skill, I was hoping for an amusing failure: Stumbles drunkenly: 1d20+5 24 but she made it! However, before going on, I am happy to wave that, earn an HP, and have some amusing failure of dexterity and evaporation of concealment - whatever you think works best for the thread!

GM The Gas did not wear off all of a sudden, for either Echo or Jack, although it should probably be noted for prosperity that Echo had a more robust constitution in this matter than the rotund Jack, who looked like exercise was a mysterious and distant land. And so, Jack did not wake bolt upright. He was muttering, muttering about Neutron Industries, about the Russian Four, about Darwin-X, and about the distinctly pale looking staff at the restaurant High Steaks. He then started opening his eyes, but his eyes did not wish to fully focus yet. He was dimly aware, in a haze, that he was being attended to. "Wha...no...gas! hmmm...sleepy...wha?...sleepy..." he drifted back to sleep again. And so he drifted in and out of consciousness. Becoming slightly more lucid each time. "Wha? What happened? Who are you? Who am I? Where are we?" he mumbled at Echo, or more precisely, her alter ego.

I think you are reasonably safe so we can wipe exhausted state in a few handwaved hours; but your thoughts on two things: A/ The Gas Man may of course go back to the coffee house - this might have implications for your ID, or suspicion of. The Gas Man might for instance find out whom Jack was talking to, and track down that person, unaware of course that it was Echo. This is a grey area and of course I absolutely am lead by you in how you want that to proceed, in terms of complications, consequences, and story protection. For now I will default to the Gas Man cant track you - but let me know if you would like things otherwise, and perhaps Hero Points or future complications. B/ Jack is not stupid and might, comic book logic notwithstanding, but two and two together. Again, this is your character and your decision. It does depend, I think, on whether you want Jack to be a contact NPC of Echo. I would presume that he is a decent guy and if he did know Echoes secret ID he would (normally) keep it secret.

It was busy enough, and, she concluded, dangerous enough. She was drunk, impaired of judgement, and there were just two many guards and people to mean anything but rampant chaos if she was discovered. Well then, may the mists of Leng and their horrible cling remain a little longer. She felt a little sick. The cellar was tempting, but mayhap a ledger or account would be more useful. Pirate or no, she had seen a few maritime bookkeepers in her time. Even had a romance with a French portsman back in 1973. Naive young boy with the most wonderful fingers. Up the stairs she went, without undue haste, and clinging to the rails. Avoiding the guards as best she could, she crept to the office, peering in...

GM "Why ya no good..." shouted the Gasman, livid. The scientist took a few steps back and dropped his syringe. It landed in his thigh. "oooh...myyyy....." he mumbled, before falling back into his chair unconscious. Or possibly dead. Things moved too fast. A few thugs reached for their guns but were simply too slow. The Gas Man had half raised his by the time Echo was off. He couldn't get a shot off, but he did roar his contempt. "Ya make a fool of me? I'll put the word out, honey! Ya aint's to be trusted! I got mad connects!" he screamed, almost incandescent with rage. The windows were boarded up, but rotten and fragile. True, Jack was heavy, but Echo was inhumanly strong. The combined mass of Jack and speed of Echo simply meant the window splintered, shattered, and broke with barely a shadow of resistance. Ahead of them, the rusty railroads and crumbling buildings of this region of Freedom City.

Base reflex rolls for two goons (+2 Reflex) and the Gasman (+8 Reflex) Reactions against teleport: 3#1d20 13 17 10 So nobody even gets a shot in! You can pretty much escape without danger at this point. There may of course be consequences to your deceit in this thread: And if you wish, you might expand that to a bad reputation complication in the future (in that quasi legal Freedom City people like mercenaries, security guards, and bounty hunters will not trust you). That is something for you to decide of course, but if you feel inclined one way or another, feel free to give me the heads up and I will gently steer the thread that way.

These so called "automatic pistols!" pfmuaha! She patted her antique flintlock. Ill be keeping my black powder, thank you! Fortunately, there we people around to muffle her footsteps. Unfortunately, there was more chance to bump into somebody. Best be nimble, best be quick. If only her feet would obey her drunken brain. She was a nimble thing, full of sea legs, but alcohol would so stumble the legs. Invisible as she was, there was, she thought, little risk of being seen. Joining the wake of some new group, she marched into the warehouse, trying not to fall over. She hoped nobody would smell her breath, for she fancied it would be somewhat pungent, full of hours of swirled rum.

So done! A scene cut to the warehouse? I think as she is invisible she will go alone.

The Malleus Maleficarum, The Book of Dyzan, The King in Yellow, Unaspechlichen Kulten... Flintlock skimmed them all, drunk and full of distaste. She tried to not to think too hard. Not for the first time, she was glad she had no copy of the fable Necronimicon to tempt her. She wondered about the Cthaat Aquadingen, that horrible tome she had found, bound in human skin, in Silvermans book store. She doubted that Fae creature would approve. The shining lamp of Alhazred, the Dust of Suleman, ahhh! The dread mist of Leng!!! Little should be heard of that ritual. The unspeakable one was spoken. Captain Flintlock locked herself in her library, reciting cantations. Screams were heard. And not just her own. The dread mist of Leng was dank, and both seen and unseen. It was madness. It was a good think that Captain Flintlock was blind drunk when she summoned it. When the screams and garbled insanities stopped, the door of her library creaked open. There was a wet sound for a moment, and she stepped out. Except now, cloaked in the mist, she could not be seen by mortal eyes. "Aye, M' hearties. I be invisible! And now, before I wear this too long and go mad from it, 'tis time to get to see what's been stolen!"