Supercape

GM Fortunately, this strange world was still a world where Golden Star and the twins had their powers. Super speed, super strength, all present and correct. Unfortunately, the tank was still a mechanised beast of war with speedy tracks and a really big cannon! BOOM! A nearby building fell apart! BOOM! An old warehouse gained a new, wide entrance! BOOM! As Golden Star weaved through broken streets, fires, and empty buildings, one of the shells came a little bit too close for comfort!

Haven Haven paused. "Everything" was, to his mind, a good answer, but he doubted the Lion would have the wit or time to provide everything. "Three things then, my feline friend... One! Where are the Ultio 2.0 Suits? Two! Where is the rabbit? Three! Who is the Wizard of Oz?" It was a gamble. Some, or all of those questions might fall under the umbrella of "security", but then, anything could. Follow the Rabbit, his cyber-ally (if he/she was an ally) had said. Maybe a metaphor, maybe not. This world seemed ripe with metaphors made real, so it was worth a shot.

GM The thug laughed. "Why would anyone want anything like that? they wouldn't! Its not sold as that. Marketing, cape... its all about Marketing! Synthetic, the marvel drug! Feel strong, feel powerful, feel all the pain wash away. Well, I guess it does that, eventually. The streets are full of people wanting some kind of escape, some kind of oblivion... why, look around!" The man swept his eyes across the desolate night time skyline of arguably the most desperate part of the city. "Guinea pigs! Synthetic isn't perfected yet. Look at this zombie... he look normal to you?" The man's eyes darted to the albino still half asleep. The albino clearly wasnt a zombie; he was quite alive. But skin so thin and translucent you could almost see the pulsing arteries beneath. He certainly wasn't a zombie, but he certainly wasn't normal, either." "Thats where Synthetic comes from. His blood. Ha! Good name, huh? Synthetic, although thejokes on you. Its actually some freak's blood. I reckon Freak Blood didn't sell well. Synthetic sounded a lot better. See? It's all about Marketing!" He gave another hopeless wriggle. "I told you everything I know. Now cut me some slack and let me go!"

19 for Baz

Gamma Buzz "RIght! Right! Check the cave! Could be a desert Anaconda, right?" said Baz, snapping the fingers of both hands. Baz checked for responses. "I mean desert Anaconda's are a thing, right? If they aren't, they should be, so it still counts, right?" He peered into the Cave darkness. "Fortunately, I have my amazing cockroach vision and my amazing cockroach nose, so I could surely detect the heat signature of a desert Anaconda... wait... aren't they cold blooded and stuff?" He hopped from foot to foot once more. "So maybe cockroach vision wont work. Any other bright ideas, hombres?"

Rev Power Level: 10 (248/250) Unspent Power Points: 2 Trade-Offs: None In Brief: Street Racer Cyborg Alternate Identity: Lexa Venn Birthplace: Freedom City Residence: Freedom City Base of Operations: Freedom City, Claremont Occupation: Student, Mechanic Affiliations: Claremont Family: Daisy Jenkins (Mother, Nurse) Catchphrase: “Jet, Set, GOOOO!” Description: Age: 24 Apparent Age: 24 Gender: Female Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5’6” Weight: 100 Kgs Eyes: Red Hair: Platinum Blonde Rev is a young woman who usually wears cheap casual clothes like t shirts, and jeans (her favourite is probably dungarees). Her only oddity is red eyes (although she often wears sunglasses). Her hair is platinum blonde to the point of being white. She is often barefoot (because her jets will burn through shoes pretty fast), but does wear sneakers she can kick off quickly if need be. With progressive power use, her artificial skin peels / burns off and metal cyborg limbs are revealed. She has two ports on the side of her neck, which she can use to pump fuel into her body. History: Lexa Venn grew up a good kid, decent grades, friendly, outgoing. Bit of a tomboy. Her dad was a mechanic, her mother a nurse. That all changed on her 15th Birthday, when her Dad was killed in a shootout between some cops and a pair of cheap thugs. She didn’t go completely off the rails, but she certainly slid half off them. She fell in with a street gang called the “Junkin’ Donuts”, who specialised in joy riding and street racing, and rebuilding or modifying scrap yards cars. They weren’t a totally bad lot, just thrill seeking anarchists (As opposed to violent). Lexa had enough skill driving and repairing cars that she was pretty valued. After leaving high school early (aged 16) with disappointing but not bad grades (“could have done better”) she ended up working in an auto shop part time and hanging around the Junkin’ Donuts full time. And then, she took a race that would change her life. The mysterious driver she raced again was using the “Mechaphage”, a strange metal based cybernetic bacteria (that was itself mutated by the Darwin-X virus) that integrated biological and mechanical components. He used this to literally “become one with his car”. He would have easily won the race, but Lexa would not have that. She called in her Donut friends who spiked the street with an oil slick. Next thing, Lexa and her opponent had an almighty crash. The mysterious driver, welded to his car, was whisked away by AEGIS in the aftermath. Lexa suffered horrific injuries, but slowly recovered, her broken, missing, or shattered limbs turning to steel, her hair turning white, her eyes turning red. She had been infected with the Mechaphage! After a spell in Claremont, she made her way to Bedlam City. The grime, grit and grease of the city appealed to her. With one (or several) limbs in the underworld as a Street racer, she keeps her ear to the ground of the underworld that she skims the surface of. Jumping lights or speeding through the city is one thing (“you have to be a bit of a crook to survive in a crooked city”), but when it comes to serious crime, Rev is still a hero! Personality & Motivation: Thrill seeking, Loyal, Friendly Rev is a thrill seeking, adventure loving woman who “Rev”els in her power. However, despite her need for speed, she really doesn’t have a bad bone in her body (mind you, she doesn’t have that many bones these days). She is generally a kind, loving kind of person, and has plenty of sympathy for others. Her motivation is thus simply to use her power helpfully. However this is not always simple; she can come into conflict with her own desire for power, or she can find herself torn in whom to help. She will tend to help others she knows, or has a personal investment in, rather than abstract helpfulness (on a geo-political or philosophical level, for instance). Her major hobby and interest is pulling apart engines and rebuilding them. And driving cars very fast… Powers & Tactics: Rev has many machine parts, but mainly they are her legs and arms that are now fully mechanical. Her limbs can extend out and her feet and hands (and to a lesser extent the rest of her limbs) have inbuilt jets she can fire to fly or spray fire, She cyborg limbs can also separate from her body, have increased strength, and can even split – thus an arm would split into two more slender arms, and her legs split into two more slender legs. One limitation of her jets is that they require normal oxygen levels: They will not function at high altitude or underwater (for instance). Rev can “Rev” engines with touch, increasing their power and performance considerably by temporarily infecting them with the Mechaphage. For instance, she can boost a car to travel at 5000mph! Rev is reckless but smart in a fight, meaning she will charge in without planning, and with a love for speed. But once in a fight she is not stupid – over confident, perhaps, but not stupid. She will use her powers in reasonably inventive ways. Power Descriptions: Rev’s limbs can fire jets. These are mainly in her feet and hands, but she has a few lesser jet ports in her elbows and knees. They will fire blue plasma at her mental command. Complications: Skin Job: Rev has artificial, plastic derived skin over her limbs, which tends to burn off during strain or damage, showing clearly metal limbs (making her recognisable). In addition, whist her hands have reasonable touch receptors (a little less than a normal humans), the rest of her limbs have very little or no touch sensation (meaning she could be insidiously damaged or affected without her noticing). Tanked up: Her limbs usually operate on electricity which she can spontaneously generate. However, using the Jet array requires fuel. She has to pump fuel into her body (either drinking it, or – more efficiently, by piping into a portal in her neck). Refuelling also means refining (to ultra high grade energy dense variants) which she can do in her body. However, this does mean emitting (from her jets) a rather unpleasant methane smell. Using hyperburn power will drain fuel extremely fast. Oiled up: In addition, Rev needs to apply lubricating oil to her limbs once a day or they will grind and be very noisy (making stealth impossible, for instance). Being in water or dirty environments will also cause grinding until she applies oil again. Very long periods (weeks) without lubricant will slowly make her limbs seize up altogether. Overcharge Burn: Her “Revving” boost is not completely reliable. She can break, rather than boost, engines (or possibly do both). Total Jerk: If hit by electricity, she will experience brief violent jerks in her limbs. She could accidentally drop or throw something, fall prone, or just flail about. Magnetic Vibes: Strong magnetic fields, or magnetic powers will also affect her, giving her a lingering fine tremor to her hands for an hour or so. This stops her from any fine manipulation. She could not accurately type, press a button, and cannot be precise with her plasma jet, let alone use craft or disable device skills. Jet Crash: Normally, Rev flies reasonably gracefully. However, if she is flying with limbs occupied (such as holding things, or when her limbs are detached) she gets clumsy and progressively likely to crash and burn. As a rough guide, if she is "down" one limb, she will often fail tight turns but is generally functional. If she is down "two limbs" she is only able to reliably to simple things like long turns or landing. If she has only one limb "up", she can't even fly in a straight line or land without great peril. Red Eye: Using Infravision makes Rev's Eyes glow. Sure, she can see in the dark, but everyone call also spot her (two glowing points of red light!) Oxygen Dependent Using her jet powers requires oxygen. They will rapidly fail if in an oxygen depleted environment such as space or underwater. Abilities: 20 + 8 + 6 + 4 + 0 + 6 = 44 Strength: 30 (+10) [Effective Lifting Strength: 40] Dexterity: 18 (+4) Constitution: 16 (+3) Intelligence: 14 (+2) Wisdom: 10 (0) Charisma: 16 (+3) Combat: 20 + 20 = 40 Initiative: +8 (+4 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative) Attack: +10 (+12 with Cutter) Defense: +10 (+10 base, +5 flat footed) Grapple: +22 (additional +2 from elongation) Knockback: -5 Saving Throws: 8 + 9 + 7 = 23 Toughness: +10 (+2 Con, +8 Protection) Fortitude: +10 (+3 Con, +7) Reflex: +13 (+3 Dex, +10) Will: +7 (+0 Wis, +7) Skills: 80R = 20 PP Acrobatics 8 (+12) Skill Mastery Bluff 4 (+7) Craft (Chemical) 4 (+6) Craft (Electronic) 4 (+6) Craft (Mechanical) 8 (+10) Skill Mastery Craft (Structural) 4 (+6) Disable Device 8 (+10) Skill Mastery Drive 14 (+18) Skill Mastery Intimidate 4 (+7) Knowledge (Pop Culture) 4 (+6) Knowledge (Streetwise) 4 (+6) Notice 4 (+4) Pilot 6 (+10) Sense Motive 4 (+4) Feats: 25 PP Acrobatic Bluff Ambidexterity Beginner’s Luck Equipment 9 Evasion 2 Favoured Opponent (Vehicle) Improved Grapple Improved Initiative Improved Sunder Improved Throw Move-by Action Prone Fighting Second Chance 2 (Toughness save vs. Crashes and Fire) Skill Mastery (Acrobatics, Craft Mechanical, Disable Device, Drive) Ultimate Effort (Drive) As Enhanced Traits: Improvised Tools Equipment: 9PP = 45EP Vehicle: Dune Buggy STR 40 [4 EP], Toughness 12 [5 EP], Size Large [1 EP], Features: Alarm 1, Navigation System 1, Oil Slick, Smoke Screen [4 EP], Impervious Toughness 5 [5 EP], Communication 6 (20 miles, Radio, Omni Directional, One Way) [6 EP], Speed 5 [5 EP], Supermovement 2 (Surefooted, -50% penality reduction) [4 EP], Super Senses 1 (Radio) [1 EP] [35 EP Total] Headquaters: Chop Shop Toughness 10 [1 EP], Size: Small, Features: Communications, Fire Prevention System, Garage, Living Space, Security System 3, Workshop [8 EP] [Total 9 EP] Caltrops [1 EP] Powers: 8 + 13 + 4 + 1 + 1 + 6 + 34 + 1 + 6 + 7 + 10 + 2 + 1 + 1 = 96 Anatomic Separation 4 (Arms, Legs) [8 PP] [Mechanical/Cybernetic] Boost 4 (All Mechanical Effects, Feats: Selective, Slow Fade 4 [1 Hour], Flaws: Others Only) [13 PP] “Rev Engine!” (Mechanical, Cybernetic) Elongation 2 (10’, Range Increment 20’, +2 to Grapple/Escape Artist, Extras: Continuous) [4 PP] “Servo Limbs” (Mechanical, Cybernetic) Quickness 3 (x10, Flaws: Limited to one task: Craft Mechanical [-2]) [1 PP] “Inbuilt tools” Enhanced Trait 1 (Feat: Improvised Tools) “Inbuilt tools” Immunity 6 (Light based visual dazzles [1], Limb heat damage [2], Cold and Hot Environments [2], Energy based critical hits [1]) [6 PP] "Energy dispersal systems" (Cybernetic) Jet Array (30 PP Array, Feats: Alt Power 4) [34 PP] “Jets!” BP: Blast 10 (Extras: Area Burst) [30/30 PP] “Fireball” AP: Dazzle 10 (Extras: Area [Burst]) [30/30 PP] “Jet Flare” (Light descriptor) AP: Trip 10 ( 5 x 25-205’ Line Extras: Area [Line], Knockback, Feats: Decrease Area 9, Improved Trip, Flaws: Range [Touch]) [24/24 PP] "Wind Tunnel" [Cybernetic, Wind] AP: Corrosion Strike 8 (Feats: Accurate, Improved Critical 1, Precise) [11 PP] Linked with Drain Toughness 8 (Extras: Affects Objects, Feats: Accurate, Improved Critical 1, Precise) [19 PP] “Cutter” AP: Blast 10 (Extras: Secondary Effect) [24 PP] "Ignite" Speed 1 (10mph) [1PP] [1PP] (Mechanical, Cybernetic) “Cybernetic Strength” Super Strength 2 (+10 Effective Strength, Feats: Groundstrike, Shockwave) [6 PP] (Mechanical, Cybernetic) “Cybernetic Strength” Protection 7 [7 PP] “Sub dermal plating” Flight 5 (250mph) [10 PP] “Jets” Flight 2 (Stacks with basic Flight power for 1000mph, Flaws: Unreliable [5 uses/round only]) [2PP] “NO2 boost” Super-Movement 1 (Slithering, Flaws: Limited to detached limbs) [1 PP] [Mechanical/Cybernetic] Super Senses 1 (Infravision) DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch Toughness 25 Damage Plasma Jet Touch Fort 16, Tough 21 Drain Tough, Damage Fuel Bomb Ranged/Burst Toughness 23 Damage Flaring Jet Ranged/Burst Reflex/Tough 18 Visual Dazzle Wind Tunnel Touch/Line Reflex 20, Tough Trip/Knockback Totals: Abilities 40 + Combat 40 + Saving Throws 23 + Skills 20 + Feats 25 + Powers 96 = 244/250 Power Points

Bringing Rev up to PL 10 and back to Freedom CIty (she is too upbeat for Bedlam!) Jet, Set, Goooooo! All ideas or suggestions welcome.

Gamma Buzz "Wheee! Who needs plans anyway?" asked Baz, hopping from foot to foot and rubbing his hands. "I mean the worst that can happen is that we die in agony in an alien pain amplifier, right?" "Uhhh... actually that doesent sound any good, does it? Forget I said that!" If he stopped to think, Baz knew he would realise he was terrified to death. So, to him mind, the logical thing was not to stop. "Whats important is that we go down fighting! And arent get taken alive for the aliens to plant torture eggs in our abdomens that erupt in a agonising birthing ritual! Thats very important!" With his final "wisdom" dispensed, he jumped throught the portal!

GM Perhaps there might have been time for Daniel to find his twin. If he was left undisturbed in peace and calm... Alas, that was not to be. This was a violent computer game. Inbetwixt the intermittent sounds of machine gun fire, the teenagers could hear the sound of an engine. A tank! With a CRASH!*, a nearby bomb-hollowed building collapsed, and a cannon barrel poked out. The dust plumed around them, almost obscuring the vision, and threatening to invade their lungs and induce a coughing fit. From the top of the tank, a hatch opened up. A man dressed in faux-nazi leather gear, and outrageously large and evil military hat popped up, and pointed a gloved finger at the two your men. "MEN! TERRORISTS! EXTERMINATE THE SCUM IN THE NAME OF GENERAL SPARKS!" he yelled in a completely English tongue with a bad accent that wobbled between American and German. Not your normal German, but the German accent of bad world war 2 movies. The Tank started creeping forward, the turrey started swerving... It looked very doubleplusungood.

GM Doctor North drooled from his mouth, his body still warm despite the coolant. The skin was blistering and peeling, revealing a pale skin so thin that it was slmost transclucent. "I am meant to be Dr North. Does that make me Dr North? Cant... think... straight...." Doctor North? mumbled. The blisters started appearing more and more frequently, the skin cracking and bubbling. Doctor North's eyes popped wide open, the pupils dilated. For one horible second, he went stiff as a board, his eyes in rapture. And then the process completed. With a little burst of flame from his sternum... Doctor North exploded! It was not a fiery explosion, but it was a spectacular one. Fragmented strips of flesh, splatters of blood, and assorted goo fell around everywhere. Including onto Jean. Doctor North - or whatever it was (it certainly didnt look human) was dead. All that was left was a few remnants of skeleton (gently smoking) and an empty of vail, cracked, that rattled around the ribcage!

DIamondlight in Swiss Cheese August Zoss had travelled back to Switzerland to see his father, who was not a well man. Every time August saw him, Henri looked paler, more haggard, less full of life. Which was somewhat ironic as the family secret, a shameful Daka crystal procured from the Nazi’s (who in turned procured in from the African nation of Dakana), was pumping the old man full of its strange energy, sustaining his life force. August knew this well; it was the strange energy that had slowed his aging and increased his endurance. And allowed him to fire silver-blue laser beams from his eyes. August wanted to call a doctor, but that would inevitably lead to the secret coming out. Sure, he could use his wealth and contacts to find some disreputable doctor who would keep his mouth shut, and might even know what he was doing. But that was the problem with disreputable people; they were disreputable. They wouldn’t always keep their mouth shut. Besides, August feared it was not Henri’s body that was collapsing, it was his heart. Broken, shattered with grief, ever since his wife died. There was no crystal in the universe that would repair that. Perhaps the annual Cheese festival in the nearby village would cheer him up. Cheese would cheer anyone up, right? There was a festive, communal air to the cobbled streets. Spring was nearly here, and the village had taken upon itself to hold an early cheese festival at this time; early, perhaps, for the purposes of cheesemaking and marketing, but it did attract cheese fanatics from far and wide, being the earliest cheese festival in the land. The Swiss cheeses were all there, of course, but so where staple cheeses from around the world. English and French, particularly, filled with their particular blue cheeses – so hard to resist. Every land had a cheese, even (to August’s sour shame) Dakana. Every nation on earth could produce a fine cheese. Except, obviously, America. “What’s the point?” asked Henri, walking with a cane, mood sour despite fresh air, sunshine, and a remarkable warmth to the air despite the time of year. “What’s the point in anything?” asked August, brushing off the question. “Well precisely…” August rolled his eyes at his father. With a subtle nudge, he redirected his father away from the wine store (wine, of course, was always present with anything cheesy) and onto the finest selection of swiss cheeses he could find. “The point, father, of going to a cheese festival, is to delight the palate with finest cheese. Come on, we have the money, and the atmosphere is gay. Does this not refresh your memory? Good days?” “I miss your mother,” came the black response. August winced. “I miss her too. But all love ends in tears or death, that’s the deal of it.” “You and your deals. A convoluted mess, dear boy. I have no idea how you navigate the complexities of business, or life. I yearn for simpler times, simpler pleasures.” “Like the sun. Or cheese!” said August, injecting a penetrating rigor into his words. “Well, that is true. Many suns, many cheeses in my life. Fond memories.” “Better a fond memory than a bitter future. Come, let us take a bite! You haven’t been out of that stuffy castle for a year.” The two of them took seat by the main road, drinking espresso, sampling cheeses. Henri started to smile. “You are right,” he conceded. “I do need sunshine. My wife… gone, it’s like I am living half a life. But so be it. Half a life is still half a life, and I can enjoy the part that remains. Maybe that’s really what grief is. Grief for the dead, of course. But grief for the part of you that’s lost.” “Savour what we have, right?” Henri nodded. “Savour what we have.” Their musings were interrupted by a scruffy looking man who was prematurely grey. Short, slender to the point of being bony, but with some subtle vitality to his body and eyes. Jonas Fleck, the local historian. “Zoss family, here?” he said, voice gnarly. “Flaunting your wealth like always? Sharp suits, expensive watches…” August reflexively put his hand over his watch (a special spy one, just like in the movies), and was irritated he had done so. “Not the time, Fleck,” he grumbled. “When is the time, Zoss? When would you like to explain exactly how your family came into such wealth during the war?” “Why you little toad! Say another word and I will sue!” declared Henri, ready to rise. His frail body suddenly seemed galvanised. August fear he might raise fists, which would be risky both for Henri’s health and for the legal ramifications. Zoss didn’t need any attention drawn to Fleck. “Good!” said Fleck, with a wide grin. “Great publicity!” August put his hand on his fathers forearm, gentle but clear. “Calm. This man is just trying to goad you.” Fleck frowned. “The Zoss fortunes are obscure and implausible. For the public good, it is only right they are transparent!” “We are entirely legal,” said August, confidently. He didn’t study law for nothing. “You know this, I know this. Stop harassing an old man.” “Its not just him I am harassing.” August detested bullies, but sometimes… well, sometimes it was a fine line. What was the difference between intimidation and bullying? It was perilously thin. He had concluded that the difference might usefully (for the purposes of ethics) be considered the matter of motive. The bully attacked to take, but intimidation might be a righteous defence. That’s what he told himself anyway. “Fleck, do what you will, but your actions have consequences. I choose, and mark my words… choose… to tolerate your little hobbies on most days, but not today. Today, my father and I deserve a little sunshine without your miserable grey cloud. This is a cheese festival, a necessary and vital part of the towns wealth, both spiritual and material. It would not do for someone like you to mar it, to make a scene. And if I wish to make this crusade of yours a scene, then a scene it will be. And you can also believe that such a scene will be engineered, designed to make you’re the patsy.” The threat was delivered in a cold calm manner. No raised voice, no raised hand, just a statement of facts based on absolute confidence. And a subtle glint of silver-blue in his eyes. Klent paused, visibly weighing up the options and balancing his emotions; his mission, his fear, his pride. “Very well, as it’s the cheese festival, we can’t really play this out during a cheese festival, can we? It would curdle our produce.” August nodded and kept silent, waiting for Fleck to walk off. He did not need to wait long. “Odious little piglet,” concluded Henri. “I cannot deny that. Somehow the cheese is even finer with his absence, the wine even crisper, and the sun all the brighter.” “Cheers. Too small things!” sain Henri, clinking his glass with his son. August felt a weight lift from his heart. Perhaps it was the cheese, perhaps the wine, perhaps the sun. But if he was truthful with himself, it was kicking Fleck out of the pitch and seeing his father happy.

Ok, so 1 HP to C&C for being split up! Cerebral - 2 HP - Unharmed Golden Star - 1 HP - Unharmed

GM The Screen shifted again... ...a pixel art picture of a military nazi-style commander beating a book with a club. Boink! Boink! Boink! Flashing lights, humming sounds... This was hypnotic with a capital H! It was impossible to drag ones eyes away from it. In but a moment, the three teenagres bodies were still; transfixed by the flashing images, completely mindless. So where were there minds? They whizzed through eldritch dimensions and impossible realms, to land... ...in the computer game itself! But no computer game they recognised. Golden Star and Cerebellum landed in the middle of a warn torn city, full of wrecked buildings and the sound of machine gun fire. Ad COrtex? In the top of locked tower! Grill over the window, looking over the ruined city. A four poster bed, a silver mirror... oh it was gilded alright, but still a gilded cage. She was a digital damsel in distress, locked at the top of a tower!

Snakebite in Canterbury Cabbage. Cassandra Crow pulled up outside the Crow mansion. This was Canterbury, England, in allegedly the sunniest county in the united Kingdom. But today the skies were grey, the temperature cool, and tepid rain fell from the skies. A grey day to suit her grey mood. Yesterday, she would have called this mansion her own. But then she her cousin had a baby boy. In the middle of the Canterbury harvest festival. Normally, that would be irrelevant in the matter of ownership of the estate (although of course the normal celebrations and congratulations would be due). But the Crow family wealth, considerable as it was, was tied up in arcane and obscure legislation stretching back centuries, or, in some particularly dusty tomes, more. Precisely who owned what percentage of what land under what circumstances with what contingencies and loopholes was a gordian knot. It was an irritation that consumed Cassandra. When she stormed into “Her” mansion, she was not in the best of mood. An assorted gaggle of Crow family members had gathered in the study of the mansion. Cassandra burst in, fists clenched, and eyeballed each in turn. Arthur Crow, her cousin. Handsome, elegant, intelligent. And seemingly immune to the Crow family’s bad luck and curses. His twisted body sat in a wheelchair. It was a common belief that he had had his share of curses in vitro, giving him a painful and disabled body. His wife, Tonya Crow, a rather fat dark skinned woman who was known for her big heart that could become overbearing. In her arms, their new born son, who, Cassandra noted, looked like Winston Churchill, like all babies did (to her eyes). And finally Penelope Crow, an aged distant aunt, who had a sharp mind and sharper razor. Here, judged Cassie, was the real threat, the real mastermind pulling the levers. Penelope Crow was a lawyer, and her bony hands were dedicated to consolidating as much of the Crow fortunes as much as possible under her less than benign oversight. It was not even greed, thought Cassandra; Penelope Crow did what she did for amusement. A hobby, of sorts. A very vexatious hobby. “Pleased to see you,” came the chorus of acknowledgements from one family member to another. Nobody looked particularly pleased. The baby gurgled. Penelope crow moved to the study table and gestured to a sheaf of dusty documents. The paper had turned brown, the ink had faded but the text was still legible. Cassandra processed the text style and the language. It was probably three hundred years old; at minimum. Penelope took great delight in showing Cassandra the intricate laws and agreements contained within the bundle. Cassandra was no lawyer; it would have been hard to follow even for a professional, given the archaic quality. She couldn’t follow a quarter of what Penelope said. But in summary – it was a trap of ink. If this person begat that person, and lady whatever gave birth two three sons, one of whom was his own uncle, then the Canterbury Mansion (Crow Hall) would pass ownership from this bloodline to that. At least, it was vaguely like that. The net effect was that Arthur Crow was now the owner of Crow Mansion. With various subclauses and so on and so forth. It was quite the headache. Cassandra rated Arthur Crow as the most benign member of the Crow family, even herself, and by some considerable margin. Perhaps his birth defect had given him a heightened sensitivity for the misfortunate, or perhaps he was just that kind of guy, more interested in building than breaking. Penelope Crow, however, was the kind of bottomless pit of bitterness that took active glee in the legal swipe. She stood to gain very little; other than the satisfaction of tearing the mansion from Cassandra Crow, the woman she had always envied. From whence the envy? For starters, Penelope Crow was a sour on the whole universe. But a particular sourness was reserved for Cassandra Crow, who had somehow become a legend, a hero. A superhero. Penelope Crow was born a couple of decades too early, when female adventurers were tolerated rather than encouraged. Perhaps this was the root cause of seething resentment. Perhaps this was why she was so gleeful at her legal masterstroke. Of course, Cassandra would not simply take this lying down. Or even standing up. Her fingers brushed the parchment, her eyes closed, and her mind spun backwards, traversing the centuries… …to a Canterbury village fete. The streets cobbled and dirty, the houses thatched and wonky. Rowdy drunks on the street throwing rotten fruit at the stalls where a poor thief lay clapped, lamenting his luck. The sound of fiddles and pipes, of feet shuffling and dancing, of voices singing badly. It was a very fair fair. And the sound of nobles arguing. Surely some Crow ancestors, with that classic black raven hair, that nose, that chin. The bloodline was unmistakable. With them, a gaggle of lawyers, hangers on, and beggars, and the mayor of Canterbury – grey haired, fat, an the nose of an alcoholic. The debate raged; which descendent of which line would get what percentage of the manor under which circumstance. It all looked rather gordian, as one would expect. Until the oldest Crow, a crone with bony hands and snakelike eyes, turned and pointed at Cassandra Crow. That had never happened before. But then, the Crow family line was not only cursed with curses, but blessed with blessings; wealth and eldritch third eyes. “And you, Cassandra, can tell your family that if you win the cabbage throwing competition of the fete then you get to keep the mansion! Page seventeen, paragraph eleven!” And with that, the vision faded, and Cassandra was back in the present. “May I direct your attention to page seventeen, paragraph eleven, dear Penelope?” Shock, rage and attempts to wriggle ensued, but after much wrangling, Cassandra had marched the gang down to Canterbury high street, where the famous drunken cabbage throwing competition had started. Old Bob Griggins, the regional champ, put in a great performance. Daisy Flowerbeater too, as well as her two young children (who tied the junior championship). But, at the end of the day, the snakelike power of Cassandra Crow won the day – true, one might say it was cheating – ending up with a cabbage bullseye on the golden patch. Perhaps resentment might have festered, but Cassandra swiftly gave the prize money to Old Bob Griggins (and doubled it), and declared that she would fully fund next years fair. For a fair must be fair. Irrespective of prize money or good (and bad) deeds), the task had been achieved. Cassandra Crow was the winner of the 2024 Canterbury Cabbage throwing contest, and thus, according to page seventeen, paragraph eleven of the 1459 deeds to the Crow Mansion, retained the ownership of Crow Manor. Much to the vexation of Penelope Crow. Being of good cheer, and rather liking Arthur Crow and his wife, Cassandra arranged for their family to have permenant living quarters in the east wing. Arthur was an architect and the manor could do with some renovations. Arthur found this perfectly reasonable. Which only vexed Penelope Crow more. One day, she swore, she would have her revenge!

Unless any of the teens is particularly suceptible to hypnotism (we can work that out as a complication...) the last IC post was simply a bit of flavour and foreshadowing. The excrement will shortly hit the rotating air circulation device, but for now feel free to make a few more social posts....

GM As the teens chatted, commenting on this, and commenting on that (and getting to know each other a little better by doing so), the Nintendo 64 hissed. Very slightly. Maybe a trick of the wind, maybe a fizz of an old circuit, or maybe... just maybe... something spooky was going on, like the first breath of a summoned ghost. The screen jiggered slightly, the pixels distorting for an instant. If one was really paranoid, one could almost say the sound and the image was becoming slightly hypnotic. Every so slightly. Just enough to start engrossing the teens in the screen just a bit more than was normal for a teenager...

GM The tall pale man seemed to barely register Archers presence. A slightly dazed turn of the eyes, a slight flicker of acknowledgement in the face, and a soft grunt that might, for all its volume, simply been an unusually heavy sigh. It did at least indicated the albino was still breathing. The Thug was breathing, for sure, but bound tight. His face squirmed, fighting a battle between defiance and prudence. Faced with the Archer next to him, prudence won. "Super drug? It ain't super..." he said. "Sure, it gives you a massive boost of energy for a few seconds, maybe minutes. Then you self-combust. I mean, you really self combust. At least with drugs like Zoom you stand a chance, right? Just a little heart attack. With this synthetic drug; that's what the call it, by the way, the synthetic... with the synthetic you literally burn up. I heard a few people got clever and dived in an bath of ice or the ocean. But only a few. Usually, you go out with a real good bang, you dig?"

Not needed now, but I will need some untrained Knowledge (Pop Culture) rolls DC 15 at some point so feel free to roll em

Gamma Buzz "I can heat up the ground with my incredible non-lethal radiation!" said Baz, puffing up his chest and giving two thumbs up signs. "Wait.. shoot... no powers!" he moped. "I guess we, what... light a fire? or something? Sounds easy enough. We just need wood and a something to light it with. Like my amazing laser beam eyes... no wait, those are powers too. Double shoot." Baz scratched his antennae. "And this is a desert. Not much wood around. Although I guess it would be dry, at least. Arent you meant to rub two sticks together or something, sounds pretty easy, right?"

23 for TOughness save Just made it

OOC for this.

March 13th, 2024 Claremont Academy, students residence Golden Star had booted up his Nintendo 64. It was supposedly cursed. But Blackstaff had sorted that out. Probably. And probably was surely good enough. The psychic twins Cerebral and Cerebrum had stuck their head in through the door to see what was going on. The Nintendo fizzed when plugged in, and flickered half the lights of the students residence. Booting up? What was booting up? It was taking its damn time that was for sure. As it loaded (at a relatively glacial pace), the machine displayed pixellated art: Of machine guns, of evil villains in evil costumes, of lightning bolts, of dark towers with screaming damsels in distress at the top, of a city ruined by warfare, awash with tanks and mines. It all looked very archiac, and very violent. In a quaint way. The images had a certain... hypnotic... quality to them. It was hard to drag your eyes away from the screen, despite (or maybe because) of the antique pixel graphics...

GM The doctor was still convulsing in the chair as Jean wheeled him through the lab and into the shower. The water was ice cold - and colder still. Enough to freeze skin; and it was fortunate none splashed on Jean. But on the Doctor the water merely sizzled and ran down his skin. Sizzled. That was how hot the doctor was! It seemed to do the trick though; cooling the doctor and terminating the seizure. Whatever was going on with the doctor seemed to have slowed, even stalled. His temperature seemed, for the moment, in a reasonably healthy equilibruim; the shower and his metabolism fighting for dominance but without any winner. The Doctor snapped open his eyes, and glared at Jean with mad intensity. "I was meant to fool you! Did I fool you? Tell me! Did I fool you? Did you think I was doctor North?"

Predator - Unharmed - 2 HP

Inventor feat normally takes hours (or days) to build a machine. Would you be willing to spend an HP to have that coolant "on hand"? Otherwise you could try a craft (chemical) roll to whip one up quickly.