Supercape

1d20+0=2 yeah... Round 1: 8 Triasoka - 3 HP - Unharmed 2 Hazard - Unharmed So Triasoka is up. What does that IC post translate to mechanically?

GM The boat may have been broken, and only held together with the will power of the truly terrific Tsunami, but the intercom still worked. The captains voice blasted over the speakers, crackling, and fading at one or two moments. "What happened down there? What happened? I need full power...now! Full speed ahead! If anyone is down there, please! We need full power now! Give it all you have....it's our only chance!" There was a dramatic pause. "We are about to be rammed! By...by....Hell, I don't know what! it looks like a frigate or something! Straight out of a pirate movie! And its charging straight at us with a spike as big as a truck! If that thing rams us, we are sunk! Sunk I tell you!" "Full speed ahead! Full speed ahead!" he shouted through the intercom, becoming crazed with desperation.

You guys can have a vehicle of your choosing, as long as its a Russian Car! Optional HP available for it breaking down at an unfortunate moment (if you wish!)

Just a head up, Ill get to some GM posts once Graft makes his entrance! THunder let me know what the situation is with the graft suit.

GM With all the smoke and confusion, it couldn't be said if the metallic octopus had done its work, or how much work it had done. There were a couple of screams, a few grunts, and a few rounds of gunfire from outside. But with all the gas and mayhem, nobody could really see what they where doing. Carl had passed out, emitting a last whimper of "Mummy..." before he lost consciousness. From the bleeding, perhaps he would never wake up again. Dead Shot was crawling on his hands and knees, holding a shotgun, and arrived next to the King of Suits. He had a number of scrapes and cuts from broken glass, but he still seemed in fighting spirit. "See what happens when you mess with King Cole in the Fens, cape?" he grunted, angrily, trying to peer through the smoke. He cast his eyes down and the bleeding Carl. "That one needs a hospital, if he is gonna make it" he opinionated. "I seen plenty of dead men bleed out...And my first aid kit ain't gonna do squat for that" He cocked his shotgun. "Can't say I ain't any pal of yours, boy. But I don't wanna die in my own bar. If I could kick you out, I would. Better two men dead than the whole squadron. And my customers ain't looking to pretty right now. But I be guessin' you are going to jam your heels in and fight. So my best bet is to cover yer ass when you do...."

For reference: (COunting up the HP and the last attack being lethal) King of Suits -3 HP - Staggered, Bruised x2, Injured x2 Dead shot - 0 HP, Bruised, Injured. Carl - 0HP - Dying!

Ok with that enlarged area we can say it hits em all. Their reflex save is +6, so rolling for half effect first, then DC 19 Reflex to avoid snare. Thats sixteen rolls! 1d20+6=12, 1d20+6=13, 1d20+6=11, 1d20+6=9, 1d20+6=12, 1d20+6=17, 1d20+6=18, 1d20+6=20, 1d20+6=18, 1d20+6=22, 1d20+6=10, 1d20+6=24, 1d20+6=9, 1d20+6=7, 1d20+6=26, 1d20+6=23 So area affects first vs DC 19. All but number 8 Fail. Then saves vs snare, again vs DC 19 (or 14). No 2, No 4, No 7, and No 8 Fail. As we havent got to numbering them yet. I will rules that 1-4 Make it, 5-8 Are Ensnared (to make it easier) Now, poor old Carl baby. 1d20+4=18 He is alive. Another roll due in an hour, DC 11 this time. Lets drop ofut of combat just for the moment. The Assassins have a DC 15 Damage effect to break out of the snare, which has a toughness of +9 so it will take at least a minute to break out and I dont fancy making a shed load of rolls for very little purpose. 4 of them on the loose still.

Sounds awesome! Post away landing where you fancy!

APPROVED!

Exploring the Safehouse: All your computer are belong to us Did she doze off? Or was the helmet sedating? It was like a gentle buzzing in her head. It must have taken a half hour, she guessed. She felt a little muzzy in the head. A quick blood sample into the machine and it was ready to go. At least, she hoped. She planned on not dying to test it out. But, back up plans were always good. The ventilation system had cleared the smoke, at least, and she forced her DNA back to normal. The ghastly sacs on her cheeks slunk down, revealing her chiselled cheekbones. Much better…. The hub was now clean aired, and she could examine the computer banks at her leisure, with Slave working tirelessly to analyse them. They were, understandably, somewhat out of date, even “retroâ€, but they certainly served their purpose. It was hard to know how long ago the Safehouse had been abandoned. By the looks of the computer systems, it could not have been too long. Admittedly, the computers were about five to ten times the size they should be, by modern standards. But they worked, and Slave reluctantly admitted… Superior Soviet Technology can be updated with [….] technology. She guessed it meant “Westernâ€, but from what she had gleaned it could as easily by Chinese or Japanese. Rows of bleeping lights, a few keyboards, and some old fashioned monochrome monitors. Perhaps she could update some of these, anyway, with Slave’s help. The communications equipment was more impressive, as befitted a listening station deep under cover. Every conceivable machine was there, monitoring the airwaves in every conceivable frequency. Recording, analysing, on and on, endlessly. In the centre of the hub was a power generator that she could not make head or tail of. Not conventional, surely. She damn well hoped it was not radioactive. That would send her mutating in all sorts of directions, and most of them were even less pretty than the two breathing sacs she had sprouted in the smoke. No, it couldn’t be radioactive. She would have felt it. She quickly examined her toes and feet for any extra digits, webbing, or even missing digits. All there! It was no use inspecting it further. Maybe it ran on air, or communist passion, for all she knew. It worked, anyway. And from what she could see, the hidden trapdoor could be manually locked and opened, so even if it did run out of power, she could get out.

Rene took the lead from Daphne. If riding it was to be,then a horse would be called for! His memories of horses were locked from centuries ago. The horse of the field, of the battle. Before the time of automobiles, horses were valuable, the way to travel. One wanted them to be strong sturdy. Not flashy, like the Cowboy movies. In trotted a smaller, less glossy horse. Rene could not say the breed. It was built for endurance rather than speed, to plod long miles without complaint or falter, rather than to ram lance into foe. It was the horse of his youth. "Ah well, the turtle wins the long race....ooooff.....oooff...I need a hand here...." With Henri giving him a firm shove up the rear to propel him to the saddle, Rene was horsed. "I hope this dream has soft earth. Preferably rubber" he complained. "If I fall from this..." he sighed. "Anyway, onwards! Once more to the breach, dear friends!" he yelled and waved his Beret in the air, trotting out.

This looks great. Some of the best complications I have ever seen! Love it! Ill approved this, but one request: "Charisma Boost" is a bit confusing, as it is not actually a boost power (Although I would imagine something like a tiring, personal boost power to strength / speed / etc would fit very well!) could you rename it "Enhanced Charisma?" The array of Cha/Str/Comprehend is ok, but just to note folding attributes/skills/feats into arrays is looked at carefully, for obvious reasons, so heads up on that one. Great PC. APPROVED

This all looks good. Two points with communication for clarification: 1. The "Radio Communicator" power. This is two way (as per house rules), which means that anyone able to pick up the radio signal can automatically send it back. Is this what you wanted? It could be fluffed as some kind of rebound handwavium science. but I would imagine a regular Radio unit would be the super sense Radio, and a one way communication. 2. On that note, you can save yourself some PP. THe Drones communication power is two way, but this is completely unneeded as it is linked with Audio ESP. Which means 3 PP more to spend on that array. As it is, totally legit, just pointing out you could buy "Limtation: One way" on that power with no loss in utility. One point for clarification: What does immunity to mental entail? I cast this round in chat and it wasn't entirely clear. On the one hand, with a narrow interpretation, it is similar to Immunity to Psionic. On the other hand, with a broad interpretation, it is close to Immunity to all will saves. Chat figured it probably is the former, but it would perhaps be good to refine.

GM "Helluva thing" said Torson, scratching his head. "You best give me the details of the assailants. Out here, its cold, dark and wild. We get the odd man go crazy, go shooting wild. But generally not at people" he sighed. "You can keep that in Freedom City, you can. Folks out here, we ain't used to getting shot out like you guys" he huffed. The vehicle Cord and Jay had travelled back in was still standing. Just. A big dent in its front and a wobbling sound in its engine didn't auger well, thanks to Cord's sleepy crash. Tosron scratched his beard this time. "I guess you guys be on your way, back on that plane. Let me give you a ride, and you can tell me all about your shooters. What a helluva thing in my backyard...." he said, shaking his head sadly. "Whatever, or whoever, you caught...lets shift him over to my car. Your's looks like its seen better days...?"

The picture was taking form. Something was sapping the will from the artist. And maybe not just her. Something was preying on the insecurities, the existential angst, and forming. The oily hand on her shoulder, would it be an arm soon? and then a body? and then a mouth, with which to feed? Rene had entered and lived through the twentieth centuries witnessing the ever growing number of transcendent men and women. Full of energy, strength. Made from machines, mutated, enchanted, or any number of reasons. Demi-gods. Usually furiously handsome, and often furiously righteous. Where did that leave mortal men? Where did that leave the brave and heroic everyman? The situation was revolting, if one thought about it. A painting that could only leave one wondering at the madness of Gods and Fates. Of course, those very same men and women in shiny suits might wear masks from their own eye of self perception. Did they really do good? Or did they feed their ego, and stamp, even if unwittingly, at least ignorantly, on the ego of the normal? He would feel more joy and optimism if at least one of these superman at least acknowledged the awfulness. Yes, the fates had been kind, no it was not fair, no, power did not give moral authority...perhaps it had been said, but he could not recall hearing it. The only true moral fibre was doubt, in his opinion. Certainty was the root of evil. But despite the grim foundations of the situation, there was no call for a malignant psychic tumour to nuture the despair of such fundamemental questions. Gently, he approached the painter in the dream world and turned her round. "Your dreams are your own. Not to be invaded...." he said,kindly, making her face the parasite...

Exploring the Safe House: Bad Medicine... The defence robot was smoking by the time she returned to the Hub. Even Slave could not censor all the fumes. Hey, I don't want to suffocate down here from smoke.... She stopped, closed her eyes, and concentrated a moment. Her body could adapt to hostile environments. It just needed a little concentration, and... ...she couldn't tell it how to evolve. The results were occasionally, or even always, unpredictable. She looked at herself in another dull, small and functional mirror. Two gaseous sacs had grown out of the side of her cheeks. It looked like two tennis balls had been surgically implanted. Of course, tennis balls would not inflate, deflate, and gurgle with every breath. "I wont be winning a beauty contest, that for sure. And I wanted to try out for Miss KGB this year..." youch...even her voice sounded different, scratchy and frog like, as if she was speaking through bubbles. Still, she could breathe the smoke now. As the ventillation systems whirred, she got a fire extinguisher and put it to good use on the robot, which she still could not see. The result was messy, but put the thing out. She went to the medical bay. It was somewhat odd to find an infirmary here. Of course, agents got injured in the field, and a place to hide out and patch up was much appreciated. This, however, was beyond that. Three fully equipped medical bays, and access to a plethora of equipment and tools that The Red Rat had little clue about. Surgical training was not part of spy training...but hey, at least I can get a shot of Penicillin.... She put down the vial of antibiotic. Something had caught her eye. At the end of the bay, a large block. White, cold, clinical. So what the hell is this? Analysing....retrieving files...standby....processing... Noemi drummed her fingers on the cool fridge, trying to peer through frosted glass. The answer was most surprising, when Slave had finished digesting the user manual. A cloning machine. Apparently losing assets mid-operation was not an option. Years of undercover infiltration could be lost. Whatever project Darwin and the KGB had cooked up for operations in America, this was the most bizarre, and quite possibly the most useful. A clone could be grown in a week. A blank slate, as it was. The agent would then download his memories and brain waves into the hard drive. If he was lost, those patterns would be implanted in the clone, over the course of a day, and the agent would be back, ready to go. A few missed memories might be a hitch, but on the other hand, the cover was not lost, and neither was the agent. Hey...I could.... Analysis...Cloning device still operational....advise utilisation... .... ...Unit is also able to implant Superior Slave Cybernetic System! Even Slave sounded surprise in the white text flashing in her artificial retina. The cloning system could back her up! Her fingers stroked the fridge lightly. It was an uncomfortable feeling, a clone. More uncomfortable than the fact that the Slave system had been installed. Where they planning to use her in America? Most of her work was done in Europe. The fact that she was the only known case of someone tolerating the Slave system meant.... It was impossible to know, only speculate. Whilst dying and having a clone raised metaphysical anxiety, it was a good sight better than just dying. With some trepedation, she put on the helmet beside the Fridge, sat down, and closed her eyes...

Exploring the Safe House: Living quarters... A while later.... The clacking of pincers and the rolling of feet eventually slowed to the tune of an out of flat battery, the whirring sound lowering in frequency and volume. The robot had stopped. She couldn't see the thing, thanks to Slave's censorship of Superior Soviet Technology, but from the sound of the fizzing and sparking, and one final bamf signalling an explosion, together with the acrid smell of burning plastic, she reckoned that it was done for. Even superior Soviet Technology had its limit. Credit were it was due, it lasted over twenty years without maintenance. It was a miracle the thing had any steam left in it at all. She had to be careful, not knowing where the Robot was exactly, unable to see what it was doing. So she had hidden off in the living area of the Safe House. Comfortable? Probably not. But comfortable enough, surely. Six small rooms with bunkbeds in, capably of having twelve people overall, if doubling up. The beds were hard, lumpy, functional, just like the pillows. Sheesh if I am staying here, I need a proper mattress.... Quite how she would lug a mattress here was another matter. Still surely she could do something with the place. Maybe make one room a little less like the inside of a bullet. She propped the ragged toy bear up against one of the rooms. That was a start. The living quarters had a small recreation area, and a small kitchen / dining area. All the food had gone off, of course. She could smell that even if Slave protested that superior Soviet food technology would keep forever, and pixillated the contents of the plastic containers. To be honest, Noemi reckoned that the food never smelt to good in the first place. Into the incinerator they went, in a flush of fire and smoke. Ok, so it wasn't the Ritz, as they said in England. But it was manageable. She could hide down here indefinitely, providing she had food and the water recycler did not pack up. Yeah...water recycler....she hoped that unit fed on rainwater rather than the latrine... And she couldn't bring her own beds in, but given a couple of runs with a suitcase, she could spruce it up a little. Get some proper music rather than Soviet Sanctioned music from the 1980s. That was a thing she needed to catch up. Modern music.Upgrade the TV to a plastic one. The only thing of any colour or entertainment value was a pool table. She stroked the velvet. Yeah, this she would keep!

If you guys are good for Revenant to join, then I will tag her!

Well, I think you can all move faster than Captain Blood - although he has insubstantial. He is movng out to the open sea, rather than the ship. So feel free to post moving to some part of the deck!

1d20+1=11 He is down and out, post away! (and you have a demon rat whispering in your ear!)

Another two blasts of electricity flew through the air, one of them sizzling the Rat's hair. "Hey! Don't mess with the do!" she sniped back, rolling for cover. She had the edge on speed, at least. She could keep running around the hub just ahead of the waddling metal zapper. But she fancied she would run out of juice before the robot did. If this place had been going for twenty years. What is the battery life on that thing anyway? Analysing....Superior Soviet Technology will last Superior two hours at full Superior charge... Two hours...she was more than able to run for two hours...but... Zap!!! Another bolt. Missing her. But it was only a matter of time. She could duck and weave, but it would surely hit her at some point. Its remorseless waddling gait would pin her at some point. Unless....she looked again at the Michelin legs. It was not the most agile. Worth a shot. She rolled again, towards the robot this time, and stuck the fire axe between its legs with a double clunk of steel against steel. The robot hardly looked down, but its pincers clenched in artificial vexation. She pulled herself up, and to the side, the axe working as a lever of sorts. "Come on! Come on! Fall over, you heap of bolts!" she roared, muscles straining. She was stronger than any woman of her build had any right to be, but this thing weighed a ton. She kept straining, and then put her shoulder into the robot. And down it went, with an almighty thunk. Its pincers kept pincing, its legs kept waddling, but it was upended, flat on its back, and unable to get back up again. "Bit of a design flaw, that" said the Rat, wiping her brow. Soviet design is superior and without flaw Clearly Slave had a different opinion. In the interests of censorship and propoganda, it blanked out the vision of the Robot from her eyes. Leaving no trace of him. She still had ears, and a memory though. She could hear the waddling and rolling, the click of pincers.

Robot cannot right itself if tripped. Spending HP to get improved throw feat. And making a trip attack: Power shifting 1d20+10=17 Hits Oppposed roll from Rat: 1d20+5=25 is not something it can match with Dex, so down it goes!