Supercape

IC thread is OOC thread is

OOC for this Ok we are going for a Casino Royale feel her. Lots of social conflict. Ocassional bouts of violence. And more importantly, feel free to use all your skills and powers in non-combat ways., To start off, you can make a knowledge (current events, business or streetwise) , or gather information skill roll, to see what the "Buzz" is. Feel free to narrate the particulars of what you know according to what skill you use and the particulars of your hook in. DC 20: The High Steaks is selling "the Grand Prize", nobody knows what it is, but the Mafia, some major coorperations, and other outfits are investing big in some players to win it for them. Word is, its illegal. DC 30: The Grand Prize is infact a massive Daka Crystal, smuggled illegally into the country and unsellable by conventional means. Hence, the poker game. Also, you can make a Knowledge (Civics) Roll DC 25 to see if you can disentangle the legal jargon around the invitation and rules, to realise this is a smuggled, illegal item. Then, please narrate your entrance! Narrative license is yours, so feel free to add what you want to the ambience.

GM Saturday night, 2nd August... The High Steaks was a sleek, upper crust joint, even amongst the casinos that it loitered in. It was not, technically, a casino. Its lower level was one of the finest eateries in Freedom City, new, fresh, modern with a classical twist. Or classic with a modern twist. Its steaks were the finest in the City, perhaps the country, Perhaps even the world. Expensive as that was, it was dwarfed by the real money. Overlooking the dining area was the top table, where the finest food was eaten, the finest wine drunk, and the most exclusive poker table in the City stood. Millions were lost, millions were won. Tears were cried, and joy was sung. The balcony of the top table stood over the high steaks, and had a view over the city. THe High Steaks was a tall glass building. A few years back, it had been home to a Vampire Attack although nobody really knew if this was a legend, a myth, or the truth. It seemed the myth had done business no harm, anyway. The High Steaks fed on anxiety and excitement. And tonight was the grand prize. Nobody knew what the prize was, for sure, although gossip flew this way and that. Whatever it was, some big guns had arrived for the game. The rules were simple: Winner takes the prize, and the seller took all the money that was brought to the table. The more money you brought, the more chance you had of winning. And some major organisations and wealthy individuals had brought a lot of money...

Ok! So first off, Revenant has been to High Steaks before, so I am inclined to push myself to four if that is ok. Fair warning, I start to crumble at four! Tiff is a really decent person, so I am sure she would not mind if you guys would rather keep it to three. The premise: An enormous Daka crystal has been smuggled out of Africa. Nobody knows how, or why, but it is essentially an illegal good with a sky high price. It is being sold at the High Steaks, by the most unusual of means. A poker game. THe winner takes the prize, the seller takes all of the cash. Essentially, the more cash you bring to the table, the more likely you are to win. And boy, people do want this. The advertisement and selling of the game is all done under legal jargon and euphamism. With a mystery prize! So how do your heroes hook in? Grimalkin may be dimly aware of the game, and attending for interest and recreation, maybe she is a gambler? maybe she is accompanying some charming old man, a card dealer himself, who frequents the shop? Graft may have heard of the game from a beat up poker player who was down on his luck. He came in with a head injury, mumbling about the cheatin' swine at the High Steaks, and how they wont let him risk all in getting the "ultimate prize". He has debts to pay, and this would be his last chance. Does Graft let him try? accompany him? or sedate him and go himself? Foreshadow has taken over the identity of a card cheat he apprehended. What are the man's links and intentions? Does he turn up halfway through the game? Revenant knows the High Steaks, after a vampire attack there. With her legal nose, she can see through the thinly veiled legal loopholes about the Card Game. Is her nemesis, the Master, taunting her again? Will he appear himself? Ill set the thread up imminently!

GM The hunter looked aghast at his companion fell to the floor standing shocked for an instant, his gun down. "Billy! Ya shot Billy! Ya no good bloodsucking beast!" he said, mouth open aghast. Fear lost out to rage in his face and in his words. "Ya gonna pay for that! Big style! When Dawnstar comes here, he is gonna roast you, make it slow, make it burn!!!" he said, a tear rolling down his face. "That is if he got anything left to roast! Eat silver, ya devil!" he screamed, wiping away a tear and shooting his gun. Bang...Bang...Bang...Bang...Bang....Click....Click....Click.... Five silver bullets sped from his revolver, but in his rage, he kept clicking the empty gun out of pure fury. Perhaps his pure anger would fuel another round, or just spit fire. The bullets ricocheted like crazy around the den of Filth, tumbling this way and that. Filth screamed again, as a bullet twanged over his shoulder, ripping his jacket but no flesh. All of a sudden, Bloodline was aware of the dark eyed rat, on his shoulder, hissing in his ear in English.....! "They are coming, you know...and you will be burrrrrnttt! I know daystar and he will burn you to the ground....but I can get you out....yes....I can saaaaaave you!"

Return fire from thug 2... 1d20+5=8 Another whopping miss! Bloodline is up again, 2 rounds till the other hunters arrive.

For ease I am just gonna say the Barnacles are stripped off Sammy. At this point, where are y'all going?

GM "Jesus H....what the hell is that?" Panic hit the four bikers. Even the poor bruised Vince yelped in fear. These weren't your average mooks. But neither where the disciplined. Guns for hire, courtesy of the Gaschuggers gang. On instinct, wired up on fear, they reacted as best they could. A stream of bullets. Gunfire rang through the forest, sending wild animals jumping from the undergrowth in terror. "Holy Mary! He didn't say.....How could.....What the?" screamed one as he blindly let out a full six rounds from his revolver. "We didn't sign up for this!" "I don't believe it!" "He ain't ever gonna hunt her!" "Shoot it! Shoot it! Before it eats us all!" finished the last one between gunfires, emptying his gun as fast as he could at Skaere.

ok so the bikers are thugs better armed ()+4 Damage firearms) and with +1 Attack and Defence (basically the gang is a little better than street thugs) 4 Shots... Ouch! 1d20+3=8, 1d20+3=21, 1d20+3=22, 1d20+3=20 3 Hits, just be glad no crits! That means three Toughness 18 Saves for Skaere! If she is not dazed, Skaere is up again!

GM "Wha...what are you doing?" gasped the Prince, weakly. "You cannot! You cannot! it is too late for you, oh vainglorious fool!" As the wind rushed past him with their ascent, the Prince looked even paler, about to pass out. For all that, as his will diminished, the fission chips glowed all the more, burning away, hot and bright as the sun. The sheer energy would have killed the Prince if he was not already a dead man. "Allah! Take this traitor to hell!" he yelled at the sky before one last, glazed and happy look at Asad. "How much energy can you take, anyway?" The universe was about to find out. The explosion was beyond measure, a force unrepentant. If it had happened on the ground, the damage to the city would have been just short of catastrophic. It was hardly a nuclear weapon, but it was nuclear, all force and heat and light that would have incinerated a man without second thought...

Lets go with that! So, a Damage 20 Explosion, in the upper atmosphere. I am presuming you moved all out so lets say no after effects, but 4000' in the sky? Toughness roll, and maybe a concentration roll for flight if you are falling!

The Red Rat through her pistol away disgustedly. I need an upgrade. Freedom City is full of people and things that can shrug off my peashooter like a gnat. She scanned the room, until she found what she was looking for. In case of fire, Break Glass Better than her pea shooter, a fire axe. She dived and rolled, sprung up and elbowed the glass which dutifully shattered. Zap...Zap Zap.... Bolts of electricity thundered beside her as the Axe fell into her hands. She had never used an axe before, but how hard could it be. She gave it a twirl, feeling its weight, as she danced to the side of the Robot, trying to out flank it. Slow, it was, but not slow enough. Zap..Zap... Too close for comfort, but not close enough, thank the fates. She spun round and gave a glancing blow to the Robot. "Come on! Come on! Break!" she screamed as she swung left right and centre at the Robot. She scratched it, but that was all. Another swing, and a crack in its metallic shell. This thing was tough! Analysis: Target is tough... Oh come on, tell me something I don't kn... Zap!!!! This time the robot hit her on the shoulder. Electricity flowed through her, and she could vaguely smell burning. She hoped it was her jacket, not her flesh. The Red Rat could take a lot of punishment, but there was a limit... Come on! Slave...stop being useless and do something! How do I stop this thing.... Analysis: Attempting Security Shutdown....Please Standby... "Oh wait, yeah sure, whilst Robbie the Robot is trying to fry me!" she said to the room, as she ducked under another blast of electricity...

Basically shooting forward a couple of rounds. 3 Attacks either side: 1d20+5=20, 1d20+5=25, 1d20+5=6 Mis, Crit, Miss. On Red Rats Side, using improvised weapon for a DC 21 Attack, shifting attack -2 / DC +2 (Attack Bonus +10, DC 23) Cannot miss! So, Red Rats Tough Bonus:1d20+8=23 which, vs a Damage 27 Effect leaves her only bruised thanks to a good save. The Robot: 1d20+12=26, 1d20+12=30, 1d20+12=13 Resist, Resist, and an Injury!

"Subdue Target Protocols!" Target has activated Subdue Protocols...Flashed Slave, uselessly, in front of her eyes. The Red Rat wheeled back, quick as a fox on her plastic wheeled chair would let her. It wobbled, spun, and tipped her over. Like a cat, she rolled, tumbled and sprung into a dive behind one of the banks of computers. "Hey, what if I don't want to be subdued?" she asked the mindless automaton. The lumbering thing has a slow, waddling gait, but it was sure footed and its pincer hands snapped together in a menacing manner. She glance up the stairs, the exit, to see a steel plate had slammed shut. Analysis...Containment Protocol Activated...The Safe House is now sealed and Safe... Safe for who? she asked Slave in her head. A blistering sizzle of electricity sparked just below her head, hitting some computer banks. Sparks flew, and there was a crackle of static. "One less thing to work out how to use..." She said to the fried circuitry. Slave was great at breaking into computer systems. Not so great at repairing them. She still held her gun. The robot was slow. Although its waddling gait made it hard to draw a bead on, it was still an easy shot. Crack....ping! The bullet flew off the Robot as if it was steel plate. Analysis: Target has superior Soviet steel plating.... The Red Rat let out a big sigh, pulling herself under cover again. "Hey! I am a Superior Soviet Agent! Stop firing at me!" she yelled from the Cover. "Subdual protocol...deactivated...." "That's more like it!" sighed the Rat, slumping in relief. "Extermination protocol...activated! Lethal Force in operation!"

Return Fire round: 1d20+12=30 a solid attack. But only a DC 18 Toughness Save. 1d20+12=22 Predictably missed.

So time to stress test combat. Using a Medium Robot [Core Rules] Bumped up to PL 6 STR 25 (+7), Attack +5, Defence +0, Toughness +12, Adding in Blast 6 Blaster Zap Ray Power with Alternate Power Stun 4 (Ranged) Red Rats Initiative: 1d20+8=11 Robots Initiative: 1d20=6 Red Rat taking Partial Cover. Robot Firing: 1d20+5=12

"Explosives? Carry Explosives? Are ya kidding? Explosives are dangerous! They explode!" yammered the Hound, chewing a cigarette frantically. Even the thought of explosives made him spit out his cigarrette and stamp on it furiously until he was quite convinced the thing posed no fire hazard. If he could have poured a bucket of water on it, he would have. "Besides, ain't that dangerous? I mean, like more dangerous than just the flying shrapnel and masonry thing? If we are dealing with a virus, exploding it seems the worst thing to do. Could set the thing free. And guess who is ground zero? That's right, my friends, we are! And I for one don't fancy on being dead, no offence!" he added, quickly giving a confused look at Revenant. "I reckon the best thing is for you all to go in there and set fire to the place. Whilst I wait out here and make sure...um....I'll...watch out for....I'll do some important stuff out here, ok?" he said, furiously defiant.

Bank of computers, old but functional, lit the central hub of the Safehouse. Noemi was no expert, of course, but she had seen plenty of similar Soviet technology. Listening stations, monitoring the radio ether for choice information. The computer system was for decoding American signals, and encoding its own Soviet ones. She never got too involved in the cut and thrust of information duels, each side trying to crack ever more sophisticated codes with ever more sophisticated decoders. But she could admire the feel of it, and its somewhat crazy circles. Hack into this, will you? Establishing Link... A progress bar flashed in her cybernetic eyes. 10%...20%....30%.... Error...please wait... .... Unable to penetrate computer defence protocols....Analysis.... ... Superior Soviet Defence Programming of Target is impenetrable to...Superior Soviet Penetration Software....Error...Superior....Error...Superior.... Oh shut up... The Red Rat ignored Slave and started cautiously pressing a few likely looking buttons. SHe picked up an old style microphone and gently spoke into it. "Hello? Hello?" Her voicewaves sparked and undulated on a circular screen, a green ambient light. And something slid open beneath her feet. "Hello? Hello?" she repeated as something rose up on a dais from the hole. Whats this? Another level? No, not another level. A robot! It looked like it had been born from a 70s Sci Fi Show. All bubbles of steel, plastic, and clumsy pincer claws. Moving on waddling legs, looking like a metal Michellin Man. The head was perspex with red glowing eyes, tubes, and fluids bubbling gently away in transparent pipes. "Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!" The Robots voice was primitive, basic. A screeching artificial sound with artificial intonation. Warning. Hostile Counter Measures Detected! Yeah? No kidding...

Computer Roll for Slave: 1d20+20=21 Even with a +5 Soviet situational bonus, a massive failure!

I have offered to GM this (at TKs request) in case that puts any of you off!

Almost as a reflex, the Rat pulled her gun. A Soviet PSS, complete with silencer, the last weapon she had used, just before the Wall came down, Berlin shut down, and she went to sleep for over two decades. What am I doing? This base has been abandoned for...for how long? 22 years...307 days...16 hours....15 minutes and... Yeah yeah... She filtered out the rest of the text. She had gotten pretty good at that over the years. "How do you know, anyway?" Primitive Superior Soviet Computer System detected. Accessing data banks... Figured. Slave was designed to hack into any computer systems. It would have no difficulty in breaking into an old Soviet Safehouse. Probably knew all the access codes. Good. That would make things a lot simpler. Warning: File System corrupted. Unable to retrieve operational data. Or not. In any case, the Safe House was too good an gold mine to pass up. She was living in the States with no identity, and wanted by UNISON. She knew how to stay undercover, and Slave would help. But without any support, it was a tightrope walk. Somewhere to hide would be invaluable, and the Safe House could have stored up a lot of the tools of the trade. The lights flickered as she descended the last step into the Safe House proper. It was a functional, rather than homely, place, which was unsurprising. It was bigger than she had expected. Several spacey rooms, or halls even, off a central round hub. Steel was the material of choice, and plastic for the furniture. Electric lights round the rims of the ceilings, and the rims of the floor. A power generator hummed in one spoke of the hub. God knows what it ran on, but it hummed away quietly content anyway. It was dated, of course, but not to her eyes, that had slumbered the last twenty years away.

A couple of hours later.... "Atkozott! I have to hand it to them. They hid this place well. Are you sure it is here?" Soviet Safehouse located at present location...Further information Classified, level X... "And merry Christmas to you, too, idiot" sighed Noemi. She had searched for hours, and even she got tired eventually. Maybe it was misinformation. Maybe the safe house had been destroyed, discovered, filled with concrete or burnt out. Maybe this, maybe that. Such was the world of cold war espionaige. She sighed, and sat down on a rickety wooden number that had once served as the cashiers desk and chair. Even the ol press key till was there, covered in dust and looted from years ago. She picked up a rotted "Grin and Bear it!" toy bear from the desk. It had only one eye, but was defiantly holding onto all of its limbs, even though the stuffing had been knocked out of it. "What do you think, Medve*?" she said sadly to the bear. "I can make it. Even without the safe house. I can make it in America! Land of freedom, of dreams! New life, new beginning!" she said defiantly. "No papers, no I.D, wanted for questioning..." she said, slumping with reality and sighing. "Well, I guess its just you and me and the infernal machine in my head, Medve*, I'm going to take you home and give you a good stuffing..heh..." she laughed weakly. She actually quite liked the little toy. On an instinct, she pressed a key on the Til. Click... The faintest of sounds, barely audible. Perhaps a trick of the night. She wasn't even sure it happened. "What was that?" She switched to X-ray vision, scanning the till. Inside, a lot of complicated hinges, springs, and bolts. And wires, leading....below! The Safe House was here! "Slave, was there any number for the Safehouse? A serial number? an asset number?" Processing...Asset number 74M35-80ND Who new what the letters stood for. The digits, however.... She pressed them in, carefully, one by one, each click of the till key accompanied by another faint click. Each click, surer than the last. until the last click, more potent than the rest. And the floor slid back, creaking, groaning, crying for oil, but back in slid, revealing a dusty iron set of stairs, down to the Safehouse. There was even a flicker of electricity, and the way down was lit by old, dim lights.

"Hey...hey man! Whose there! Stay back, man! Or I'll shoot ya!" Beneath tattered rags was a man. Bearded, unshaved, unkempt. His eyes were wild and he was fumbling for something... A gun? The man threw off his blanket and pulled out something gun-shaped. Tactical Analysis of Threat: Target has a plastic toy gun incapable of ballistic offence. Threat level: Zero... Perhaps in the bad light it might have worked. Perhaps. Not to the Red Rat. "Put that away, old man. I'm just a...uh...a...um...an environmental inspector, I mean....a structural engineer, that's all! This building is condemned! It could fall down at any moment!" The man's eyes widened for a moment. Noemi could smell something like boot polish on his breath. He appeared unsteady. "What?" he said, apparently ignoring the unlikelihood of a single environmental engineer / structural inspector creeping into the building at night. "But...I been using this building for years! Good Solid Russian Building!" he said, giving a cautious tap on a rotted timber frame that creaked slightly. Target is aware of superior Soviet construction! Target is Working Proletariat, victim of Capitalist Wealth Distribution! Possible Target for Recruitment! "I been here since the seventies, man!" he grumbled. Quite how the man had survived fourty years homeless was unclear, but impressive. "Dropped some serious acid, dropped out, never worked a day in my life! But its all cool, man! I'll have to find some other place to tune in, ya know?" Slave was silent "Yeah, sure, man, you do that. Just be careful out there, you...err...you dig, man?" answered Noemi. Sure, she knew about American Culture, but was pretty out of date with the slang. A few decades out of date. She tried to give the man a friendly smile as he pottered out, clutching his rag tag of belongings. Another day she might have given him money. She had a pang, but she was only just settling into Freedom City, and right now she needed every cent and dollar she had. Working at "EZ" Cabs was a way to keep her head under the radar and her nose on the streets, but it didn't pay very well.

Bluff: 1d20+8=9 bad vs: 1d20=7