Supercape

Good for me!

For pitch, a good nights sleep...which might mean too much drink...

GM "The great Indian continental line? Why, ma'm I thought the whole empire knew of it! A high speed rail line across the great colony of India, the fastest in the world, and the pride of our country...that is, if we can build the damn thing! The track is double width, to allow for wide carriage. And designed for high speeds, with engines developed by the royal society for metaphysical engineering!" Every word oozed pride, and not without reason. India, in this dimension, had votes in the British parliament and was reaping some of its finest dividends. "As for who would blow it up? Well, the obvious target is the Thugee cult...Indian nationalists, half cult fanatics, half mafia crime gang, half genuine political movement. Yes, I know that makes one and a half, but the Thuggee deserve it. Their garb is fear, and they wear it well. Aside from their knives and garrottes, all sorts of mystic mambo jumbo surrounds them..." "We could certainly ask around town. But I warn you, this is dangerous ground, with places not becoming a lady of your constitution, ma'am!" He finished, quite unaware of Synapses great power.

Origin Stories Sunset Once more, Sam Soma retreated to her spacious office and let her mind wander. She didn’t necessarily need to be relaxed for her trips to the past. But doing so made things clearer, sharper. She felt more in control. When she felt emotional, the journey was more vivid, but sometimes painfully so. She had been doing yoga for years, but more seriously recently. After half an hour of practice, enough to stretch and relax all major muscles and leave her refreshed but exercised, she put on the suit. It was grey, featureless, a skin tight covering over her entire body. It was also an incredible feat of science, achieved by her collaboration with the Radical, crossing time spans and borrowing the expertise of countless scientists over the past few decades. She suspected, sometimes, also borrowing the expertise of those in the future too. The suit was, as a result, an incredible thing. The psycho-reactive suit, they had called it. She resisted the Radicals initial name the “Far out suitâ€, and the follow up “Robes of Psychedelliaâ€. Even putting it on, she could feel its energy infuse her body. Signals travelled to her cortex, noting her heart rate, blood pressure, and hundreds of other biological parameters she did not understand. Although he did. Her body felt powerful, strong, energetic. But it was not built for power, although power it very certainly had. It was built to house the Radical. And time was growing short. Soon, her lover was destined to die on the Streets of Freedom City, destitute, drug addled, and hungry. At least, so the papers would report. So once again, her mind sunk out of the present, and started floating back, back through the ages. How long it took was indefinable, when her consciousness was travelling through time itself. The noughties, the nineties…back through the decades she went. She had not found a limit to how far back she could go, but she need go back no further today. Freedom City, 1971, a cold winters day in on January 10th. There he was. Cold, hungry, and dishevelled. The Radical had been a strapping man a decade before, young, handsome, wide of shoulder, strong in body and mind. His hair was golden and wild, his eyes blue and shining. Now, he was weak, wasted, with drawn in cheeks, dirty hair and glazed eyes. The image was shocking, and both knew it. Hey honeychild, girl of the futttuuuurreee….he drawled in her head. I can feel you…so warm, so lovely…is it ready? She nodded, smiling, a tear rolling down her cheek in the decades to come, where her body lay, eyes closed, prone. It is…it has taken long…but with all the minds over the years at work, all the genius and knowledge you collected…it has been done. Although…we have no way of knowing if it…if it… She could not complete the unfinished. This was the Radical’s last hope. He would die here, one way or another. All that she – they – could do was hope and pray that he would not stay dead. The Radical opened his eyes for the last time, full of hope. A passer by caught his eye, and dimly recognised him. “Time to take a leap man, the future is here!†he mumbled at the passer by, before closing his eyes and dying. Once again, Sam and The Radical’s minds whirled and melded, an embrace without physical touch, but strong and heartfelt all the same. They were separate, but together, their thoughts in one another. And this time, it had to be stronger than ever. So the emotions bled forth, without restraint - Fear, love, hope, overwhelming each of them completely. What they were trying was a mad chance, a leap into the unknown. Their minds locked and kissing, Sam started floating forward through the ages, with the Radical in tow. It was gentle but hard. The Radical gripped her like a lifejacket, slipping, sliding, almost lost, but each time, their love was stronger, and firmer grip was gained. This is the future? Its wild..wild…but what happened to our dreams? Where did the peace and love go? Sam felt his sadness. It threatened to brew and fester, and weaken him. It is there, my love…but dreaming, asleep…the future needs you… How the future would respond to a burnt out hippy telepath, was another question altogether. Through the years and decades they weaved, edging closer to the present all the time. And as they did, the resistance increased. He became fainter and fainter, until Sam feared she would lose him forever. And then, they were there. She gasped, opening her eyes, arching her back in shock, as their minds fell into the present. And there he was, inside the suit. “We did it!†she said aloud, crying from joy an exhaustion. We sure did, honeychild! That was far out! Look out future, here I come! The suit glowed a deep and beautiful orange, alive with the psychic power of the Radical. And then, Sam changed. As they had predicted, the suit could react to him, and in a moment, the suit had taken the form of the Radical, and not the weak and broken body of 1972. This was the Radical in his prime – with handsome face, a golden tan on a chiselled chest, his hair sun bleached, his eyes shining, wearing ripped jeans, a headband, and sandals. “Wow! It worked! Far out!†he said, his voice ringing out into 2013. And I’m still here…said Sam. The suit was truly a marvel, reacting to his mind and forming his body out of the mimetic material and compounds in it. A wonder of science. So time for me to get out… Her body reformed, and she willed the suit to part, letting her step out of it. Her body was slick with sweat, from fear and exertion, and it trembled slightly. “All yours, my love†she said, hugging herself. The suit did not move. She felt a welling of fear. Had it worked? Perhaps it was unstable. Perhaps he was lost…no…no she couldn’t think that. She would not accept that. She kneeled down to touch it. I’m..I’m still here…he reassured her as her fingers brushed the costume. But..but… He formed once against into the Radical, handsome and strong, with Sams fingers brushing his thigh. But the moment she took them off, the Suit once against deflated to nothing but super advanced mimetic technology. And as soon as she touched it again, back he sprung. I…I am sleeping…like a dream…without your touch…he explained. I need you…that’s karma, isn’t it? Without you, I’m lost…not dead, but, sleeping, its calm, golden and azure…like a dream of a summer’s day. But when you touch me, I am awake again… Sam wept, with joy that he was still alive, but sadness that he would not be truly free here. The suit was powered by the human mind, and only when a human mind was in it, would the suit, and the Radical, come alive.

OOC for thread. Temperance, Wave-Eye, Glamazon, Tsunami as a super-scuba-squad.

GM 28th February, the Mid-Atlantic...dawn... The sun was rising through partial cloud, little more than a glow in the horizon, casting deep orange shades through the sky. Deep orange, and red. Red sky in the morning....shepherds warning... The Cruise Ship Magnificent was not the biggest or most luxurious cruise ship on the sea, but it was certainly within spitting distance of it. A crew of eighty, a passenger roster of three hundred. Fine food, fine wine, and mediocre entertainment, it was a ship that looked good, catered well, and charged high. And it was dead in the water. Captain Pike trotted out the mayday message again. He was a tall, man, forty five, with a good head of carefully groomed hair, clean shaven, and trim build. Only his eyes let him down as a poster boy - set close together, small, squirrel like. He was a veteran of the sea, but tired, cynical, pondering what to do with his remaining years after a failed marriage. His experiences today would class as new and exciting, he felt. But scary, yes, scary. That was the thing. Frightening him and the ships inhabitants to the bone. "Mayday Mayday! Ship adrift, no power. Approach with caution! Ghosts aboard!" went the message. He didn't honestly know what else to say. Maybe they wouldn't believe him, maybe they would. He wondered what would be worse. The message did indeed sail through the air. And was received by Freedom City, a coastgaurd who perhaps was less incredulous at the spooky claim. A Coast guard that felt, given the unusual nature of the mayday, an unusual response was needed... ...the aquatic heroes of Freedom City!

"My friend? uh..yeah..." replied Carmen, looking around the ER, feeling nervous once more. Perhaps it was her distrust and antipathy towards hospitals, perhaps it was something more. With her life, feeling on edge came easy. Too easy. She wasn't about to reveal her power or identity to an ER nurse. So, a truncated version of the truth would have to suffice. "I don't remember much...falling off a roof...yeah...stupid of me" she said. "Looked down and my leg had snapped in two. I remember that...I guess I blacked out after that" she lied. "That's about it...but I don't remember anything about a friend? who was that? who brought me here?" she asked, greedy for answers once more. "I don't know what happened, all foggy to me. Maybe I bashed my head? what happened?" Tazel? Are you there? where are you? she asked in her head, remembering the lying demon. Perhaps he might have a few answers.

"How can I measure the fate of the universe against the fate of these men?" asked Sunset to herself. You can't mess with their Karma! It's there God, man! You can't steal a God...its their connection to the universe! And what of their universe? What if that is stolen? Logically, the fate of a few dozen men could not be weighed against infinity. And yet...and yet... The Radical was right, in a way. These men were innocent, primitive, and connected. She couldn't, at the end of the day, do it. Even if it was the right thing to do. Today, or whatever day this was in the distant future, she would have to do the wrong thing. "Then we have to fight the dragon" she answered somberly to herself. "I can't take this, even if it is the safer thing to do. Damn me and damn this choice. Its the Dragon then, and I hope it does not roar too loudly" she explained. <I do not bring just bad tidings! I will fight the dragon with you!> she said, resolute and confident, to the men in her head.

Dr Morsi shrugged, holding out his hands for an expected handcuff. Then, when Amir said he was a free agent, he stopped, raised an eyebrow, and produced a cunning smile on his face. "A free agent you say? Then perhaps you would like to look deeper into this. Just why are you here? what have you been told? Not lies, perhaps, but half truths..." he said, slowly and deliberately, his hands falling to his sides. "I am a nuclear scientist, one of the best in the world. Working in the middle east, it is true to say my work and my expertise is in demand, shall we say. And when I say in demand, be aware that this is not the kind of workforce marketplace that operates on salaries and money alone. No, much more coersive demands can be made, and, as you Americans say, offers are made which cannot be refused..." he said, cryptically. "I am not clean, I am not a good man. But I am in hiding, for obvious reasons. And I am not a threat here. I just want to be left alone, and my family to be safe. My research...it is revolutionary. And some people have desired it, and when it did not work as they intended, and indeed was found to be dangerous, they came after me for revenge..." He shook his head. "I have no desire to be exported back to the fate that awaits me. No, I would rather die!"

GM The twosome were interrupted by shouting. "Don't touch it! Don't touch it!" The shouter was the very definition of a mad scientist. Straggled red hair that exploded from a big cranium. A spindly figure that ran towards them carrying lab equipment in either hand. He was even wearing slippers and lab goggles. "Doctor Hans Zwitter!" he explained, offering a hand that had test tubes and petridishes entangled in the fingers. He blinked twice. "From the Hanover Institute. I am a xenobiologist...what you are witnessing is a genetically modified grue cell culture! A unicellular colony! Very toxic! Very dangerous!" he blubbered. "And its escaped down there!" he pointed down into the sewers! "We must recover it before it grows any further!" he said, hopping from foot to foot, propelled by excitement and anxiety both. "It will become too big to contain! too dangerous! It is an invaluable scientific experiment! The applications are beyond human imagination...we must recover the culture...intact!"

Moving this To here, where it belongs! The Goo is not from previous adventure, unsurprisingly! It appears to be some kind of monocellular fungus culture, non sentient, but alive and toxic to human flesh (or any other flesh, for that matter!)

Rene Lord Steam None Bloody Mess (& the Hound) Pitch Sunset GM Misc Ref point to Pitch, please GM / Rollover distribute evenly, priority is Pitch, Sunset, Steam, Mess

Synapse - 1 HP - Unharmed Ulysses - 3 HP - Fatigued

GM A few hours later, in Khama town The small indian town was two hours trek away, and it was thirsty, hot work travelling through the roaring Indian sun at midday. There was water, and tasty Indian cuisine loaded up in the work cart the labourers and Singh used, but still, carrying a stretcher was hard work. It was with much relief the men, and Dee, arrived at Khama, to be greeted by concerned locals, cool water, and shade. WIth the locals helping, and utilising one of the towns steam powered horseless chariots, Bob was carted off to the Khama Infirmary. It was not, by Freedom City standards, clean or clinical, but it was hardly a worm infested hole either. "Abdominal wound, shrapnel in the stomach" pronounced Doctor Chandra, a tall and officious man who was chief physician of the hospital. Grey hair, grey beard, thick spectacles and a twitch in his left eye which seemed to get worse when talking to people. When it came to operating, his hands, and eye, were as steady as rock, his mind lost in the total focus of his art. "We will have that out in a jiffy!" he said, patting Bob. His accent seemed to wander between provincial Indian and Etonian English in every sentence. Captain Singh presided over the transfer, and stayed with Dee and Ulysses. "Well, hopefully he will be out of surgery in a few hours, with a spiffing scar and a story to tell!" he told the pair. "Truth is, we have had worse, far worse, injuries trying to build the damn track, and getting blown up with it. Its hell doing it, but damn it, that track must be built!" he said, slamming fist into palm as a mark of his patriotism to the empire.

"This isn't good is it?" said Sunset to Dr. Tomorrow. "We are taking away - what - a religious icon? a god? - from these people! that's not good at all" she said, to herself as well as the man from the future. She hoped the bearmen could not hear, or understand, but she kept her voice as a whisper anyway. "The Giants - they must be us? or some version of humanity that came before these furry folk. And the walls that talk, and lesser rocks? computers? artificial intelligences? television screens?" she speculated. It all kind of made sense, but on the other hand it could be aliens or monsters or anything else. She redirected her mind back to the bear men, trying to plead with them, although with a sinking feeling in her gut... -Please, the rock, it is called the ark. Tomorrow, an evil spirit, the Dragon, will come to find it, and fiery death will fall on this world and all worlds. We have come to save the ark from the Dragon! - she explained. "What actually do we need to do with it?" she asked Dr Tomorrow. "Destroy it, steal it, or defend it? or all three?"

Carmen struggled in her sleep, with feverish dreams she could not recall or understand. Dimly, as it was when dead to the world, she was aware of the warmth of pain that flowed from her broken leg, but it seemed not to matter. Did anything? As she slipped back into wakefulness the pain became more alive and salient, and her struggling became material. "Get off! Get off!" she yelled in a hypnopompic state. "I got to...I got to..." she screamed, not even recalling what she had to do, and not possessed of a direction even if she thought about it. "Aw, crud, put it in me..." she said, sinking back onto the pillow of the bed, sweating, heart beating, but resigned. She hated hospitals, all the check ups she had had as a disabled child, the poking, the prodding. There was no way she would ever feel comfortable in one, she could feel the anger about being in one. But on the other hand, she had snapped her leg in a crazy fall trying to Save Johnny - John - whoever he was. She sighed inwardly and outwardly. "Just get it over and done with" she said to nobody and everybody. How could I have been so stupid? I gotta get wiser about this - its not some regular demon needing an ass whuppin' - I'm tossed around in the dark - I gotta be smarter next time!

I was going to suggest maybe taking 20 was the thing given lack of time constraints but... 1d20+6=26 makes that academic!

GM Handcuffs were part of the Coppers artillery in the war against crime, and were dutifully applied. "Your nicked, sunshine!" Was apparently part of the artillery too. Ned was indeed seeing stars, and had a glazed look in his eyes, as if not quite with it. After the blow Cannonade had applied per cranium, this was not altogether unexpected. "What happened? What happened? I had it all planned out, perfect! we were going to make England better again! for the people! no more machines stealing the jobs for the honest hard working man and woman! Comrades! Let us return once more to the green lands of England and reap reward form the soil and the timber, once more we can... His voice faded in and out of a half coherent spiel about workers rights, peppered with the occasional valid point and lucid reasoning. And, amidst the diatribe of concussion, some gems. "...it was Doctor DeRombert! the Frenchman! He gave as the putty...he warned it had side effects...were we undone by the Frenchman? Treachery! Infamy! Infamy! They have all got it in for me!" he started rambling, becoming increasingly paranoid and incoherent before lapsing once more into a fitful sleep. "Doctor DeRombert?" said Pennyworth. "Why it cannot be! he is French, that is true and uncontested...but he is an eminent scientist! an honorary member of the Royal Society for Metaphysical Engineering!" he said, indignant and shocked.

GM "Wagers? Not me, I only gamble on dogs, dice, and politics. Although it might be said the latter is comprised of the former" he quipped back, shaking his head. "No no, this is about those damn Russians. Talk of the village, so to speak. All was fair and square in the Olympics, but here? Have you seen them? I mean, look at this guy?" he pointed at the unconsious Russian on the floor. "I know him. He is a speed skater. Good, but not great. Destined to attend but not win the Olympics. Last year, he was half the size...but just as ugly. I mean, even with steroids and twenty hours a day at the gym, you don't look like that!" he protested. And perhaps he over egged the drama, but he did have a point. "Everybody is whispering about some super serum, or new drug. But everything comes on clean on olympic tests. So...well...perhaps I asked a bit too much, to be honest. Started making complaints and throwing some mocking statements. Must have ruffled some feathers, thats for sure. If it wansn't for mister mistery over here..." he gave a smile and a wave at Foreshadow "I would be a Russian pancake by now! probably you too!"

"Damn Cops" said Harry, twirling his cigarrette in his hand. "Damn stupid, lazy, ignorant, deceitful cops!" He looked at the others. "Hey, don't look at me, I used to be one!" he explained. Despite his bitterness about the men in blue, he still found time to process the rest of the informants story. "But enough of that sour story, down to business. Namely, this man Jack Miller. He must know the hangmans identity - or at least help point us there. Dunno how, of course" he conceded. "But if Jack bigged up our man here to the Hangman, they must have at least met..." Harry flicked away his unlit cigarrette to stop his fixation on smoking, and stuffed his hands in his mac pockets instead. Where he found a cigarette packet that demanded he repeat the process. "So, time to play snoop on Mr. Miller, I guess!"

Ex, I suggest we inflict something like Fatigue or 1 CON damage from Ulysses complication, representing the trek back? (and another HP for that of course). Ready for a scene cut to the nearby town on your command, Ex!

GM As Dee beavered away on the bomb, the heat began to hang more heavily in the air. It was a humid heat too, a heat that seemed to stick to the skin and linher, even as sweat determined to wash it away. Wiping brows was met with water in copious supplied from the labourers and SIngh, although there was only so much water. "We need it for the trek back ma'am...plenty to go around, we always put plenty on the cart, what with working in this heat, but we can't hand too much out, got to save some for the journey back, what with carrying a wounded man, you see. Pardoning your female persuasion, ma'am" he said, bowing politely and wiping his own brow. One defused bomb later... "Well bless my garters!" said SIngh, not quite believing Dee's work and prodding it cautiously with his baton. "If that isn't the queerest thing I have seen in all my years. A lady of the realm, a female lady of the womanly sort, undoing a bomb like that! the Royal Sappers will never hear the end of it, if I'm not Captain Singh of the Royal Sappers! Next thing you know, they will be having womenfolk in the army, her her!" he chortled, although he was clearly pleased with Dee's work.

I would build something like this: Emotion Control 10 (Extras: Burst, Selective) [40 PP] AP: Nauseate 10 (Extras: Alternate Save [Will], +0, Mental [+0], Range 2 [Perception], Feats: Variable Descriptor 1 [Any emotion], Reversible) [42 PP]) "Overcome with emotion" AP: Mind Blast 10 (Feats: Variable Descriptor 1 [Any Emotion], Reversible) [42 PP] "Agony of despair" AP: Enhanced Trait 10 (Rage 6 [+12 Strength, +6 Fort Save, +6 Will Save, -2 Defence, 25 Rounds/2 and half minutes], Extras: Affect Others [+1], Range 2 [Perception +2], Feats: Progression 2 [5 Targets]) [42 PP] "Furious Strength"

Ill throw Pitch into a bar.

"You is all right by me, fella" smiled the Mess, kindly, his muscles sagging but his back straighter. He stretched up to give Benito a pat on the shoulder - a feat complicated by their height difference. Despite his aches and pains, he felt pretty good - flush from the excitement of the Gladiator, and warm from the feeling of helping someone, particularly someone he empathised with so greatly. "I been where you have, and crawled my way outa there, with the help of my partner" he explained, wondering where Harry had got to. Damn the coward, I need his brains right now. What would he do? C'mon...think...what would he do? ... ...aside from asking for money... "I don't wanna leave this place standing. Who was behind all this? I got words to have with him...and by words, I mean lefty and righty..." he grinned, a bloody grin, with the clenching and cracking of his left and right fist punctuating his speech.