Supercape

GM The sky was clear, the air was crisp. Swooping upwards, Nightscale could get a good look at the shack. Abarely visible dirt track curled away towards the city at the horizon. Trees had been felled to make space for the shack, although it had not been clearly visible from the ground. Cut trees, with gnarled roots. The clearing was a perfect circle. The roof was thatched - easy enough to smash through even for someone without the amazing strength of a dragon. No car, no vehicle. Did the owner walk? or... fly? Whilst the shack ostensibly looked like a primitive and basic hut, the hidden technology secreted around the shack was in sharp contrast. And the hut itself looked so flimsy that a strong breath could blow it over. The whole thing appeared to revolve around alarms, not defence systems. At least, for now...

Diamondlight "Zoss. August Zoss." Sometimes fame had a swing. Sometimes it didn't. Too early to say which way the pendulum would fall today. "Yeah, I own the High Steaks. I'd give you a meal and some poker chips, but I think that would be called bribing an officer. Still, you deserve it, risking your lives and dealing with dead bodies. Can't imagine dealing with the public is a barrel of laughs some days." August spoke in a kind of ambigious transatlantic accent that could broadly be called "European" but little else. A voice full of inflection, soft, but not so soft that the almost perfect articulation could not be made out. "I'm serious though, these park murders are getting worse. A blight on the city. I'd like to help, anyway I can. What do you need?" If the cop needed some laser swords or walls of force, Diamondlight was all ready to proceed. But it didn't sound like it - no gunfire, no screams, no mad axe murderer jumping out of the bushes dressed in a halloween gorilla mask and nothing else. Not yet, anyway.

I think so, yes. Running the High Steaks gambling/restaurant joint. Not so famous as a hero but he is moderately famous as CEO of Zoss design, billionaire, gambler etc

Haven: Origin Vignette Life and Death Origin: Haven “It seems that I still have to die, even if I live.” Haven reached out. His fingertips brushed the hand of the dying man, then took two of the withered fingers in his. The response was intended, but feeble. Milo Mikano was dying, barely able to keep his chest rising and falling. His nervous system had fallen prey to the same degenerative disease that had plagued his mother. Some genetic mutation that eroded the synapses. Milo liked to fantasise that the mutation had also blessed him and his mother with a razor-sharp mind, although there was no evidence for the link. His disease had killed him, his genius had saved him. In a way. An hour ago, Milo Mikano had started the process of coping his synaptic architecture into the quantum computer he had named Haven. A silver ball of palladium-iridium adaptive networks, ten inches in diameter, the sphere had duly mapped out and copied Milo’s brain. The next step was to form a casing of programmable matter around the computer, which then formed itself into a fair likeness of Milo himself, albeit with an odd smoothness of skin, and odd absence of blemish, and with cheeks still covered in healthy fat, with facial muscles still active, rather than the skeletal remains of the real Milo Mikano’s degenerated and near paralysed face. And now the flesh Milo was looking at his own face, created from the stolen programmable matter he had procured from a Yakuza controlled electronic company. Yes, the Yakuza were moving into cyber-crime, artificial intelligence and cybernetics. And Milo Mikano was always happy to take from the Yakuza. He had created Haven, a computer, a robot, a system. An image, a copy of himself. But Milo, the flesh and blood Milo, was still alive, and would still die. He smiled at his creation. “I would rather die now. It is an effort to keep breathing, and it isn’t right two of us being alive at the same time.” And there were footsteps outside his apartment. The Yakuza had come to claim their property and exact revenge. Milo Mikano had wrought untold havoc on their operations over the last year. Haven paused. “I feel I am Milo Mikano. I remember being Milo Mikano. But Milo Mikano is in front of me. What does that mean?” Milo took Haven’s hand in his own, gentle but firm. “Don’t worry about the philosophy of it. I am dying, and I would rather die by my own hand than by the hands of a Yakuza thug trying to stretch my last days into weeks, all of them under the pain of torture. “Your own hand?” “My own hand isn’t strong enough. I mean yours.” Haven withdrew his hand. “Suicide?” “Of a sort. Ask yourself what would you want? Nobody knows me better than me.” “I am… uncertain…” The sounds of the footsteps grew louder. They reached the door; reinforced, locked, but just a door. Silenced guns started blazing. Splinters dropped from the door. “You don’t have time to be uncertain,” wheezed Milo. “They will break through any…” The sound of a shotgun blast ripped through the room. “..moment.” And break through they did. Five of them, black suits, mirrored shades, slicked back hair. The tattoo’s adorning their arms could just be seen. Shotguns, Machine pistols, and even a katana. The hit squad, here to extract revenge. Not to kill-at least, not straight away. They mean to serve us a banquet of pain first, and then parade their victims head on a spike. Nobody messes with the Yakuza, not even Milo Mikano. Nobody messes with them and lives. Milo Mikano may have been dying already, but that would not suffice. The Yakuza had to be the ones to kill him, before nature took its course. So Milo had to die. But Milo would also live. Haven turned to face the mob, wondering if he could utilise the electromagnetic powers. No time to practice, no time to test-he needed to act now. His eyes turned from blue to red, and then bolts of fizzing electricity pulsed from his eye sockets-zam, zam-zam! Two mobsters went down, convulsing, firearms on the floor, eyes rolled back. Haven contemplated finishing them off-killing killers. It was tempting, possibly justified; they showed no mercy and deserved none. One dead Yakuza mobster would probably spare two innocent lives. But-but he was no murderer. He would rather start of his life as Haven without blood on his metal hands. Crackity-Crackity-Crack came the bullets from the machine pistols. Some missed, but at this range, spraying the weapon wildly, not all did. Some of Milo’s medical equipment caught a bullet or two. There was a hiss, and a small explosion of sparks. Haven caught a few more. But this was not a body of bone and sinew. No blood was spilt. The programmable matter deformed, even dented, but he could repair that later. It was no more than a scratch. Impressive. A bolt of blue lightning leapt from one side of the room to another as Haven stimulated a field between the steel rimmed window and the wrought iron cooker. Another two thugs caught the bolt and went to sleep, the electricity tightening their muscles into a painful spasm, contorting their bodies as it did. Unconscious, bent over in a ghastly and uncomfortable shape. The last Yakuza took a moment, deciding whether the pain and dishonour of retreat was worth it. Despite the futility of the action, he chose to charge. A sword above his head, a scream erupting from his lungs, he had decided defeat was better than retreat. Haven had to agree with the logic. The Yakuza took a dim view of failure, but running away was something punishable by death, and a painful and extended death at that. The Sword swished, and swished again, but the thug was only an amateur swordsman. Haven simply took a few steps back, and then focused on the blade, inducing a current that made it glow slightly. Now hot to the touch, the assassin dropped it with a surprised yelp, then watched it burn a hole in the carpet. Haven reached out his hand, and changed the magnetic field around him. In a flash, the sword leapt from the ground and into his hand. He raised it, sorely tempted to finish the thug off with his own blade. Killer, assassin, murder. The kind of man who had killed his father. Maybe it was even the same man. A bolt of fury overcame him. The blade swung. Haven was not an expert swordsman, but he was quick and efficient in his movement, both hand and blade precise. It was not a killer blow, but it was a serious one. A scream, some blood, and a severed hand on the floor. “You cut off my hand.” Haven felt an odd sickness. His head felt sick, but there was no nausea, no churning and constriction of stomach. He no longer had intestines to feel. “Less than you deserved, for all the lives you have taken.” “You will regret this,” screamed the thug, clutching his arm to stem the arterial pulses of blood, running off to seek safety and medical care. Haven turned around to Milo, but there was no longer any need to consider suicide. Milo had caught a bullet in the neck. The blood still seeped, but no longer pulsed. Milo’s heart had stopped. He was dead. It was at least a quick death. Haven dropped the sword to one side, feeling a pang of regret. He would have rather killed Milo with a swift slice of the sword. Instead, it was death from a Thug’s stray bullet. Same ending, but less poetic. “Maybe I will regret not killing you,” he said to himself. “But not today.” Tokyo was no longer safe. Here, revenge might come at any time. But the Yakuza’s strength would diminish in distant lands. It was time to move. To Freedom City, USA.

So just doing an explosive fuel tank thing - putting it by the door, making it spark if the door opens. How effective that is, your call the readied action will be a fireball at whoever opens the door! (Damage 8, Burst area). If she needs to reduce that to keep Pete safe, she will Amended last IC post to that effect

GM Juan reeled under the impact of the fist, spinning around and onto the Church organ, which he reflexively caught in order to break his fall. The Organ gave out an unpleasant discordant stab of sound. "You swine!" curesed Juan, a bruise already forming over one eye and cheek, easily seen with his fragile, pale skin. "No... not swine. Cat! Well, lets play cats versus dogs!" From behind her, La Puma could hear the dog children bark and yell and scamper towards her on their feet. "Disgusting!" came the hiss of Tazel through the ether. Juan waved his hands around the air, swishing the pale smoke one way and another. In a moment, his form melted as he became a puff of smoke himself. "Haha!" he gloated. "Didn't see that coming did you? And now... haha! You won't see anything at all!" The pale smoke around them thickened and coallesced in front of La Puma's eyes! Like the thickest of thick fog, she couldn't see her own claws in front of her!

I presume thats a fist attack so it hits (Jaun dont roll to well in combat) - but only Just [url=https://orokos.com/roll/987824]Toughness[/url]: [u]1d20+2[/u] [b]19[/b] a good toughness roll means bruised but not dazed! In response he will turn into smoke (Insubstantial Gas) and as a standard action create a Visual obscure effect (from smoke)

Diamondlight August Zoss was relatively incognito-a light linen suit, a light linen shirt without a tie, an afternoon stroll. The murders had concerned him muchly over the last few months. Too much to sit back any longer. If August Zoss, with his resources, could help, then he would. And if Diamondlight, master of energy could help, so he would. They were one and the same person. "Another one?" he asked the police officer by the scene. Perhaps the officer recognised him as August Zoss, Diamondlight. Perhaps not. He had long ago dispensed with the idea of a secret identity as too complex and inhibiting. Sometimes he lamented the decision. But he was famous already. What damage would more fame do? "Its a morbid business" he added, peering into the dimness beyond. Not that the dim light bothered him; he was so sensitive to light that anything other than pitch blackness was easy to see through. "I would like to help, if you boys would let me..."

Thanks, Spacefurry!

WHO GAVE THAT SNAKE A PILOT'S LICENSE'd by Fox Snakebite Adding feats for 6 PP Grapping Finesse (Bringing Grapple Bonus to +20) Improved Grab Precise Shot Power Attack Endurance Blind Fight Adding another Rank of skill Pilot 4 (+12)

The Interview HACKTAVIST INTERNATIONAL CYBER-INTERVIEW DARK WEB ONLY WITH HACKER KNOWN AS “HAVEN” 1. Where is you from? Japan, Tokyo. 2. What do you look like? I am everywhere, anything. Know me by my suit. Its not a supersuit, just a clean, expensive suit. Hackers are professionals, we should look like professionals. 3. What do you sound like? Calm, measured. To the point. No point wasting time with small talk. 4. What motivates you? I’ve seen plenty of injustice around the world. We know dark secrets-lets work together to bring the crooks to justice. 5. What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses? Intelligence, determination. Actually, too determined. I need to get out more… 6. What do you love doing when your not hacking? Chess, walking, seeing the city. 7. How would you describe your mental and emotional state? Obsessive, but aren’t we all? Its like steel-strong but inflexible. I should bend a bit, right? Get out, have fun? 8. What does you fear the most? Not getting back on my feet when I fall. Despair. 9. What is your greatest ambition? Get better. I will never reach perfection, but I want to travel in that direction. 10. How does you feel about the state of the world? Too much corruption. People abusing the system. Too many people not doing anything about it. 11. How do you get along with others? I prefer my own company. I don’t mind others. In small doses. As long as they are smart and civil. 12. Where do your loyalties lie? Democracy, the hacktivist community, heroes-be it super or otherwise. 13. Is there a Mrs Haven? Would you like to have one? I… errr… there is not. I don’t have the time. And… I don’t have the desire. Or maybe the ability. 14. Do you have a family? Not any more. Losing your parents at a young age is crushing. 15. How would the people closest to you describe you? Dedicated, smart. Maybe too dedicated. Maybe to smart… 16. Are you a role model? What we do isn’t always legal. But we can do the right thing. That’s something we should aspire to. 17. Are you religious, philosophical, or rational? The latter, with a bit of philosophical. I dont think any of those stateents are mutually exclusive. I am pragmatic first and foremost. 18. Are you part of a team? No, but maybe I should be. 19. How does you feel about aliens? Plenty of cover ups, right? You know about [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] right? And even [REDACTED]… that was quite a shock! 20. If you could give one piece of advice to yourself, what would it be? No man is an island. Get friends, get comrades.

HELL Q Introduction Who are you? Sum yourself up in one sentence. A clump of programmable matter surrounding a quantum computer Do you have any nicknames, street names, titles, or nom de plume? Cyber Samurai What is your full birth name? Milo Mikano Where do you live? Emerald City, in my secret underground lair. How old are you? What year were you born (if applicable)? Age of manufacture unknown… Age of operation, 1 year Physical Traits What is your gender? If not applicable, please explain. None-not human. How would you describe your heritage? As Milo Mikano, Half Korean. How tall are you? 6’ What is your body type? Slender Do you have any particular weaknesses, such as allergies or physical disabilities? Magnetic fields How do you carry yourself? Are you graceful, or heavy on your feet? Can you be stealthy, do you walk with confidence? Agile, silent, and stealthy but with a certain stiffness of posture. Describe your skin, eye, and hair color. No skin, no eyes, no hair. But form is generally a dark steely colour. Do you consider yourself attractive? Do others? No. But my form is mutable, so it may vary. Do you have any scars, tattoos, piercings, or birthmarks? None Do you resemble anyone famous? No Do you have a dominant hand? No What kind of clothing do you wear? An expensive and crisp suit. Black suit and tie, pristine white shirt. Starched and Iron. Do you wear makeup? No What is your vocal range? Is your voice distinctive in some way? Average. Do you have any distinctive habits, nervous tics, or mannerisms? Where did they come from, and what causes them? Do other people notice and remark on these habits? Do they annoy you or other people? Pressing my fingertips together when deep in thought. Glowing eyes when scrutinising something. History Where do you come from? Born in Tokyo. Have you made any major moves, or do you live in your hometown? Throughout my childhood moved between America and Japan. Settled in Japan when my parents died. Moved to Emerald City when thirty five (after downloading my brain into computer). Do you feel loyal to your country of citizenship? Do you consider yourself patriotic? How do you feel about the government of your country? I respect the culture and history, and honour it to some modest extent, but I am not patriotic. How do you feel about the place you come from? I miss it, but I am angry at the corruption and crime. Where is your home town? What was/is it like? Tokyo-an exciting and innovative place. Growing up, were most of the people you knew similar to you, or were you somehow a minority? How did that affect you? I was smarter than most-if not all. I kept myself somewhat to myself, but had some friends. Is there something you've always been really good at or really bad at? How has that affected your life? Computers. Been hacking since my teenage years. Were there any traumatic experiences in your early years (death of a family member, abandonment, orphaned at an early age)? My mother died when I was fourteen from a neurodegenerative disorder. My father was murdered a year later. Been fending for myself ever since. Briefly describe a defining moment in your childhood and how it influenced your life. My parents giving me my first computer at the aged of seven. And showing me how to use it. Hooked ever since. What stupid things did you do when you were younger? Hacking. And then fending for myself at the age of fifteen – not addressing my grief, not going into care, becoming a juvenile cyber-criminal. Where did you go to school? How much school did you have, and did you enjoy it? I missed a lot of school but I went to School in Japan. I did well, but didn’t study hard. My interest was in technology and computers and I got that out of school. Do you have any mementos of your childhood? What are they, and why did you keep them? If you have none, why not? Some cultural relics from my parents. They had the wealth and liked art. I am not so fond myself, but it reminds me of them. Swords, clothing, books, art. When did you decide to become a hero? Why? Did anyone influence you one way or another in the decision? Being an angry young man out for revenge on crime propelled me to a sense of justice. I started using my criminal activities to fight crime… Is the reason you give people for becoming a hero different than your real reason? If so, why? No, I am honest. I am no saint, I circumvent the law, but I am not a bad person. Do you have any deep, dark secrets in the past that may come back to haunt you? No Do you represent yourself as being different from who you really are? Why? I am not sure who I am-am I still Milo Mikano? Or just his memories in a computer? I hide the uncertainty, but I am honest about the facts. Do you have any sort of criminal record? If so, is it public knowledge? As Milo Mikano, yes. Family What are your biological parents' names? Mishima Mikano (Father), Mary Miller (Mother) Were you raised by them? If not, please explain and describe who raised you. Yes What was their standing in the community? What did/do they do for a living? They met as active computer hackers / computer security experts. Criminals, of a benign, or maybe rebellious nature. Where are your parents now? Dead Did your family stay in one area or move around a lot? They moved around a lot between countries but my father was based in Japan, my mother in USA. They had a cyber-relationship but spent a few months a year together. How did you get along with their parents? How do you get along with them now (if applicable). Pretty well, they inspired and excited me, but in retrospect I think I was given to free a reign as a child. How do your parents view you now, or how would they? They would miss my flesh and bones, but they would be proud of me. Do you have any siblings? If so how many and what are their names? Describe your relationship with them. None Do you love or hate one member of the family in particular? None alive to do either. Is any member of the family special to you in any way (perhaps, as a confidant, mentor, or arch-rival)? No Are there any black (or white) sheep in the family (including you)? If so, please explain. All of us were/are black sheep- hackers! Do you have a notorious or celebrated ancestor? If so, please explain, including how it has affected your life. I understand a great-great-great grandfather was a Ronin of some legendery skill with a sword. I have a passing interest in the Samurai culture and Kendo. Do you have a partner and children currently? If so, please describe them. No If you do not have a partner or children, do you want them someday? How firm are you in your opinion on this, and what might change your mind? I cant. Biological ones, anyway. No lamentations about that. What type of person would be your ideal mate? Me. Relationships Do you have any close friends? If so, please describe them, and how you came to be close to them. No. But I do have some friends in the hacktivist community around the world. I prefer those relationships to flesh and blood ones. Do you have a best friend? If so, how did they become your best friend? How close are you to your best friend? No-I probably should have one. If you were to go missing, who would worry about you? The hacktivist community. Have you lost any loves? If so, how did it happen, and what did you do? A few, when I was young. I never invested properly in any relationship. Maybe I should have, but… I am not an easy man to love. Do you have any bitter enemies? If so, please describe them and their history with you. Yakuza in Japan. They murdered my father. And this has bled over into a universal hatred for organised crime, and corruption in particular. If you have enemies, how do you think they might attempt to work against you in the future? Try to find me, for starters. What is the worst thing someone has done to you? Killed my father. Where do your loyalties lie? In what order? To justice, to those fighting for justice, to progress. In that order. By justice I do not mean the law (although that is often just), but to ensuring a just society. Who or what do you trust the most? Why? Logic Who or what do you despise? Why? Corrupt officials. Worse than the people who corrupt them. What qualities do you admire most in other people? Are these qualities you possess? A sense of rationality, of honour, but perhaps a bit of rebellion in people too. I think I possess all three. What qualities do you hate most in other people? Do you have any of those qualities? Dishonesty. Do you have a secret identity? If so, who knows it? Do you hide it from people who are close to you? Why? No Do you work well on teams and in groups? Are you a leader or a follower? I work well with both, but tend to be a loner by nature. I am neither leader, nor follower-I am both, depending on the mission and its needs. Are you on a super team? If so, how do you get along with your comrades? Do you trust them, or do you have secrets from them? No- I should be, but on the periphery. Are you a member of any church, fraternal organization, club, committee, political party, or other group? How much time do you spend on that? Hacktavist collectives. I spend too much time on that. I should get out more… Personality & Beliefs Who are your heroes? Several hackers. Leonardo Da Vinci, Abraham Lincoln, Alan Turing, Aristotle, Confucius. Did you ever become disillusioned with former heroes or idols? If so, why and what were the circumstances? Not yet Do you like being a hero? If so, what is the most rewarding part? If not, what makes you keep doing it? The rewarding part is bringing crooks and corruption into the light. I am not sure I am a hero. I am merely dedicated. Is there anything that would make you give up hero work, or even switch sides? No What are your short term goals (what would you like to be doing within a year)? More contacts. More friends. More knowledge about the workings of Emerald City. More bugs, more cyber infiltrations. What are your long term goals (what would you like to be doing twenty years from now)? Moving to a new city, to start the process again. What is your greatest fear? Why? What do you do when something triggers this fear? Arrest and Imprisonment. I react with anger, even violence. Is there anything you would give your life for? Lots of other lives. How do you feel about money and material wealth? Do you desire it or disdain it? Are you miserly with what you have, or do you like to share? Is it mark of success, or a means to an end? It’s a very important means to a very important ends. I do not like to own much, myself, but my families relics, and my suits are things I must have. How do you generally treat others? With respect. Are you a trusting person? Has your trust ever been abused? No, I am not. Trust must be earned. I start out with a respect, and a respectful distrust, and go from there. Are you introverted (shy and withdrawn) or extroverted (outgoing)? Do you have a lot of self-confidence? I am introverted but am confident. How do you act around attractive, available members of your preferred sex? The same as anybody else. What are your most annoying habits? Obsessive determination. Do you feel contempt for any general category of people? Who are they, and why? Lazy people, who just sit back and let the world go by. What is your favorite food? Do you prefer any particular type of food? Do you take the time to enjoy your food, or do you eat as fast as you can? I don’t eat. I used to like noodles. What is your favorite drink (alcoholic or otherwise)? Wine. What is your favorite treat (dessert)? I don’t eat any more. I used to like ice cream (vanilla). Are there any specific foodstuffs that you find disgusting or refuse to eat? Don’t eat any more. I used to like almost anything. What is your favorite color? Are there any colors you dislike? Black. What sort of music do you like? Is there any that you hate? Minimalist classical. And the occasional punk song. If you have a favorite scent, what is it? I cant smell. Do you have a favorite animal? Cats What is your most treasured possession? Why? My clothes. I have always loved the simple, elegant and expensive suit. I feel naked without it. Do you enjoy "roughing it", or do you prefer your creature comforts? Comforts. Although in a minimalist way. Is there a job or a task you would absolutely refuse to do? If the end is worth it, no. Do you consider yourself a spiritual person? If so, how do your beliefs affect your life?How important is it to you? No Could you kill? Have you killed? I could, but I haven’t yet. At least not directly. What circumstances led to you forming that conviction, or taking that action? Taking a life is a heavy thing, not to be done lightly. But if it is necessary save other lives, it is a duty to do so. How would you react to watching someone kill another person? Would your reaction be different if the killer was a friend or an enemy of yours? It depends on the circumstances; I would not revel in it, I would probably loathe it, but if it was necessary, it would be a brave thing to do. How would you react if something important was stolen from you? With fury! Unless it was done with exceptional skill-then I would also admire the cunning. How would you react to public humiliation? Retreat. How would you react if a good friend or relative were purposely or accidentally killed? Has it happened to you? With a seething, steely anger. Not an explosive fury, but a quiet and rumbling conviction to take revenge. What do you consider to be the worst crime someone could commit and why? Political corruption. Democracy was hard won, and abusing it is beyond reprehensible. If your life were to end in 24 hours, what five things would you do in those remaining hours? Release my work to the world via internet leaks. Career & Training Do you have any special training in your hero skills? If so, where and how did you get it? I am a master of computer technology, taught by my parents and later self taught. Who taught you the most about your heroing abilities? What was your relationship with that person? Myself Do you have any particularly unusual skills? How did you acquire them? No Do you do something besides hero work for a living? Have you ever done anything else, or do you plan to? A steal electronic money from crooks and criminal organisations. What is your preferred combat style? Elegant, efficient. I do not like anything flashy, but I prefer a certain graceful efficiency to all things. Have you ever received any awards or honours? No What skill areas would you like most to improve in? Is there anything you can't do that you wish desperately you could? Social skills? How do you act around people who are more skilled than you in areas you'd like to improve? Are you jealous, or do you try and learn? I would try and learn. Lifestyle & Hobbies What is a normal day for you? How do you feel when something interrupts this routine? I spend most of it on a computer screen. But I do get out to get information, plant bugs, and so on. Do you have any hobbies, or interests outside hero work? What are they, and where did you pick them up? I am lamentably obsessive. I do like chess. What do you do for fun? Study. Read. Do you have a costume? What does it look like? Unless you call a suit a costume… How do you normally dress when not in costume? A suit… see, its not really a costume. What do you wear to bed most nights? I don’t sleep. Do you wear any special jewelry? What is it, and what does it look like? No. Do you have a special place where you keep your valuables? My lair. What's your preferred means of local travel? How about long distance? Walking, but car if not in walking distance. High speed jet for long distance. Miscellaneous Have you ever made a will, or tried to make arrangements for your death? What provisions did you make? No. As a robot, I am not entirely sure how the law applies to me… If your features were to be destroyed beyond recognition, is there any other way of identifying your body? Its mechanical structure. What would you like to be remembered for after your death? He got the job done. Do you believe you pose a threat to the public? Why or why not? No- protecting the public is my mission. What do you perceive as your greatest strength? Dedication. What do you perceive as your greatest weakness? Obsessiveness. As a player, if you could, what advice would you give your character? Speak as if he/she were sitting right here in front of you. Use proper tone so they might heed your advice... No man is an island, dude. Get some friends who have your back.

Echohead Echohead blinked. He was not quite sure what had happened. Sparks. Death. Lights. His first thought was that this was some kind of trick-some extravagant part of the show. Then the screaming started. If it was part of the act it was incredibly realistic and incredibly horrible. People would be having nightmares for years. Maybe Echohead would. Of course he could delete his own memories. But still. Nightmares might surface. "What happened? What happened?" he screamed into his microphone, to both his superhero chums and the Iron Talon. He doubted he could get a coherent answer-it was hardly a coherent question. He was hardly coherent himself. He blamed himself. Let someone die on his watch. He surged forward, trying to press his way through the crowds with limited success (for a man of his height and strength). He wanted, no, he needed, to see the body for himself, no matter how horific it was. He still couldnt believe it, not quite...

GM "Oh... Irish, eh? Like our friend the Leprachaun downstairs?" he asked. "Vexatious little runt, he is. But... I confess he has his uses. And he does like gold. I daresay you find the notion of gold as payment rather quaint, but in days gone it was quite the standard, hehe, hehe..." The joke was not his best but he gave a chuckle anyway. "And he does like to put Gold in his pot at the end of the rainbow, haha, haha!" He actually looked rather nervous. He picked up a book on Irish mythology and passed it to Bernadette. "Irish yourself, I see. No wonder you felt the pull of the Leprachaun. Yes, yes. It is him, I am quite sure of it. You see...." He leant in. "I think he is an actual Leprachaun! No, not think. I am certain of it, quite certain! And for some reason he is pulling twins, duplicates, and whatnot into his tavern." Summer gave a snort- somethink like a cross between a laugh and a gasp. "A Leprachaun, come on..." "What better disguise for a Leprachaun that to call himself a Leprachaun? How about that? Rather cunning, if you ask me. As cunning as he is obnoxious. As obnoxious as he is sour. All the personality of a bottle of pickled vinegar, in my opinion. But still, something of a magician. Using music as magic! Dangerous, dangerous!"

23... A bit of good luck

A feast for the eyes, but not the stomach Featuring Haven It was Edward Beckett’s final hour. Stomach cancer was not the prettiest way to go, either. Edward Beckett had made a small fortune selling customised Microchips in Emerald City, and the chips that Beckett Boards made were always popular amongst that shady side of cyber security-they weren’t actually illegal, but the only legitimate use for them was penetrating other security systems. Haven had had his eye on Becket Boards for some time, and had successfully implanted some backdoor software-but they were a slippery customer, always changing security systems, software, hardware. He knew they were a malign force, but he also knew the evidence he had procured against them was gathered illegally, and was probably too complex for a lawyer to understand anyway. The data of the moder world was becoming too complex for any human mind, bar the geniuses of the superhero world like Docktor Archeville. Maybe Milo Mikano could have understood. Maybe. But Milo Mikano was gone, the flesh now dead; all that remained was an Echo of Milo Mikano, Haven. And Haven was not human. He sometimes wondered what he was-but preoccupation with such impossible questioning was not something he dared dwell on, for where might it lead? Edward Becket was in hospice care, a tube up every orifice-some of them artificially created such as the surgically created feeding tube. Most of his stomach was gone, and he had not eaten orally for weeks. Edward Becket spent his morphine-addled hours reflecting on his life, his accomplishments, his regrets, and his achievements. It was a mixed picture, he decided. But most of his time he spent thinking about food. He loved fine food, from the Pasta Place and High Steaks of Freedom City, to the Hong Kong Dinerman and Spice of Bengal in Emerald City. Fine food, fine wine. This, he did not regret-simple delight in the pleasures of the palate. And he had not eaten in weeks. His last hours were spent fantasising about food, and Haven had arrived to offer just that. Haven was no nurse, but he had assumed the form of one, and cyber-forged clearance to the hospital. And here he was, alone, with Edward Buckett, offering some kind of cyber deal with the cyber-devil. Haven wondered who the devil was – Edward, or himself. The electromagnetic telepathic induction made its offer to Edward. ---Connect?--- What? ---Connect?--- Edward had little to lose. Under an hour. Accept… And they there were, in a wooden hall in an icy forest, the trees coated with snow, the sun bright, a crackling fire in the corner, sitting on carved seats adorned with animal furs. Of the many virtual environments, Haven judged this most—poetic. A Valhalla hall for feasting. “What is this place?” Haven sat, in an incongruous suit, opposite virtual Edward, who was the same man but healthy; the lines still on his face, the fleck of grey in his hair, but without the ravages of cancer and chemotherapy consuming his body. Here, he was Milo Mikano, that steely eyed, black haired man of half Asian heritage. Or at least, how Haven remembered looking as Milo Mikano. “It’s a virtual reality. It is a Haven from your suffering.” “It feels so real…” “It is not. You are still dying. You should still feel the morphine in your brain…” Edward winced, even though there was no longer any pain. “I feel…sleepy? How long do I have?” “Less than an hour, the medical records indicate. But I am no physician. It may be shorter. It will not be longer.” “Not much respite…” Haven examined the virtual Edward with a cold scrutiny. Here came the bargain-but Edward was a hard bargainer, and the lamentations if incumbent death had only served to harden him further; harden him with spite. “This place runs at an accelerated pace. A week here is a but an hour on your deathbead.” “A week?” “If you have an hour. You may not.” A sly look came over virtual Edward, a reflex born of years doing deals. “And what are you buying? You don’t look like a man offering charity…” For the first time, Haven blinked, and gave a microscopic wiggle. As subtle and nuances as the movements were, it did not escape the notice of Edward. “No, no you aren’t here for charity, are you? What do you want?” “The access code to the XPP chip.” “Access code?” “Don’t take me for a fool. You know exactly what I am talking about. The backdoor your built into your security chip. I want the access code.” “No.” Haven leaned forward, slightly, eyes shining with blue light. “Then you will spend your last hour in pain.” “Torture?” “The absence of my relief.” “A week in any icy hall? I would die of boredom before the week was up.” Haven leant back again. Here was the deal in all its glory. “A week of feasting. I appreciate your fine palate.” This was a virtual world, and Haven controlled it. A banquet table sprung into existence betwixt them, and it was not empty. Plates of every foodstuff, roasted, fried, boiled, baked, the finest cuts, the freshest fruits, elegant mixes of spices and herbs that swirled up the nose, and oily flavours that slid across the tongue. Fat’s dripped, cakes steamed, and meats sizzled. Big meats, a whole boar, a stuffed peasant, a leg of lamb, all vying for position on a table two dozen feet long and four feet wide. Piles of meat. Edwards tastes were varied, but he was at heart a carnivore. Even in this virtual world, with a virtual body, he drooled and licked his lips. “This isn’t real…” he tried. “But it is a feast nonetheless” replied Haven. “Try some. You can taste it, you can smell it. You will even feel it slide down your throat and into your stomach.” “I… I can’t remember what that feels like…” “You won’t need to. Not any more. I offer you a week. If you give me the XPP code.” Edward paused, eyes locked on some succulent beef. “A week…” Haven pressed forward his argument. “Here, you can eat constantly. You will not fill, you will not fatten. The feast is yours for the taking.” Edward flicked his eyes back to Haven. “I need longer.” “That is not in my gift to give.” Edward reached out to try a slice of honeyed pork, his fork trembling in anticipation. “Ah! The code, if you please…” “I cannot drive a higher price?” “This is all the coin I have.” Edward chewed his virtual lip. “Very well then, if I am die, I will die feasting!” It was a fair sentiment, thought Haven. For any man, it was as well to die with a feast. But his concern was not with the dead, nor the dying. His concern was with the brutality of the powerful towards the weak; and in Emerald City such brutality ate at the city like a cancer. It was not strength of arm or sharpness of steel that gave power, it was wealth, and the cruelty required to weaponize it. As Edward Beckett started his week long final meal, eyes glazed over in joy over every succulent morsel, he gave Haven another arrow in his quest. Yes, the XPP code would do very nicely…

Peak Power Level: 7 (107/130pp ) Unspent Power Points: 23pp Trade-Offs: +3 Attack/-3 DC, +3 Defence/-3 Toughness In Brief: Mountain Rescue Hero Alternate Identity: Rocky Rambeaux Birthplace: Alaska Residence: Freedom City, Around the world Base of Operations: Freedom City, Around the world Occupation: Rescue Affiliations: UNISON Family: Rochelle Rambeaux (WHO Infectious Diseases Consultant), Rema Rambeaux (Swimmer) Age: 35 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Primarily Caucasian Height: 6’1” Weight: 95gs Eyes: Green Hair: Brown Rocky looks like a powerful built, athletic man. He has a square jaw and sparkling eyes, but he wouldn’t be called handsome – he has a broken nose, thin lips and bags under his eyes. As Peak, he wears a black costume emblazoned with a “peak” sign, along with a utility belt, pistol, boots and gloves. History: Rocky was born to a well to do, adventurous family. His mother was a physician, his father a botanist. All five of them travelled the world. When Rocky (the middle child) was twenty, halfway through his medical degree, his parents died on a mountain expedition, caught in an avalanche. Rocky scraped through his medical degree, shattered by the bereavement. He resolved to use his family wealth, his skills and intelligence to set up the Peak Foundation, dedicated to rescue operations in mountains and other hazardous areas (such as caving, or exploration). Personality & Motivation: Rocky has a rather blunt, determined personality – he gets the job done. He has enough of a persona, enough integrity, and enough enthusiasm to carry people with him, but he is not naturally a people person- or rather, he prioritises saving people than being nice. Whilst his priority in life is Rescue, Peak will happily solve and fight crimes around the World, particularly if they need an adventurous and skilled man such as himself. He also has a tertiary interest in research in remote / hazardous environments – particularly if it might one day save people (such as medical research). Powers & Tactics: Rocky has no natural powers. He is a trained doctor (specialising in trauma) and is also very skilled in many survival skills. He is a world class Climber. His goal (or mission) is rescue and preserve life from whatever natural occurrence imperils people – but if he has to fight he is an able martial artist, and will use either a brawling style of hand to hand combat or his trusty side arm in a fight. Complications: Disability, Fingers: Rocky lost the tips of his two smallest fingers (right hand) to frost bite a few years ago. He remains an able climber but this slows down his typing and he may have problems with some fine manipulation of certain objects (like playing a musical instrument, or picking a pocket) No time for cowards: Rocky cannot abide cowards (perhaps because he blames slow response of rescue services for his parents death). He will sometimes berate them, and will not have them on any team. This antagonism is severe; even a lack of bravery in the face of certain death will vex him. He makes unreasonable demands. Bob’s your Uncle: Rockys uncle, Robert Rambeaux is a successful lawyer and also out for the family wealth. He can occasionally pop up to put some legal obstacle in front of Rocky (or his siblings), such as denying access to wealth or resources, or holding up some administrative process (such as visas). Robert is an unpleasant boil on society, actually enjoying making his nieces and nephews life awkward (although he would draw the line at murder or violence) Abilities: 8 + 6 + 8 + 4 + 6 + 2 = 34 Strength: 18 (+4) Dexterity: 16 (+3) Constitution: 18 (+4) Intelligence: 14 (+2) Wisdom: 16 (+3) Charisma: 12 (+1) Combat: 20 + 20 = 40 Initiative: +7 Attack: +10 (+11 with Masterwork Pistol) Defense: +10 Grapple: +14 Knockback: -2 Saving Throws: 4 + 1 + 3 = 8 Toughness: +4 Fortitude: +8 (+4 Con, +4) Reflex: +4 (+3 Dex, +1) Will: +6 (+3 Wis, +3) Skills: 15 PP = 60 Ranks Climb 12 (+16) [Skill Mastery] Diplomacy 4 (+5) Intimidate 4 (+5) Knowledge (Earth Sciences) 4 (+6) Knowledge (Life Sciences) 4 (+6) Language 4 (English [Native], French, Mandarin, Spanish, Urdu) Medicine 8 (+11) [Skill Mastery] Notice 4 (+7) Pilot 4 (+7) [Skill Mastery] Sense Motive 4 (+7) Survival 8 (+11) [Skill Mastery] Feats: 10 PP Benefit: Wealth 2 Endurance Equipment 2 Favoured Environment (Mountains) Fearless Improved Initiative 1 Jack of All trades Skill Mastery 1 (Climb, Medicine, Pilot, Survival) Equipment: 2PP = 10 EP Utility Belt GPS Receiver [1 EP] Multi Tool [1 EP] Masterwork Light Pistol with Stun Ammo (Blast 3, Masterwork, Stun Ammo) [8 EP] Totals: Abilities 34 + Combat 40 + Saving Throws 8 + Skills 15 + Feats 10 + Powers 0 - Drawbacks 0 = 107/130 PP

Barbeque Storm Featuring Rev The wind was wild, howling through empty streets, kicking up litter, knocking down trash cans, spinning the hard rain into a vortex. It was a stormy day in Bedlam, in more ways than one. Diesel Dave and his posse were facing off with Petrol Pete and his gang. Two dozen yards between them, hands clenching baseball bats and knives. Calloused fingers adorned with knuckledusters. Driven rain streaking into eyes, soaking clothes, running of tattooed and scarred skin. Soon the backstreets would be running with blood, only for the storm to wash it clean. Dave and Pete were bikers, and had never been the best of friends. Bad blood, stretching back three generations, had plagued their relationship. But it had never quite come to open warfare between them. Until today; Diesel Dave, egged on by the young and foolish in his posse, had elected to openly hold a barbeque on the turf of Petrol Pete, full of burgers, hot dogs, kebabs and beer, defying the unwritten rules of the street. Perhaps, if Dave had been wise enough to invite Petrol Pete to the festivities, things might have turned out different. There was certainly enough meat. Diesel Dave had seemingly bought out entire butchers in an effort to rub Petrol Pete’s nose in it. Overflowing plates of meat, grills with meat packed into them like sardines. Piles of meat. And everyone single slice, sausage, joint or cut was a message: Petrol Pete – we are the kings around here. We are the feasters, you are the paupers. The storm had not improved anyone’s mood. The grills had gone out as soon as they had started, the paper plates were soggy. Tempers had frayed, and taunts had been thrown. A few beer bottles had been lobbed, resulting a face full of broken glass for Petrol Pete’s second in command. The whole thing was about to explode. Rev was running on fumes by the time she landed between the two gands. Her neck ports hissed methane, desperately trying to keep her jets firing, but it was no good – her tank was empty, and she fell the last twenty feet to the tarmac, landing in a crumpled heap. One of her arms fell off, and rolled along with the wind, till it bumped into the boots of Diesel Dave. “Stay out, Rev” muttered Diesel Dave. “This is street business” echoed Petrol Pete. Rev groaned as she got to her feet, and forced her left arm to slither back to her like a snake. She had been shutting down some mad inventors Storm-Machine fifty miles north, and whilst the arrest had been made and the machine dismantled, the storm had still flown south and hit Bedlam. She had flown back as fast as she could but had only managed to keep pace with the storm. “It’s my business” she answered. “You both use my shop. I fixed plenty of bikes for you both. C’mon, this would be bad for business!” “Bad for your business” grunted Dave. “The dentists if going to have a field day picking out Pete’s shattered teeth…” “And the hobbler is going to be extracting my boot from your back passage!” roared a defiant Dave. “Guys, guys! This is Bedlam… plenty of dirty streets for everyone! Why, you could even be friends!” said Rev. The mere thought brought both Dave and Pete to a laughter that quickly infected both of their gangs. Paradoxically, it closed the gap between them, making them brothers-in-contempt. Rev contemplated some foolish dance to build on the success. Maybe a robot dance, eight robot limbs wriggling some pantomime jig. She decided against it. “Why are you always at each other’s throats?” she asked. “Can you even remember?” “Pete started it… he… err… he did something… what was it now?” “Lies!” retorted Pete. “Dave kicked it all of when he… when he disrespected… no wait, what happened…. When he, ummm….” “See?” implored Rev. “You can’t even remember who kicked who’s cat? Was it a cat? Hmmmm…. Maybe it was a dog. Even I can’t remember!” “You weren’t even in Bedlam!” retorted Dave. “Too busy caping it up in Freedom City!” said Pete. “I was in school. And for your information, I never wore a cape in my life!” replied Rev, putting an indignant hand over her indignant chest. She would be very unwise to wear capes when she flew around on jets. The cape would almost certainly catch fire. But not much else would in this storm. She pointed at Dave. “Diesel Dave! If I get this barbeque started, will you share it with Petrol Pete?” “Share, with that scum?” “Otherwise all you will have is a load of spoiled meat, fit for rats and crows…” This caused some mumbling amongst the soaked bikers. The meat had cost some considerable dollar, and, well, obviously Petrol Pete was a scumbag for reasons they couldn’t quite recollect at the moment, but, well, shame to let all that food go to waste… “Petrol Pete!” shouted Rev, pointing at the man with her other arm. “If I cook this meat, will you have a party with Diesel Dave?” “Party with Diesel Dave? Are you outa your goddam mind?” Again, there was murmur of discontent. Clearly Diesel Dave was a villain given things he had done which had temporarily slipped their mind, but my, those burgers did look good. Lean, meaty, with just the right amount of fat on them. And getting soaked. Well, shame to let all that food go to waste. The murmurs bubbled and frothed, and started to erode convictions. Both Petrol Pete and Diesel Dave were hungry, and, well, it was shame to let all that food go to waste. “Right then!” said Rev, seizing the undercurrent. “I need fuel!” “Petrol!” said Petrol Pete. “No! Diesel!” said Deisel Dave. This could potentially have reignited the flames of war, but Rev jumped on a compromise! “BOTH!” she shouted. “Petrol in the left port! Diesel in the right! Jump to it, folks!” And a minute later, Diesel Dave and Petrol Pete stood either side of her, pouring their preferred fuel into the neck ports of Rev. She gave a belch, a hiss of methane, and then burped out a three foot long breath of fire. “That’s the spirit!” she roared, her tanks brimming, her internal systems in overdrive, processing the gas into the hyper-refined fuel she needed. Another few massive belches of methane, and she was ready, lying on her back under the barbeque. The various gang members, even Pete and Dave, craned their necks to get a better look-excitement and curiosity had melted away the animosity. This was history in the making-a fiery, blazing Barbeque in the midst of a devilish storm. “Stand back, folks, if you want to keep your eyebrows!” said Rev, taking a deep breath in. She didn’t need to take a deep breath in, but it felt symbolic, like a dragon preparing to exhale flame. The crowd stepped back. Maybe not as far as Rev would have liked. But far enough. “JET… SET…. GOOOOO!” screamed Rev, and, just as a dragon would, breathed a plume of fire to the sky. The Barbeque lit instantly – how could it not? The meat at the bottom of the pile turned to ash, and it was fair to say that even the rest of the meat was significantly more cooked on the underside than the topside. But the job was done! Burnt, charred meat for all! Who cared about the taste? This was a spectacle. A spectacle the gangs had shared. And, bolstered by the sharing, the beer, and Rev’s promise of a 25% discount at her chop shop for the next three months if they refrained from violence, the gang’s had a party in the rain, a barbeque in the storm, that would be laughed about in the years to come amongst both biker gangs. Even if Diesel Dave did kick Petrol Pete’s cat. Or wait… was it a dog? Or his uncles dog? Or was it Petrol Pete? Nevermind, was the shared epiphany. Nobody could quite remember, so everybody decided it couldn’t have been that important after all.

Rev (Titanium) Vignette (1.3K Words) -> Roll to Haven ACAV 6 Posts -> Roll to Haven Diamondlight Let the bodies hit the ground 7 Posts Captain Cosmos Vignette (1.2K words) Graveyard of the pacific 1 Post Starshot (Titanium) Vignette (1.3K Words) -> Roll to Haven Haven Vignette (1.2K words) HellQ Reputation Table 20Q - The Interview Origin Vignette (1.3K words) Sgt Shark Vignette (Joint with Avenger) Snakebite VIgnette (1.2K words) Echohead Teching the tech 6 Posts Gamma Buzz Half Life 4 Posts GM Golden Dead 6 Posts Beyond the Pale 7 Posts Double the Treble 7 Posts Golden Gloves 7 Posts Total GM Posts = 27. Times 2 = 54 Extra PP 19 Posts to Haven (Total 25 = 3PP) 8 Posts to Diamond Light (Total 15 = 2PP, Should make him Titanium) 24 Posts to Captain Cosmos (Total 25 = 3 PP) 1 Post to Snakebite (Total 1 = 1 PP) 1 Post to Peak (Total 1 = 1 PP) 1 Post to Sgt Shark (total 1 = 1 PP) Here is the sheet

GM And lo, behold, La Puma's hand passed straight through the priest, for the priest was not made of flesh, not blood, neither was he made of bone, nor sinew. La Puma's hand swished through pale smoke, that swirled and curled around her fingers. "Oh dear..." muttered Juan. "It was a pretty good illusion, though, wasn't it?" he gabbled, hopping from foot to foot and flapping his hand. "What gave it away? Do you have special eyes, or something? errr.... you won't do anything like rip out my throat will you? I hope you aren't angry..." "She's angry" hissed the invisible Tazel, with an icy laugh. "Oh dear. Look, you don't want to go attacking a superhero like me, with lots of valuable mystic powers that can be used for good, just because I transformed some chior boys into dogs and made an illuison of a clergyman. That would be wrong on so many levels, why, for starters... I...hfghfh cough cough cough... and that's just for starters! There are lots of other very good and obvious reasons that I am sure someone as wise as you instantly grasps and doesn't need me to explain..." Jaun looked at La Puma with wide eys. "Right?"

Flipping Burgers Featuring Captain Cosmos Buddy Brand was leaving work late again. His coat over his arm, his hat over his head, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to squeeze out the fatigue that streamed through his body like a venom. Another day, late at the office. And not a good day, either. His segment on interviewing the scandal of opiate distribution had ended up in a legal mess, and if anything had scuppered any chance of a conviction. You win some, you lose some, he told himself. But losing still stung. And the frustration and disappointment of the day had really drilled under his skin like a swarm of burrowing ants. He felt infected by the day. And he felt hungry. Tired and hungry. What he needed right now was a cheap burger. With fries, maybe. And mustard, strong mustard that would swirl around his mouth, charge up his nose like a Mongol Horde, and take away the taste of the day. Off to McSanders, then. The cheapest burger joint in town. The queue was not long, not long at all – but it felt longer. A dithering drunk at the front, a couple of obnoxious frat boys behind. Every second felt like two, and Buddy could feel the cooking fat and the charred meat crawl up his nose and tickle his saliva glands. It was truly lip-smacking good. Sometimes one didn’t want steak, one wanted something cheap, nasty, and so delicious because of it. “One burger, with fries, and all the mustard you can spare!” “Coming right up, mister… wait, aren’t you that Brink guy, from the TV?” “Yeah, Brink. That’s me, but keep it down, willya? Five dollars and we keep it hush….” It was bribery, but so what. It was money well spent, and the spotty kid serving at the till could use the cash more than Buddy. And a moment later, Buddy left the joint with a brown paper bag full of fries in one hand, and a burger in the other. Pop! And then, the burger grew another layer. A double burger, straight out of the ether. Buddy Blinked. Did I order a double? I don’t remember ordering a double. But is this a double burger I see before me? Its tempting meat pointed towards me? Because I don’t object. But… I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a double burger a moment ago. Unable to resist the delight any longer, he took a liberal bite. Pop! And then his mouth and nose were assaulted by a third layer of burger that appeared between the two buns. Maybe I ordered a double burger. But I am pretty sure I didn’t order a triple… Pop, pop, poppity-pop! Burgers piled upon burgers, until their sheer magnitude started to break out of the bun and cascade onto the street. Buddy ran, his super strength squeezing the bun together like a vice, but to no avail. No matter how tightly he squeezed, he left behind a trail of burgers. A pile of meat! There was only one plausible explanation he could think of. Somehow, he incredible cosmic powers were sucking in burgers from other dimensions! What unconscious skullduggery was his mind up to? Drawing in alternative dimension burgers to feed his hunger! He started scoffing down burgers as he ran, as fast as his gullet could manage. His mouth and his stomach protested, and grease dribbled from his mouth and his fingers, ruining his suit. But even stuffed to the brim, the burgers kept manifesting. Stray dogs, rats, and even a few desperate homeless persons might well have a feast tonight. If this curious phenomena was limited to feeding a few empty bellies, then Buddy would have no issue. But what if it wouldn’t stop? What if it accelerated? Soon the whole city would be a steaming pile of alternate dimension burgers, then the whole continent, and then the whole world! And what if some exotic dimension burger appeared? A radioactive one? An explosive one? A zombie one? All sorts of hazards sprung to mind. Zombie burgers infecting each other and marching on the living to extract revenge… no longer the eaten, but the eaters. ‘Twas to the park he ran. At least there was space for a mound of cheap burgers to form. And the rats, birds, and foxes could presumably peck away at least some of the meat. Once there, his suit stained from flipping burgers, he paused, still manifesting the patties left, right, and centre. There was only one thing for it. He had to summon someone who actually knew what they were doing. This was a job for Spaceman Buddy. In a flash of inter-dimensional energy, Spaceman Buddy appeared, took a look around, a groaned. “Not you again…” Spaceman Buddy came from an alternate dimension where technology had developed much faster than on Earth prime. In that dimension, Buddy Brand was a pan-galactic reporter, travelling around the Lor republic shining a humane light on alien suffering. He knew space, and he knew dimensions. “I told you” he started. “I’m a reporter not a spaceman, I don’t… wait, what the hell is this?” he said, slipping up on a smorgasbord of assorted squashed burgers. “Eugh…!” “I’m desperate!” shouted Buddy, using his powerful arms to hurl waves of Burgers away, lest he and his variant reality self drown. “You can do it!” “As you well know, merely being saying you can do it has absolutely no effect on whether an individual can, or cannot do it.” Buddy resisted the urge to punch sort-of-himself in the face. Spaceman Buddy was born of a universe of logic and pedantry, and had absorbed those traits with aplomb. Even more irritating – those traits had created a universe light years ahead of his own. “Irrespective,” he countered, taking a leaf from Spaceman Buddy’s book. “You know more than me. I’m summoning burgers from the multiverse!” “With great power comes great…” “Yes yes” said Buddy with a flap of his hand. “Great responsibility, great burden, yada yada yada. And great burgers, it seems….” “You call these burgers great?” “Well, plentiful…. And growing more plentiful by the second. We have to do something.” Spaceman Buddy scrabbled to stay afloat atop the mound of burgers. “No…” he said. “You have to do nothing…” “Nothing?” “Zero dimensional! Reset your system.” “Turn it off, turn it on again, why didn’t I think of that?” “Exactly.” Going zero dimensional was a theoretical step, but it would work. Worst case, he would cease to exist forever. Die, for lack of a better word. But better he die that this universe become known as burger verse. “Very well” he said with a grunt. Two dimensional. Buddy became flat as a pancake, which ironically was what some of the burgers at the bottom of the hill now looked like. One dimensional. A mathematical line, invisible to the eye. With a massive surge of effort… …. ….and there he was, back again. Alone, atop a hill of burgers, three dimensional, no more burgers appearing. His powers had reset. Had he, actually, become zero dimensional? How would he know? The rats, squirrels and birds of the park did not care for such mathematical and philosophical pondering. They busied themselves with the feast of a lifetime, and it looked like they would be busy for some time…

So using Craft (Mechanical) and Improvised Tool feat to jury rig a fuel tank to ignite when someone opens the door. Taking 10 using skill mastery for a 20 result.

Rev "I do like a fight" said Rev. "But do you know what I like even more? Winning a fight. And we are in no shape to win right now. So, we need to.... ah.... perform strategic manuevering to ensure sucessful victorious! Thats what they say, right? Sounds a darn heck a lot better than run away!" She threw away the empty fuel tank and belched methane. She gave a thumbs up and ignited the tip of her thumb, like a little zippo lighter. "Refuelled, anyway" she said. "Ready to set fire to some vampires if they get in our way. But for now, lets beat it. Gotta get to the Dune Buggy, left it parked outside..." "But first, lets see if we can rig a little surprise for our friends. Muahahahahaha!" It felt good to give an evil laugh. She wished she had an evil, waxed moustache to twirl, but an evil laugh worked fine. Especially when she was being evil. The plan? Rig up some of the fuel tanks to go boom when someone opened the door.... "Stay clear of this, Pete" she said - probably needlessly, but still... With due care she loaded up the open topped fuel tanks by the door, complete with a contraption to spark into the fuel when the door opened. Springs, ignition plugs, and something clever all made up the trap. She was rather proud of it. But she didn't rely on it. As soon as someone opened the door - and hopefully blew up the tanks (and spilled burning petroleum over the door entrance) she would let loose her very best fireball. Like a baseball bowler, she peeled back one of her arm and lit an ignition flame, ready to hurl!