Supercape

GM The Symbiote burrowed into the zombie, eager to feed. Through nostrils, through ears, through mouth and eyes. Perhaps it burrowed through other orifices too, but fortunately the rotten clothes of the Zombie concealed such possible body horrors from view. Seeking technology.... seeking nanobots... But there were none! Blowfish had got it wrong. Or lied. Or maybe both. The closest thing to technology on the zombie was an antique pocket watch. Yummy, but not pertinent. The Zombie itself had the symbiote rip through the mortified skull, causing it to sink back to inanimate death. So it was not a complete loss. "HELP! HELP! I'M OUTA AMMO!" called Blowfish. He and his thugs were engaged into hand to hand combat with the zombies. They were winning, for the most part, but still outnumbered. Blowfish himself was swinging his now-bent Tommy Gun against the skull of a zombified police officer, his powerful blows creating a mush of bone and brains...

Yes I think that works. I think its a stunt off her combat array? Chimera - Bruised, Injured, Fatigued, 2 HP Lamentably, Blowfish wasn't right about the zombies (or he was lying...)

GM "It will not break? Curses!" spat Tazel, flames flickering in the darkness. "The Cantos clan are vile, cunning, hateful! Mmmm....mmmm....." Two fiery eyes appeared in the air above La Puma, whilst the rest of the body remained invisible. "Curing those boys... that is for the candlemaker. If they wished to be cured. Perhaps you should ask them?" "They are my defence against you, foul demon!" yelled Juan. The yell echoed down the hall of the British Museum. Loud enough to wake the dead. Or dozing security officers. "Oooops...." whispered Juan. "Let us see then, Cat woman, let us see if you have a word worth keeping. I shall take you backl to the church. You shall free me. What you do with the dog boys, well that is between you and the candlemaker. Although I confess I would enjoy making the coward do what he would not. I confess, I would do it out of spite!" The eyes flickered once more, scrutinising La Puma. "Do you swear?"

GM Was Chimera faster than Machete Max? It was a close run thing. Machete Max had long limbs, and agile ones, he was athletic, but not at an athlete. Chimera however had experience in running, running fast, efficiently. Her cardio? It would probably have one the day, if it came to that. But that was not the deciding factor. The darkness was. Even squinting, the dark clouds over a moon and the lack of any illumination over a graveyard made the darkness heavy, solid. The flash of gunfire in the distance and the pale orange hue of Freedom City street lights beyond the graveyard were the only faint sources of light. Machete Max could see in the dark. He dodged zombies, he vaulted gravestones. And Chimera had to cut throught zombies and stumble into headpieces. If it wasn't dark, she would have one. But Max had the edge here, and into the darkness he melted. Leaving a swarm of zombies and an increasingly frantic Blowfish... ...the goons were running out of ammunition...

You can fly to Machete Max as a move action then!

GM Another few steps back, a twirl, a crouch, with dreadlocks spinning and half covering his face. The moonlight dimmed as dark clouds crossed its path. Suddenly Machete Max was in neart darkness, his blade dull, with only the whites of his eyes and his teeth clearly seen. "You be wagging de tongue. Yah jaw be slack. Ain't no words be stoppin' de dead, dey be attack!" The mangled rhyme (which he somehow made look cool) was spoke as Machete Max slithered into the darkness. It was hard to see him... the moonlight gone, the zombies brawling every way Chimera looked. She could hear him above the cacophony of crazy zombies. She could swear one of them was trying to sing Rick Astley. "Nvrrrr Gaahhhh Gvvvvv uuuuuh uuuuuhp...." He was silent, he was stealthy, but she could make out a running shadow, make out the quiet patter of feat across grass. But in a moment... he would be gone....

Dang diddly dang! OK so Machete Max is going to do a runner. He is athletic but doesnt have super speed, but is using both actions to move. As its Dark and you have no supersenses could you roll DC10 Notice to keep up?

If Scaret gives permission, Echohead will copy his "secret agent" skills (or possibly feats) 20 PP of skills copied. Going prioritise the usual spy skills: Notice, Search, Investigate, Know (Behavioural, Streetwise), Stealth, etc.

Echohead "Uhh... sounds like it could go wrong a thousand ways" said Echohead, scratching his bald plate. "But if we can help, we will. Politics, guns, angry crowds, passionate ideologues... what could possibly go wrong?" He twiddled his fingers. "I don't need anything more. Except, with your permission... your brain?" I sound like a zombie... that didn't come out right, did it? "I mean, not your actual brain. I'm not that hungry huh-huh...." Idiot! If you want to be a comedian, copy a comedians brain! "I mean, captain Scarlett, you clearly have a wealth of experience and skills in intelligence. With your permission, could I copy those skills into my own head? It would be useful to have in the field. Don't worry, I don't read thoughts. Most I could find out about you is that you have a special aptitude for underwater basket-weaving...."

Chimera - 1 HP - Injured x2, Bruised x2 Take it away!

GM "That's my Gold!" yelled Blowfish. "No, its mine, yah cheat!" yelled another. No matter the truth, the ensnared and impotent mobsters starting screaming and shouting at Luke, at each other, and the divinities in a ghastly cacophony of accusation and counter accusation. Meanwhile, the giant reinforced steel vault door started to bend, and crumple, under the merely magnificent might of Nightscale... CREAK! And then, with a final groan, the door came of the hinges! The gangsters stopped, lost for words. Except Blowfish. "Pfft.... It's gone!" It had indeed. Whilst a few bricks of gold lay on the floor in a disorganised fashion, the bulk of the treasure had been taken. At the other end of the vault, a tunnel. Someone had drilled through the earth and the vault walls, and made off with the lions share of the gold! And in the distance, up the tunnel, Luke could hear a stomping, whining sound.

Thats good enough - the door is ripped off but perhaps not as speedily as one might have liked!

Feel free to attempt to break it, but the stick is essentially unbreakable without special (arcane) measures.

GM "Do not judge by appearances" murmured Tazel, still invisible. "The Cantos Devil Stick, has bound and banished stronger demons than I, and I can still feels its chains around my neck!" His last words were spat with a fiery spite. Juan gibbered and flapped his hands. "Wait... can't I just run now, in case it doesn't work? Brazil is nice this time of year, I hear..." "Silence!" spat Tazel. "You shall stay here, Candlemaker!" Juan wilted. The hands / claws of La Puma crept to the stick - it was a delicate business, a surgical business, where one slip could spell disaster. But time was on La Puma's side. No need to rush... ...slowly... ...carefully.... ...delicately.... And then her hands were outside the glass cage, with the Cantos Devil stick in her hand! It felt like wood, depsite its black hue. She could imagine smelling ash and sulfur. Or was it her imagination? Did it actually smell of ash and sulfur? There was a tingling in her hands. The stick was nauseating, a crawling in her skin and up her skin, whispering questions in her ears - that this was real, that that wasn't, that the shadows of the Museum contained creeping horrors. "At last!" sang Tazel. "Now break it! Or use it... but I must be set free!!!!"

GM "So, it come to dis, yah hero. Me protecting da city, yah stopping me..." The electricity missed Machete Max by an inch, and only because the man moved fast. His eyes widened in surprise - his confidence was bleeding. He had not expected Chimera to be that fast. He took a step back, spun on a heel and whipped a foot around - the style was easy to note; Machete Max was a capoerista. And more. The Capoeira spinning kick was just a ruse, followed up by a low slash to the legs - more in the style of a fencer, a swashbuckler, a pirate. Whatever else one might say about Machete Max, the man knew how to fight - not just with esoteric flashy kata, but with practical experience. Scars, broken nose, and a deadly experience with his fists and his blade. "Young 'un. I not be da killin young 'un. Dis not yah fight. Stay out, be yah keeping yah armour and yah sparky sparkies for dah villains..."

Unfortunately Machete Max has a defence of 22 He will respond with an Acrobatic Bluff: [url=https://orokos.com/roll/983251]Acrobatic Bluff[/url]: [u]1d20+6[/u] [b]19[/b] as a move action Followed by a Machete Sweep [url=https://orokos.com/roll/983252]Machete[/url]: [u]1d20+12[/u] [b]18[/b] Which I think just hits even if the Bluff fails? Fortunately, he is skilled but doesnt hit hard: DC Tough 19

Captain Cosmos Fight, Fight...! What is this? A schoolyard? The difference between a schoolyard and a ship was, he reflected, that a schoolyard wouldn't sink to the watery depths drowning everyone. The flavour of the brawl reminded Buddy of a an old, classic song, although he was pretty sure none of the bitchers would have heard it. Shame. "Look, ladies...." Oh, I haven't got time for this... Extending his psychic hand across the multiverse, he felt out the ripples of himself in various realities. It was not a precise science, by any means, more like a fumble in the dark, but... There! A version of himself in another reality, who had decided to spend his time educating and councilling young adults in current events and citizenship. Like most versions of Buddy, it was the same broad intention. Media, reporting, politics, truth. That version would do. With a frown of concentration, and a slight pang of guilt, he pulled Buddy Brand into his own universe. By nature, Buddy was a helpful soul, and most versions of himself were pretty happy to give help. But there was always a moment of discombulation. "What?" "Sorry, me..." started Buddy. "Need your help. Multiverse. Brawling kids. Sinking ship. Totally safe, but these young folk need your expertise..." He felt a bit sorry for Camp Counsillor Buddy, but the kids were already giving Captain Cosmos a headache. And right now, he needed to check the ship wasn't punctured, or exploding. He steeled himself, and flew into the water... ...You idiot boy! I'm gonna.... The flashback of his father came, like always, but he shook his head free of it. The effort sent a shudder through his shoulders and bile to his throat. Underwater, he had take a moment to buttress his head from the fear. Then he continued his underwater flight, examining the hull of the ship....

GM "We all do wat we think is right. But some think more dan others" Maybe the Machete dropped a little. Maybe Machete Max stepped back a little. Maybe his initial challenge, the spite in his words, maybe they dropped a level. Maybe. But he still held a Machete, and he still knew how to use it. And the dead were still bursting from the Graves around him. But - and this was now apparent - the Zombies were confused, disorientated. At least, as much as a brainless undead could be confused and disorientated. Many were agressive, but some sank to their knees, some beat their head, and one even tried to do a shuffling tap dance. They may have desired brains, but they also seemed caught up in the echoes of their former life. One, in a suit and thick glasses, carried a clip board, and in a mindless way tried to do some accounting of the zombie hoard, making crude pen marks with every zombie he heard And some started brawling with each other. The mob continued to shoot down the Zombies. But it was a free for all. It was Zombie vs Zombie!

GM Tazel was invisible, silent. La Puma was as quiet as a mouse wearing sound dampening slippers. Juan was as nervous as a mouse wearing a necklace of dynamite. Fortunately La Puma could drag him through the museum and guide him so that he didn't make any spectacular blunders, although once he nearly collided with an Egytian mummy casket. There were lasers, but easily avoided if you had amazing Puma senses that could detect such devices. The dozing security guard was easily bypassed, his eyes closed, his fingers interlocked and resting on his midriff, the tepid coffee on his desk no longer steaming. Tazel seemed to know where he was going, fortunately because there was little to indicate to La Puma in which direction they should be headed. The answer was down some stairs, through some corridors, and into a small dusty segment of the Museum where "Modern Antiquities" were stored. Quite the paradox - but it seemed these were occult artifacts collected in the twentieth century that had their origin in ancient mythologies. In a dirty glass cage stood the Cantos Devil stick, two feet of blackened wood, with an Ram's head carved into the handle. Collected, apparently, Ms. Cassandra Crow, honorary curator of the British Museum. Tazel sparked a few flames in delight and desire. The glass was, unfortunately, laden with alarms....

Stealthy but stupid

Camp Counselor Buddy sounds fun! Do you want to play him? (or if you want to activate a complication and play him like Nazi Camp Counselor Buddy go ahead!) Shall I edit IC post?

GM Greed is good! Except when it is bad. Like now. Bad for the thugs! Perhaps the chains were attracted to the spike in greed from cheating gamblers. Perhaps the vast amount of gold nearby added an additional strength to every link. Maybe the thugs were just doing busy wrestling each other and trying to pull aces tucked in sleeves. Whatever the reason, the golden chains looped and spun, and in a (golden) flash, every thug in the room was tied up like an egyptian mummy. Eight figures, standing tall, wrapped in loops of golden chain. "What the....?" came eight cries, almost in unison, followed by eight thuds. Completely unable to move, all the goons tumbled to the floor, rolling around like snakes in a pipe. The man with the jowels and the tic seemed to recover from his fury and shock quicker than the others. Blowfish was his name. "Pfffft.... Get me out of this!" he yelled at Nightscale. "Wait... who are you?" he said, squinting. "I don't recognise you... who the hell are you? And what did you do?"

Nightscale - Unharmed - 3 HP Im going to fiat that in yer favour, as the goons are all preoccupied and tied up in the fighting. As none of them are more than PL 5, they all get snared. That said, they will eventially break free But Im too lazy to keep track of eight snares toughness and breakout rolls.... !

It should be Language 2 - Corrected Added final tally line EDIT: Also added in that the continuous duration transform (Mutation Beam) can be countered by medical treatment

Thats enough to rip open the door but not without drawing everyones attention. The room itself has lots of alcohol but not sure what you had in mind for incapitating the gamblers?