All Activity

Gamma Buzz Baz gave two thumbs up. "Crazy Idea, but it just might work, eh?" It sounded cool. And it sounded like it would work. Of course, the former was far more important than the latter, but if you could do both at the same time? even better! "Wait, that's a movie Cliche, isn't it? I need to come up with something better. Crazy Work! But it just might be an idea!" That didnt make any sense, but it sounded less like a cliche, which was the important thing. "You need to make up a cool name for the manuever, though, Veriz! Like Starbolt Sting, or Boombang Blitz!" He flexed his knuckles. "Hit me with it then, Blue Bolt! Then we are sure to win!"

GM "Escort? Pffft!" laughed the Metal Man. "This ain't my home and you ain't my parents. They are BORING!" He hopped from one foot to the other in vexation. "Mind you, you are BORING too!" he said with a sneer. "But RACE! We could RACE!" The thought enlivened him once more, and off he sped down the Monorail, gliding along it like a speed skater. The surfance once again became smooth as glass. No doubt, the Galloping Ghost could match, even exceed, the speed of the Metal Man, but balancing on the monorail when it was as slippery as greased ice was another matter...

Echohead has encountered 1 Clone to Dennis Deacon suddenly! What's he going to do!? Or would you prefer to trigger one of your complications for another HP?

(GM Post) The two heroes quickly went about their work, attempting to find and gather clues regarding important locations of the dead man, Dennis Deacon! It was working fairly well; each was covering a different area, each finding out information on their own. Everything was going perfectly, totally smoothly. In fact, you could say it was almost...too smooth. Then, as Echohead was returning from examining the clothes, in the hallway, he found someone. Late 30s. Orange Hair, green eyes. Wearing a copy of the clothes Echohead had just examined. "...Who...who am I? Do you know!? Can you help me!?" asked Dennis Deacon, stumbling towards Echohead. Echohead could feel using his brain examinations that this was a clone that was close to perishing, the hivemind weakening. But if he was touched, it would replicate.

Golden Star 26 IC Posts Digital Hex [8] Never Was [1] Doom Room Troop [2] Barking Raven Arcade [4] New Age Mythology [5] Only Monsters Left Alive [1] Star Crossed Part 2 [3] Explosions After Dark [2] Dwayne Devon Davidson 11 IC Posts Monorail Mayhem [11] Journey into Mystery [0] GM Posts 14 GM POSTS = 28 Effective Posts Red Team: Jeopardy In The Jungle [5] House of the Caged Sun [1] SCP 46591 [4] Sound is Golden [1] Explosions After Dark [0] New Age Mythology [3] For Golden Star: 26 IC Posts + 24 GM Posts = 50 total posts for 4PP Assign Guide Point to Golden Star as well. Total should be 5PP, bringing him up to 198 PP Total PP gained = 5 For Dwayne: 11 IC posts + 4 GM Posts = 15 total posts for 2PP Total should be 158 PP Total PP gained = 2

10 for stealth!

Thats a swell idea! Could you give me a DC10 Dex check for that manuever?

Alright; Here's your results. Echohead: Predator: I also want a Stealth check from Echohead here before I make another IC post @Supercape, but you can both make IC posts if you want; Echohead's check is about getting back to the safe zone without being spotted by wandering Dennises

I'll turn into Alien Gator III for rolling Initiative, if that's okay. Let me know if you want me to go ahead and paste the specific form in this thread. Initiative Results 1d20+2: 9 [1d20=7]

"You don't know?! That's just great, terrific even," Carmen says, crossing her arms. If they hadn't been already, the werecat would have done so by now, not looking all too pleased about another interruption. Sure, saving the day and being a hero was one thing, but getting a chance to spend some quality time was another. It was sometimes she wished they were still on that private island, away from the troubles, but even then, deep down inside her, there was a sort of excitement. The feline part of her, this instinctual feeling saw it as another challenge, a hunt for prize that was partially for the excitement of the hunt itself. So, when Michael gave her that look, one that spelled his intentions to her of saving the day and helping out, earlier portents of annoyance would melt away, replaced with an enthusiasm to go along with him and discover what was going on. That and she really didn't like that Finch guy, wanting to bash him up good seeing as how he directly put an end to her plans, "I track them with its scent potentially. They all came from the book so they must shar it, or at least left traces of themselves."

I've got an idea. Puma is going to try and grab the console itself and swing it around like a lasso (or something like that). Fort Save passes with a 17. Maybe it's a cursed console, hit him with it.

There was a calm now, the fight over as the hostilities ceased for the time being. Puma could rest easy as she went from a more animalistic stance to one more passive, not spoiling for a fight that likely if Patriot were here to see this, she would have been harshly critiqued. Too brash and eager, letting herself get after making a tactical error. Puma's breathing was calming down and she could hear Michael speaking to her to see if she was okay. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she speaks holding now towards her arm, bruised from whatever sort of weapon that these aliens had used. The adrenaline was starting to fade away quickly, though not too quickly as she turned to face Michael. A bit of soot was still on her from rescuing people trapped in the apartment fire, the ever lingering sulfur smell that wouldn't go away until she took a bath, drawing back bad memories. "You kidding me, who else gets to meet and fight aliens on a first date? It was great.... well besides getting hit."

Sea Devil leaped again, a blur of motion that belied her gangly posture, and landed behind the abomination. With a bellow loud enough to stun a codfish, she used her trident not to stab but to grab, catching the monster by the throat with the side of the shaft and pulling it tight against her armored chest. This is for the dog! she thought defiantly before she called to the others a sentence that was both invitation and warning "I - can't - hold - it!" She hoped they would kill it. As much as she hated the thing for killing the dog, when she thought about a beast like this trapped in a cage above - well, there were things far more frightening than death.

https://orokos.com/roll/1012454 15 on Initiative for Sea Devil

Blue Bolt Vueriz laughed nervously at the comment about never cheating, before settling down for the sensible conversation about what they wanted to do. She wasn't sure what a 'Metroid' was, but she understood the rest of the concept. She wasn't sure about the 'let Michael be bait idea though. It did make a certain amount of sense, being that he was the toughest one, although it did give her an idea... "Uh, maybe a crazy idea, but maybe instead of sending you, I could attach the Aurora Roarer to Baz and set it to go off if something attacks him. He's immune to it, so he'll be fine but the attacker won't and then we can swoop in while it's blinded. If uh, you and Baz are okay with that."

In order to make sure the Refs accurately count all your IC posts and award you the due amount of power points, please post with a list of all the threads in which your player character, NPC or sidekick posted IC this month (including the News forum). Also list any threads which you are GMing. GM posts count as double and can be assigned to whichever of your characters needs a 'push'. This topic will automatically close on the seventh day of the following month (i.e., July 7th, 2024 at Midnight EST). When you make your list, post a link to your first post for the month for each IC thread so we can jump right to it. When you start a thread, make sure IC is the first tag and topic prefix of the In Character thread, and OOC is in the first tag and topic prefix of the Out Of Character thread. It's not required, but additional tags including the major players and locations are viewed as a courtesy. Please list your threads in alphabetical order. Please clearly note any threads in which you are both player and GM/running an NPC. In threads where you are both player and GM/an NPC, please be sure to mark each post so we can tell who it should be allocated to. Please list your threads in a timely manner. Extending the deadline one week into the following month is already a grace period. If you've done any "extracurriculars" -- artwork, HellQ, 20 Questions, NPC, vignettes, guidebook pages, etc. -- please be sure to list them along with your active threads. For more information on ways to earn power points, see Character Advancement and Awards in the House Rules section of the Guide. Post counts should be formatted similar to the following: To make clear how many posts from rollover and GM posts are assigned to each character. Failure to comply with these guidelines may result in being visited by Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Sloth, and Wrath your post counts being postponed or skipped completely. If you missed the deadline, see this thread.

"A second one..." Dwayne mumbled to himself, looking up into the sky. So they were aliens? This was definitely some Atom Family issues, so his second job was really colliding painfully with his first job right now. What was the play here? Electrifying the monorail could be dangerous, but it's likely already being evacuated. If people aren't on it, then it being 'electrified' wouldn't be an issue, right? All he really needed to do was buy some time for evacuation to finish, and maybe do a little secret modifications to stop the metal alien from doing anything bad. So the Galloping Ghost followed along, leaving bursts of ectoplasm behind him, but he wasn't after stopping the creature. "Why don't I escort you to the power station, maybe your twin will show up."

Fort save: Iris: 15 Daniel: 19

GM General Sparks took one or two steps back, clutching his electical head with electrical hands. The pixellation of his body grew worse. Sparks were flying from his body, landing on the carpet, leaving scorch marks. The whole room was now looked like a bomb site. And not just because it has some students living in it. "Ridoculous? You think I am worthy of.... RIDICULE? R-R-R-RIDICULE?" said General Sparks, pointing one finger at Golden Star. "I'l Sh-sh-show you... RIDICULOUS!" There was no doubt about it now, he was glitching. But the power of his body didnt seem to be lessening. If anything, it was become stronger. And less controlled...

Round 2 24 Puma - 3 HP - Dazzled 20 - Daniel - 16 - Golden Star - OHP, Bruised, Fatigued 13 - Gen Sparks - Staggered, Bruised 13 - Iris - 4 HP, Staggered Puma is up! The DC to recover from dazzle is Fort 15

Initiative! 1d20+0 = 16, she's pretty quick off the mark! For her at least

Gamma Buzz Baltazar paused. These guys certainly looked like bad guys. Like nazi bad guys, to be more precise. But that doesn't mean they were. And, despite all his goofing around, non-lethal radiation had a tendency to be a bit non-lethal, sometimes. "Is pretty good odds good enough?" he asked Bernadette. After all, she seemed to have a good head on her soldiers, even if it was sometimes also stuck betwixt her butt cheeks. She had plenty of heads to spare, as far as he could see. Bernadette could easily have her head in both places at once. "I mean, I'm all for frying them. But..." He shrugged. "I don't wanna be the guy who shoots first...."

Synth In Across the Ice It had been five days since Synth had left the facility in Sweden, and they were hungry days. Even though every cell was a masterpiece of biotechnological engineering, five days without food, running through snow and ice in arctic temperatures was taking its toll. Synth was peeling; the cellular structure breaking down. Translucent skin burned in the ultraviolent sun, muscles were wated; consuming themselves to sustain basic metabolism. Synth was dying. But dying was better than being dead. Synth was still trying to process the events. They were less than one year old – a secret project lead by a team of scientists in north Sweden. A success, in many ways – an artificial life form with unparalleled resilience, able to rearrange its own structure. Embedded with the knowledge (and possibly personalities) of the dozen scientist who had created it. And then, SHADOW came knocking. The project was actually the brainchild of the neo-nazi organisation, using cells from Ultima Thule. And they had come to collect on the fruits of the project. The scientists resisted; they had no knowledge of the nefarious origins of their project. Synth resisted, too, having no wish to be part of such ugly and dangerous schemes. The research was strewn with dead bodies, and burned to the ground. But somehow, through the smoke and fire and chaos, Synth had struggled free and made her way through the snow to freedom. The implanted memories gave her the accumulated medical and biological science knowledge of multiple lifetimes. Synth knew they were dying. The blanket helped some – thermal layers – something she had snatched from her escape. Without it, they would be dead, surely, for the only other clothes were the thin cotton garments of the institute. By starlight, Synth could navigate – eastwards, across the cold lands of Siberia. Thus far, Synth had done their best to avoid a southward angle; stay out of sight, off the grid. Mainly from SHADOW, but also from Russian eyes. There was no point to attracting any attention; who could they trust? Everything they knew had just gone up in smoke. The rug had been pulled from feet. Who knew how far SHADOW had infiltrated any organisation? Synth was not in a trusting mood right now. The Deaths had made tears in their eyes, the cold had frozen them on cheeks. But there was no food, and Synth needed food. Protein, calories. Something to feed on other than their own body. Something to put some meat on their bones. This meant moving a little more southward. To tundra. Berries, mushrooms, even insects and fungus. It was thin pickings, but it was something. Fortunately, their stomach, spleen and liver could digest almost anything. Poisons and diseases stood little chance against advanced, designed, synthetic flesh. Synth could scavenge precious nutrients from the thin life of the terrain, from rocks, trees, even the earth. It may have been enough for sustenance on better days, but these were not such days. It would slow the starvation, not eliminate it. Richer foods were needed for failing organs to regenerate. Further south, where trees started to thicken. Cover from the sun, providing burnt skin some respite. Nuts, could be found. And birds, animals. Synth climbed trees, scratching their thin skin that bled and wept. At the top, amidst snow capped branches, could be found eggs. As rich as source of protein as could be found. Here lay some ugliness. Eggs. Could Synth eat them? This was not a technical issue – the institute had thoroughly tested her immune system and digestion. Synth could eat almost anything. But it was a moral issue. Could she eat eggs? There was no denying eggs had no sentience, but they were potential life. Could they eat them? Now, more than ever, they had an overwhelming respect for life. That was what slaughter did, they supposed. Magnified that respect for life, made life a hundred times more precious. But their own life was in peril, and crushing hunger not easily ignored. Synth cracked the eggs open and swallowed the gloop inside. It did not taste, not feel, good. But it was necessary. The first food – of any substance – in five days sat in their synthetic stomach, breaking down the proteins, absorbing them. It felt good; like a couple of staggered steps away from a cliff face. But it didn’t feel good enough. Synth had many hard weeks of travel ahead. A few eggs would not be sufficient. Further south. A lake, its surface mirrored. Mosquitoes, buzzed around, a horrible threat. Synth crushed them as fast as they sucked her blood, but the swarm was endless. They stopped to look at the lakes edge, regarding their image. No longer the paragon of health; thin, emaciated, pale. Eyes hollow, bony hips and ribs. The walking dead. Necessity once again expunged morality. The lake had fish; plenty of them. Synth’s lightning fast hands and lightning faced reflexes turned into spears. Straightened fingers plunged into icy water, plucking scaled fish out of the lake. Eaten raw. No time for fire. Had to keep moving. The fish were another step to freedom, but the mosquitos were relentless. Synth followed the slow river eastward. Here, mosquito activity died down. There was flora underfoot, some of which could be consumed. Slowly, the skin started to darken with melatonin, the pinpricks of bites started to close. Muscles, nerves, organs, started to kick into action. Walking pace started to quicken, lungs now able to move, inhale, exhale, processing sweet cold air. Every day was another day that SHADOW, or worse, would have to tighten the net. Speed was needed. And speed needed energy. Fish, eggs, and meat. Killing another thing was reprehensible, but the lion was hungry and needed to be fed. How much more damage, death, would SHADOW be able to inflict if it harnessed Synth’s flesh. The maths was simple, its execution was hard. Rabbits, squirrels, eaten raw, every mouthful of precious protein hard to swallow. Eating a living thing. But with every revolting bite and painful swallow, Synth could run faster. Almost fully healed now, meat back on the bones. Running through tundra day and night, sharp eyes able to see by moonlight, legs with a speed and endurance beyond human. Days turned into weeks, longer. Picking her way through the sparse civilisation. Wearing stolen clothes. Changing. Yes, changing appearance. Grizzled, worn skin. Black hair, so slow to grow. Now, with clothes and features of a peasant farmer woman, she could go further, faster, start her cautious interactions with civilisation. But cautious, still. Finally, the east coast. The pacific. More reprehensible acts; pick pocketing. The first attempt did not go well. Synth had to put the man to sleep and them pilfer his pockets. Ugly, ugly-was this really necessary? Uncertainty fungated in her gut, but she stayed the path. The money was not for luxury, she told herself. It was for necessity. Leaving Russia, crossing the pacific. Alaska. If you wanted freedom, what better place to go than the land of the free?

@Poncho @Tiffany Korta @Kaede Kimura let's see some initiative rolls for when I get my laptop back so we can get things going.

GM The moment they are all in the room, everything falls apart Everything around them breaks into a rainbow kaleidoscope of color. Rushing around them, moving at breakneck speed. Everything and nothing all at once. A barrier that breaks the wall between worlds. Falling into the great nothing, falling into the great everything. And then they land, hard, crashing down onto a floating platform in the middle of the rainbow space. Remains of the Goodman Building, from before it became the Atomic Tower, floats around them, platforms within and outside reach. Before them, a short distance away, there is half a woman. The left half, to be precise. Her young blonde hair floats in space. Her face is locked in a scream. She is unmoving, frozen in time and space, and yet, there is a definite sense that she is struggling, that she is stuck. Stuck between this realm and her own. She is not alone. By her side, floating in the kaleidoscope of color, there is man shaped beings that are not men. They are hard to look at, a shimmering absence and presence, a distortion in time and space. It is difficult to count them, it hurts to look at them for too long, beings that are both empty and full, like they exist in more than 4 dimensions, drawing in the rainbow light around them. One by one, they turn. And the young woman screams. A single word escapes her frozen lips. HELP! The group of explorers stand alone. And the strange human shaped holes in this world between realities turn towards them. Welcome to Z-Space