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Computer roll for Predator I suppose: 17

Predator “Unfortunately, time is of the essence.” Predator nodded at Echohead. “I understand. Just be cautious, the clothes may be infectious as well. And do not hesitate to all for back up.” She trusted him to be careful, he was an acknowledged agent that was called upon repeatedly. But, she had learned at an early age that people sometimes needed to be reminded verbally that their safety was- expected? Required? Encouraged? Hoped for? She mentally shook her head. Physically, she turned her attention back to the nurse. “I assure you, I will do my best to maintain patient confidentiality and system security.” Predator tried to reassure the woman as she took up the seat in front of the computer.

The Redcap sees through the feint, I'm afraid and your attack just misses, so the Redcap manages to finish his Turnabout unscathed. Goblin time. Each group (Two per hero + The Prestige, and three on the other villains) is gonna make a Combined Attack. Heroes To hit Blackstaff: 16, 21, one hits so only DC19 Toughness To hit Bloody Mess: 17, 10 both miss To hit Shooting Star: 6, 10 with some truly garbage rolls, they miss the easiest to hit hero Villains To hit Anarchilles: 14, 16, 18 with an evenly spaced distribution they hit him twice upping the DC to 21 and failing to beat his Impervious. To hit Mothlight: 25, 25, 12, wow, some hella rolls there. DC21 Toughness from Mothlight who... Makes it To hit Steel Shade: 9, 26, 19 he is lucky Minions can't score Critical hits. DC21 save is stopped by his Impervious. His shield generator has one charge left. To hit The Prestige: 25, 15, one hit, DC19 Toughness which she biffs. That's Dazed, Bruised and Injured. With that it's @Spacefurry's turn, after a DC19 Toughness save.

Blue Bolt Vueriz looked around, flexing her fingers to make sure her gloves weren't stiff. She was looking forward to the test, showing off what she had been picking up but also very nervous, since this was a group assessment and she didn't want to let the others down. (at least this one wasn't a written assessment again, she was pretty sure if she used the excuse about having bad handwriting in English Michael would insist on tutoring her.) Putting that thought aside she waved to the twins as Michael called out his greeting, before refocusing on the task ahead. "I think we should stick together, the teachers probably designed the tasks for all three of us, so going alone will probably mean we run into way more than we can handle." She looked between Baz and Michael, before inspecting the environments. "What's the plan?"

GM The metal man slowed down to half speed, his face one of excitement. His hands flapped, his eyebrows twitched, his body restless, insatiable. "Allies? Family! We are the Metalloids! Made of metal. From a world of metal. Everything, metal! Such strange chemistry you have in this universe... some things arent metal at all. Shame. But we can have fun here!" He looked around. "My twin should be here. We snuck off, to have some fun in this universe. All this excitement! All this chemistry and stuff! Its so dull where we come from. Everything just metal. And the elders dont let us have fun at all..." He shook his head sadly, then stomped a metal foot on the monorail. "And you stopped all the fun, too! All that crashing and smashing, and crying and excitement. Best fun ever!" The man-or was it child-scanned ahead. "I'm going to overload the powerstation and electrify the monorail! That will be great fun!" And off he sped.

GM Sometime later... It was cold, it was dark, and it was snowing. Even the stars were intermittently under cover. All that was ahead, behind, to left and right, was snow and more snow. Undulations were featureless. It was easy to get disorientated. Predator was fast, agile, able to run through the snow with ease. But that didn't help much when she didn't know where she was running. The journey required more than a couple of frustrating double backs and adjustments. All the while, snow fell and cold air swept through the Predator armour, stripping heat away. Even with fur, Predator was feeling cold by the time she reached the last known location of Doctor North. ASS-40-LE Alaskan Science Station 40, Long Exploration It was a rather remote station. One main science complex, a few outhouses for power, storage, residence, and recreation. A few snowmobiles and customised 4x4 outside. The lights were on, but was anyone home?

Adrenaline is a hella’va thing.

Cold but not hurt!

Survival check: 11 Nope. Only one HP left so I’ll hold on to it in case of an emergency. So Fort save: 19

ok as per discord chat: Predator is pretty fast and agile so can make good ground to Dr Norths last location. However it is cold, dark, snowing and she doesnt have direction sense. Do first off DC 15 Survival roll to get there in good time. If she doesnt do that, then she will have to make a cold environment Fort Save, DC 10

Gamma Buzz "Yeah but Lawrence cheats. He cheats by putting in a lot of hard work and effort and training all the time. What a cheat, huh?" said Baz, wriggiling his fingers in anticipation. "Don't look at me, I don't know anything about tactics. I still ain't worked out what a Slowball Slam is, and I made it up a year ago," he added, with a noncholant slug. "Lawrence does all the thinking, I do all the looking like a cool insect!" His antennae glistened with radioactive luminscence. "Whatever your weakness are, I'll cover him. You can count on the cockroach kid!"

so Bloody Mess will Free action: Activate Nauseate Arrat (Blood blisters) Move Action: Feint against the creature who tried to attack him (using his benefit) Getting 13 which I doubt will work, but you never know And then a straight old uppercut punch: Getting 19 which may hit I suppose - if it does, Fort 21 Nauseate effect and Dam 25 Tough effect

Bloody Mess The Mess could smell blood. Not as a euphamism. He could literally smell blood. The caps! the caps the goblin-things wore. Blood! HUMAN BLOOD! That nailed it. These creatures were scum. Villainous scum. There wasn't any good reason to paint your cap with human blood. "You crooks gonna get a good taste of lefty and righty," said the Mess, shaking his fists in turned. "I seen some screwed up things, but paintin' ya caps with blood? Dat's just wrong, ya bozos!" With that, he ducked under the villain who had attacked him. "Gotta improve dat swing, bozo! Ya telegraphed dat from a mile off! Let me show ya how its done!" With that, and his skin errupting in blood filled boils, he propelled himself up straight and unleashed a mighty uppeercut!

Echohead is going to search the clothes for CLUES! Getting a 15

Echohead "Sp-split up?" said Echohead, his voice high pitched. "Well, ah, if you think its best?" "You look like you can handle the computers. Your brain is so bright it hurts my eyes..." This was true. Echohead couldn't recall seeing a brain so effervescent with intellect. At least on a human. "...I'll check the clothes. At least I know a little bit about clothes..." he smiled, thin lips, weak smile. He ran his fingers down the lapels of his cool black suit. Yes, it was stylish, or so he thought. And he reminded himself it was bullet proof and fire proof and hopefully a lot of other things proof to. Impervium weave had its uses. He gave a salute, trembling fingers touching sweaty brow, and then started off up the stairs. At least he wasn't in too bad shape...

Predator Predator silently regarded the unconscious man as the airstrip's tower came into sight. She didn’t want to think of the implications. As he’d said, the flight had been classified. But somewhere along the chain of communication there was a leak. Potentially more than one. She met the paramedics, letting them take the captain and giving them the coordinates for the downed plane and the pilots. Wordlessly, Predator stepped back and slipped away from the scene. She couldn’t risk contact with local units, they knew who she was but she couldn’t know if they were compromised. Though, if she had to venture a guess, she would give it a high likelihood. She would have to rely on the last known position Dr North had been as a starting point. And so, she ran. The suit letting her move faster than humanly possible. She did her best to avoid using the thrusters unnecessarily for the time. As she ran, she began rerunning events and evidence through her head. There had to be something she was overlooking.

Captain Cosmos in Cosmos Man In another dimension, in another world, Buddy Brand was – once again – a reporter. In a simpler age, a golden age. When good guys were good, bad guys were bad, and the future gleamed with possibilities. Like every Buddy Brand, in every dimension, this Buddy Brand gave a miniscule fraction of his life force to the Buddy Brand that was Captain Cosmos. So small that it was without salience, like a drop in the proverbial ocean. But a connection, all the same. Maybe it was that fraction, that atom of connection, that made mild mannered reporter Buddy Brand want to do something more. He had seen too much foul play in his career, too many crooks and swindlers. Too many mad scientists and mad science. It was enough to drive a man to don a silver spandex costume, red cape and mask, and seek justice. Armed with one of those mad science experiments from a good guy scientist (too old, too frail to don the cape himself). Professor Kosmo had created the incredible dimensionizer gun. It looked sleek. A gold and glass pistol with a wide barrel, two flashing red lights, and a magnificent yellow fin. A weapon straight out of the cheap and wonderful sci-fi serials and films that Buddy still enjoyed. Silly, yes, but fun. Escapism, hope, heroics. They inspired Buddy to put on his splendid costume, charge up the dimensionizer, and take up the mantle of Cosmos Man! OK. Maybe he felt a little silly in his costume. Maybe he was sweating more than a hero should do, trembling more than a soldier should. But this was a calling, and one he was resolved to heed. Cosmos man could do the work no other could! That’s what he told himself. As Buddy Brand, investigative reporter, he knew darn well that Hammerhead Jones was a no good mobster, blackmailing the police and the law, twisting the knife of corruption into the otherwise good soul of Freedom City. Its just that nobody could prove it – or if they could, they didn’t dare too. Hammerhead Jones would soon send some ruffians round to your door and play the piano on your ribcage with a couple of baseball bats. Hell, sometimes Hammerhead Jones did it all by himself, just to “keep his hand in”, or maybe just because the thug liked to. No place for Hammerhead Jones in this city, not whilst Buddy Brand could act – as COSMOS MAN! Hammerhead Jones base of operation was a no-good den of sleaze in the worst part of town. Suited Cosmos-Man, at least for now. The lights were busted, it was dark, and he could slip to the back of the den with ease. What next? At the back was just junk, flotsam, stench. And a brick wall. But no matter! Cosmos Man adjusted one of the five small dials on the dimensionizer. With a zim of power, the dimensionizer shone a blue-green light on the brick wall. Phasing into… ANOTHER DIMENSION! Which meant it was about as solid as one breath on a winters day. Cosmos Man quickly stepped through the wall, and turned off the dimensionizer, allowing the brick wall to resolidify. “Neat-o!” he muttered with a smile. Swing music played from a radio-an infectious rhythm and tune that almost got Cosmos man tapping his spandex feet. But no, he was not here to dance. At least not that kind oof dance. There was work to do! As quietly as he could, grateful for the background noise, Cosmos Man crept through the den of evil. There, in the lounge, four of Jones’ goons, lounging about drinking whiskey and smoking cigars. The smoke filled the room, giving the air a sickly sweet taste that Cosmos Man thought most suspicious. Apart from all the murder, extortion, theft and violence, it seemed that Hammerhead Jones and his motley crew were, even worse, junkies as well! The lounge was cramped. Battered leather furniture, a wireless, bottles of whiskey. It was not a well kempt room, either. Cosmos Man spotted more than one cockroach climbing up the walls. He turned his lips to sour disgust – typical junkies! “Halt Evil-Doers!” he yelled, making all four men jump up in alarm, spill their whiskey, spit out their suspicious cigars. “Who are you? Why are you dressed like that?” asked one. “We ain’t going to be halting for you, crazy man!” said another. “It was not a request!” said Cosmos Man, smiling. “It was a statement!” He fired another spectacular beam from the Dimensionizer, and all four men were frozen in place, including four faces with unbelieving shock painted on them! So far, thought Cosmos Man, this heroic jaunt was going very well. An excellent debut. But heroes should not rest, at least not easy. And hubris was the downfall of Cosmos Man. A baseball bat, swung hard, connected with the tip of the dimensioner, wrenching it out of the Grip of Cosmos Man. It was made of sturdy stuff, what with its drawn reciprocating dingle arm and semi-boloid laminar plates, and it would no doubt be serviceable still. But in whose hands? What if… and here your blood might run cold… what if it was in the hands of Hammerhead Jones. For it was he who swung the bat. He who grinned a toothy grin, absent more than one tooth. He, with broken nose and cauliflower ear, who stood before Cosmos Man, tapping the palm of one hand with his bat. And what did Captain Cosmos have? Bereft of his amazing weapon, all he had was sweat, fear, and a spandex costume. And, of course, a plucky attitude. Fear? Pffft! This was an age for heroes, and heroes didn’t succumb to fear. That was for commies and crooks. Besides, armed with a plucky attitude, Cosmos Man could use the most amazing super power of all. Smarts! Everyone knew that crooks weren’t smart – Crime didn’t pay, after all, so you had to be pretty stupid to be a crook. Hammerhead Jones sneered. “What you got without that gizmo of yours, buster?” “You mean the Dimensionizer?” replied Cosmos Man, keeping his cool despite the heat. “You shouldn’t have hit it so hard! The feedback of the variable lotus configurations will cause irretractable parabolic feedback. Your atoms will be reduced to subatomic particles! Look!” It was a bold bluff of babble, but Hammerhead Jones didn’t know any better. He looked down to were the dimensionizer lay, on the floor, clearly doing nothing at all. He didn’t have a chance to look up. WHAM! A solid suckerpunch from Cosmos Man, right to the jaw, sent Hammerhead Jones flying across the room, out cold. “Never forget!” said Cosmos Man to whoever might be listening. “Evil is no match for Good. Especially with science and a solid uppercut to back it up!”

Predator Cynthia was already loading the building’s schematics, a path to the indicated room drawing along it in a bright blue line. She regarded Echohead. “It should be safe to split up in here, briefly. Do you want to check the computer or the clothes? We can meet back up here afterwards and check the morgue together.”

Bloody Mess In Silver Age Mess It was cold, icy, but the sun shone bright. Captain Blood bounded across the frozen landscape, wearing his star spangled spandex costume. No red for this hero! This was a true patriot, fighting for truth, justice, and freedom. As mighty pumped up legs propelled him into the sky, his cape, adorned with truly patriotic stars and stripes, followed behind him. Captain Blood had a mission! And he wasn’t going to make a mess of it. Freddie Furlong had been picked up by the US military for brawling. A crook, it seemed, but a patriotic crook. And a valuable patriotic crook at that – a mutant, born from the atomic era. As strong as a dozen oxen, and able to manipulate blood. In this dark time of democracy vs communism, of freedom vs autocracy, of west vs east, Freddy Furlong was recruited. Now, it so happened that Freddie Furlong had some eastern European ancestry. That, of course, simply would not do. Agents were immediately put on the case do manipulate the data. His father suddenly became an Irish Immigrant, not an Eastern European one. New passports, papers, and a hefty sum of money to relocate with his wife, as long as they maintained an Irish backstory. Unfortunately, Mr Frederick Furlong was not the brightest spark in the book. He was, to put it bluntly (as the CIA report did), a grunt. Captain Blood was never going to be a subtle, nuanced superhero. He was going to be the sledgehammer. At least, the intelligence officers agreed, his low intelligence would allow a certain degree of leverage. In other words, his lack of perception meant he was most suitable for dirty work where a degree of tunnel vision was not only advisable, but necessary. So here he was, in Siberia, bouncing across the frozen landscape, fresh out of a week long trip in a stealth sub, ready to pound the crap out of Soviet missile silo. The specifics of the technology was far beyond that of even an average man’s, much less Captain Bloods. Something about quantum. And nano. Nanoquantum, maybe. It sounded cool. Cool and dangerous. The silo was in the middle of an icy plain under a white camouflage net. If not for the advanced laminar directants of the turbo encabulator spy satellite orbiting far above, it would have been missed. But clearly, in this day and age, the forces of freedom, liberty and capitalism always prevailed over the stodgy, autocratic forces of evil. Evil communism, that is. Which, it must be pointed out, is evil and furthermore, evil it what it was. This is clear and must be repeated constantly in this day and age. Who knew where undemocratic soviet sympathisers might bloom? The silo had turrets with thick, brutal machine guns. Designed in typical Soviet style – to pump out as many large bullets in as short space of time as possible. But it could only spit a half dozen large callibre shots before the pumped up figure of Blood Mess landed, skidded, and collided with the Silo, sending juddering tremors aroud the silo that cracked ice and unsettled snow. In but a moment, the two hammer like fists of Blood Mess were on the turret, and bent the barrel into a bow. No more bullets today. Taking a deep breath, the Mess pulled back one of his swollen fists and punched out the trapdoor, sending it flying to the bottom of the silo, singing as it clanged against the walls. With a grunt of satisfaction, he jumped down to the bottom of the base. There were, of course, soldiers. But the Mess had given them only seconds to react, and a few peashooter side arms were no match for a fully powered Bloody Mess, who thundered his way through the silo, smacking soldiers aside like ragdolls. But of course, the Soviets, whilst fully reprehensible and inferior to the power of the West, were not completely stupid [Editor-please check with McCarthy re: this], for they had brought one of their Super Soviet Soldiers to guard the Silo. Soviet Man! Dressed in shiny red spandex, complete with flared black boots and flared black gloves. His ches adorned with the hammer and sickle in resplendent gold. His hair dark and short, his eyes grey and sparkling. Soviet Man was every inch a hero, and had twice the intellect of Bloody Mess, making him entirely average in that department. “Halt, Capatalist scum!” he yelled, hands on hips, chest puffed out, full of righteous soviet confidence. Bloody Mess had brawled a hundred street fights in Freedom City before he even realised he was a mutant. He may not have been sharp in the head, but he had experience. And he didn’t fight fair, nor clean. And besides, he was just as patriotic as Soviet Man. Bloody Mess didn’t waste breath with words, nor time with poses. He just charged, like a supercharged bull, straight into Soviet Man. The result was a mixed bag: Soviet Man knew his judo, his sambo, and dragged the Mess to the floor, but he was caught by the sheer speed and ferocity of the mess. This was no elegant martial art throw, but more a equivocal scramble to the concrete floor. And the Mess came out on top. Righty, his right fist, was raised like a hammer read to fall. Soviet Man threw his own hooks that smacked into Bloody Mess’s jaw – one, two, each one jarring the jaw, grinding the teeth. But the Mess had taken a lot worse. He spat out specks of blood into Soviet Man’s eyes (alas, whilst his super suit was shiny and red, it had neglected super goggles). Dirty, effective fighting that made Soviet Man squint and rub his eyes. And made him wide open for a solitary sledgehammer punch with every ounce of power the Bloody Mess could muster. A pulsating arm holding aloft Righty came right down onto Soviet Man’s nose with an almighty wallop and crunching of cartilage. “Fbghmmmm” said the mangled mouth of Soviet Man, as his eyes rolled upwards. “Fbghmmmm ilthy capatilist… ghmmm glorious communism….” A brain soaked in communist propaganda and then crunched by a superhero (capitalist) fist could only resort to such vapid, reflexive statements, before unconsciousness set in. Standing up, breathing heavily, chewing on bloodied gum, the Mess slammed righty into the palm of lefty. “That’s the sweet taste of Freedom, folks!” he said. “Ain’t nuthin’ going to crush da human spirit!” And with his (rather short) dialogue finished, Bloody Mess set about demonstrating the humanity of capitalism by violently smashing the base and its soldiers to smithereens.

GM With the heroes rebuttals the Redcap wasted no time in his response, sneering "Our prince comes to these lands, our time is at hand!" at Blackstaff in response to his comment before casting a flint arrowhead at the mage. The Elfshot flickered in and out of visibility to those without magical senses, but with a flare of the wizard's shield bracelet it bounced away, skittering to the ground. At the same time, the first Redcap appeared from thin air with two additional cohorts. Each attacked one of the supers to varying effect: The one after Anarchilles apparently aimed as if he were attacking a normal sized human and instead struck air to no effect, while the one that attacked Bloody Mess found that the hero's boxing training assisted against pikes as much as fists, and the one who once more struck at Steel Shade drove his spear into the man's thigh. Having committed their violence the quartet of Goblins vanished into smoke once more. The woman in the magician's outfit looked slightly shaken as the rapid assault, air hissing through her teeth as the team's leader was stabbed repeatedly. Almost too fast to see she pulled a card from her sleeve, swinging it at the nearest goblin. With a small surge of light it morphed into an anvil, her hand clutching it's horn as it slammed into the little green creature. Before it left her grasp it turned back into a card, which she tucked away again. "What's the plan Shadey? My bucket list doesn't include being a pincushion."

All right, we're entering Initiative. From the Steam Monster, we will be using a modified version of my Particle Man build at PL13. We've also got two hostages effectively Grappled by it who are taking Damage each turn due to being in the midst of steam heat. So they're going to need help. Nick goes on 10. Steam Monster goes on 4.

"I think that's the general motif," Nick said. "But it's more of an art gallery. Postapocalyptic carnival chic." The second the words left Nick's mouth, he regretted them. It made it sound like an encroaching artifice, the kind of terminal hipsterism he was always afraid he was going to swandive into. The proprietors seemed earnest enough in their actual vision, and were definitely earnest enough to actually try to make a life in Bombay Beach, rather than make it an eternal three-day weekend. But it seemed to portend what might come to the place, make it another hipster magnet like so many desert climes in Southern California. Then again, if it could pull the city out of decay without turning into dust-colored cotton candy... But this wasn't the time for meditation. All this came in a blur of thought as Nick was distracted by the rising steam, the fruits of Sea Devil's efforts to control the blaze. But as she did, that keening in her head rose... and Nick and Artificer could feel the waves, the roiling of deep surf meeting an underwater caldera... Sea Devil felt a rude shock as the water was wrested from her grip. The steam and the wet formed a dance, surging into the house... and erupting through the roof, like a geyser. The steam emerged in tendrils, like the dances she had seen in grand liturgy around the mouths of glowing magma tubes, festivals of devotion to the blood and will of Mother Hydra. Like her brethren, she watched as two dancers emerged from the roof, wrapped in the tendrils of thick steam, reenacting this dance. But the flesh of the dancers beneath never filled the air with the sickly scent of parboiling flesh... The steam grew thicker, taking on a weight thinner than fog but thick enough to grasp. Faces roiled in the mists, a tide of piscine eyes and sharp teeth. A single voice emerged from many mouths, singing the same chant in Lemurian. "Crack the stone... call the sea... sweep me back..."

Timeout As the momentum continued to shift in their direction, Lawrence’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Neko’s announcement of having once followed Crimson Katana. Of course, the Japanese girl did not clarify which Crimson Katana that might have been, although none that the blond teen was aware of had any positive histories. Of course, Neko would hardly be the first student at Claremont to start under the influence of a villain, so he pushed the knowledge back in his mind as he stayed focused on the threat they were facing. Of course, that quickly continued to dwindle, with Lawrence having a small grin as Iris and Daniel managed to drastically reduce the number of drones they were facing. And then the fight was truly over, as the individual operating the drones from some command center indicated her intention to withdraw and shut off the remaining drones near them. He tensed slightly at the appearance of two Tyrannosaurus Rex, with strange collars around them. But thankfully those collars disengaged, and the large predators seemed uninterested in Neko’s illusions. Looking around at the others, Lawrence released another small pulse of temporal energy, this time it gently washed over his friends and their guide, avoiding the two men that were not their prisoners, healing the minor injuries suffered by Kazra and Daniel.

"My my..." Michael mumbled, looking around the Doom Room with a curious expression. "You know I don't often get to practice in here...it'll be fun, I think. Lawrence's been using this place a lot lately." It felt nice to be in his costume though, the red and white and gold and his swishy cape. "This is cool though...three different groups of enemies. I mean we could split up, or we could go from one to the other...either could be fun." He paused and waves at Daniel. "Hi Daniel! Hi Iris! Thanks for giving us a hand with this!" he yelled back, turning to Veuriz and Baz with a grin. "Ah, we're gonna have some fun today, aren't we? This is a new group team up right? Never been just the three of us." He offered a little lopsided grin. "Let's impress and get some nice marks, huh? I'll be relying on you two to cover all my weaknesses."

You'll be fiiiiine