MisterShoebox

Phantasmo shook his head. "Oh, indeed, ducky! It brings to mind a change in careers, doesn't it?" He asked, not at all sarcastic. The zombie bent down and examined some of the electronic merchandise, picking up a heavy-looking peice of scrap metal as it were made of tin foil. "Now...hmm, what do you make of this?" He asked his two companions. "Or you, old chap - sorry, didn't get your name?" He asked The Thug Who Was Being Helpful.

Phantasmo the Unliving: Late Night Out The Kriegsmarine's Plan Z

Phantasmo nodded to Echo, then approached the unshaven meat-head. "Now, now," the zombie stated, still doing his "Voice of the Legion" thing. "I'm sure he's going to be very co-operative, aren't you, Ducky?" He patted the man on the cheek, smiling - more so - at the man's flinch. The zombie's hands were gloved, but it still probably felt unsettling. "I mean...unless you want me to do what I did LAST time to someone who wasn't co-operative." Phantasmo added, letting his eyes glow a bit more. He turned to Echo and did his version of a wink - one eye light flickered - hoping she'd follow his lead. "That was...a hassle. And you don't want to be a hassle, do you, Ducky? This is the part where you say - 'No, Sir, Mr. Phantasmo and Company, I want to spill my guts and be a good chap!'" He stood there, arms folded, waiting for the man to respond.

Hmm...okay, now what? Interrogate him? Put the Fear of God into him? Knock him out for the Po-Po?

Phantasmo was NOTHING if not a showman, but he knew that - while he himself considered bullets a minor nuisance at best - his two young allies weren't as bulletproof as he was. Time to disarm one of these fools before he hurt someone. Didn't mean he couldn't have a little bit of fun, though. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly glowing a bit...eerily. "THE CURTAIN RISES AS THE PERFORMER TAKES THE STAGE! ALL THE WAY FROM THE GRAVE, I HAVE COME! EEEEEEYYYAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" The zombie vanished in a cloud of red smoke to appear in front of a no-doubt startled henchman. "NOW YOU SEE IT - " He took the pistol from the man's grip easily enough - zombie muscles did have their benefits, you know - "NOW YOU DON'T! LET'S GIVE HIM A HAND, FOLKS! EEEEYYYYAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHAAA!" He sent the man to night-night ville with a well-placed (but gentle, don't want to kill the man) bonk on the head with the man's confiscated weapon before removing the clip and tossing it away. "All right, Duckies?" he asked his companions. "Got a handle on your lads?"

Hmmm....All right, for movement, I'm going to port up to the man shooting at me and use sleight-of-hand to try to take away his gun before he hurts someone. Maybe bonk him on the head with it. 1d20+11=27!

Here we go! 1d20+3=4

Sorrysorrysorry! I wasn't getting notifications! Okay, here goes for Inits - 1d20+3=14

Phantasmo sighed and conjured up a pair of over-large, razor-sharp playing cards in each hand. "Right..." he murmured, twirling them around and taking aim at the zombie advancing on the teenager. He flicked it expertly in the direction of the undead sod attacking yon teenager. He tossed another one at another zombie going for the police car, then vanished in a cloud of red smoke, appearing next to Facsimile. "Hello, duckie! Haven't seen you before!" he greeted, throwing cards as quickly as he could conjure them. "Phantasmo the Unliving, at your service! Lovely day for it, isn't it?" he grinned, indicating the zombies with a wave of his hand. "I mean - Nazi Zombies, son! Who ever thought we'd enjoy an outing like this?! Tell you what, Duckie - It's times like this that really make you enjoy being alive!...Well, so to speak, in my case!" He threw another card at a zombie. "OH NO YOU DON'T, YOU UTTER SH*T! YOU'RE GIVING THE UNDEAD A BAD NAME, DUCKIE! BAD FORM! EEEEEYYYYAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!" he shouted at it, finishing up with his signature laugh.

Phantasmo smirked a bit - well, gave the implication that he was smirking. "Oh, no, duckie - I am indeed quite dead. More than a little, considering I've been this way since...hmmm...this will make it twenty-three years now." he said frankly to Gretchen. "Heart attack - cigars, brandy, and a deal with a grinning man with a cane when you're young and stupid will do that to you. Well. THAT part may lead to you being brought back - anyway, Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING...at your service, duckie!" He gave a smart bow, then snapped his fingers. A coin appeared in his right hand, which he began rotating expertly around his fingers as they talked. "Too right, young-heroine-my-girl - there may indeed be foul deeds afoot. And I saw you - oh, ta, miss - " He tipped his top hat to the newly arrived Shrike, doing a slight double take at her helmet. - "Phantasmo the Unliving, at your service - Anyhoo, I saw you - " Back to Echo - "I saw you investigating this place, and I was bored out of my skull, so I thought to myself, I thought - 'Phantasmo, old boy, this will be very f**** interesting indeed!'" "Right!" He clapped his gloved hands together, the coin disappearing as he did so. "No point in lollygagging about, is there? Which d'you want to do first, duckies? The Van, or the warehouse?" He asked, looking between the two heroines.

Sorrysorrysorry! Yesh, I will modify my post post-haste

Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING...was walking along the streets of Greenbank in his "Civvies", as he called them - ragged blue jeans, sneakers, a hoodie pulled up, like any other non-descript homeless individual. But this particular zombified individual was bored out of his skull, wanting desperately to break the monotony besides the bottle of (admittedly delicious) beer he had in his hand. Brewhause was a good brew, if a bit cheap and "Hoppsy" for his taste. Still, when the man he had helped a few minutes ago offered it to him, well - it would have been rude to say no, and separating a pair of winos that were having a punch-up was thirsty work - even if he didn't technically need to drink anymore. He took a deep pull, wondering if anything ELSE was going to happen or if he should just scupper the whole thing and go home, possibly see what was on telly, see if a couple of the lads wanted to be around for a game of gin rummy...when something caught his glowing yellow eye. Well, eye socket. "Hmmm..." he said eloquently. A pair of colorfully clad individuals that seemed to focus on the warehouse that was possibly being burgled by banditous bastards? ...Should be fun! Phantasmo finished his beer and dropped it into a nearby recycling container (Always do your part, duckies!) before shedding his street gear. The jeans, shoes, and shirt were gone in an instant to be replaced by the smart tuxedo, spats, and domino mask that he wore when "On the Job". Phantasmo 'ported to the building that Echo was entering, leaving a cloud of red smoke in his wake. He loved doing that - it felt...kind of like a full-body sneeze, but in a sort of relaxing way. Only way to travel, really. The zombie silently walked forward until he was stepping in time next to the young superheroine. "So what's going on, duckie?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence and hopefully not startling the young woman. He remembered doing that once with this Z-list villain named "Cardboard..." Poor chap nearly had a heart attack. Still, all he really needed was a good talking to and a cup of hot soup, so at least it was handled easily.

Okey doke

Phantasmo is a street-level hero! I mean, he hangs out with homeless dudes - you can't get more street than that. Mind you, it depends on how Gretchen feels about flamboyant, hammy, magical zombies. Still, he's always willing and ready to meet new friends in the superhero crowd. If that's okay.

Phantasmo nodded pleasantly at the young heroine's written words. "Need an evac, duckie? I can manage that. Hold on a tic." He suddenly vanished in a puff of red smoke and reappeared in front of the majority of the crowd. The zombie cleared his throat and opened his mouth. "MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE! THERE IS A LARGE GROUP OF UNDEAD FASCIST LADS COMING TO CAUSE MAYHEM, MURDER, AND GENERALLY UNPLEASANT THINGS TO ANYONE IN THIS IMMEDIATE AREA! ANYONE WHO IS NOT TRAINED TO HANDLE THIS TYPE OF SITUATION PLEASE, AND I MEAN THIS POLITELY, SOD OFF IN AN ORDERLY FASHION AS YOUR RESIDENT SECURITY OFFICER, CHAPERON, OR WHOEVER DICTATES!" The zombie's voice had changed: It was no longer the cultured-but-at-the-same-time-kind-of-"Old-School-Lad", pleasant sounding rasp it had been when talking to the deaf superheroine. Instead, it was loud, as if he were mic'd on stage. The added sort of "Echoey" effect really helped in disguising it and adding urgency to his words, or so he hoped.

Character Sheet Template Player Name: Mister Shoebox Character Name: Vertigo Power Level: 10 Trade-Offs:None Unspent Power Points: 0 Progress To Bronze Status: 0/30 In Brief: Parkour Power! It’s a gas! Residence: (Optional) West Freedom Base of Operations: West Freedom Catchphrase: (Optional) Example: "Its Clobberin' Time", "By the Power Cosmic!", "Hulk Smash!" etc. Alternate Identity:Timothy L. Jackson III Identity:Secret Birthplace: Freedom City Occupation: Special Education Teacher, 4th grade Affiliations: The “Usual longjohns types.” Family: Mother, Father, younger brother (Joseph) Description: Age: 27 (DoB: 1989) Apparent Age: 27 Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Height: 5’9 Weight:165 Eyes: Silver Hair: Grey He’d honestly look like a normal, somewhat lanky and short guy if he weren’t constantly wearing dark glasses to hide his eyes in his civilian form. Likes to wear casual, powder-blue button-up shirts and jeans even when teaching. His costume isn’t what you’d call “Flashy.” Because his physical abilities require a LOT of movement, he chooses to wear a gray, rather non-descript outfit with taped-down sleeves and a thin bulletproof vest as body armor. Black leather gloves and boots, a holster for his VertiGas gun, and a simple half-face gas mask +Dark goggles complete his ensemble. Ties his white hair down when going out. A built-in synthesizer in his mask further disguises his voice. Power Descriptions: He uses his enhanced agility, night vision, and vertigas gun to mop up baddies by the boatload. The gas gun is a jury-rigged Crosman 3357 Paintball pistol that fires plastic, hollow balls filled with a viscous purple chemical he developed that becomes gasous on exposure to air. The balls are designed to shatter on contact, exposing whoever is blasted with the gas, which disables the equilibrium of whoever is unfortunate enough to breathe it in, causing feelings of intense vertigo and nausea. It wears off after about twenty-to-thirty minutes. History: Tim always had things easy in life, to his own chagrin. The oldest heir to a modest but successful chemical firm, he was usually living it up in luxury, but was bored out of his skull at the same time. Wanting a little more “Excitement” in his life (and wanting to get out of the loving-but-oppressive heel of his overbearing mother and father,) Tim moved from the hustle-and-bustle of North Freedom to a modest apartment in West Freedom the day he turned 18 and enrolled in Hudger’s College, where he pursued a career in Education due to slight feeling of guilt over not having had to really work for anything in his life. To make ends meet and pay for his education (He wasn’t cut off from his family’s wealth, but he chose not to use it unless absolutely necessary), Tim got a job as a security guard for a warehouse that was supposed to be used for storing old machine parts, but in actuality was a front company for the Geluci Crime Family’s gun-running operation. On a late shift one night, Tim came across a deal in progress. The “businessmen” reacted the way you’d expect such individuals to react - they attempted to make it “look-like an accident” by forcing our unfortunate hero to imbibe a lethal dose of the drug “Sky,” a new stimulant being pushed by one of their “associates” and leaving him to die in a heap; Make it look like an OD! Brilliant! Except...that’s not what happened. He doesn’t know exactly how or why, but the Sky did not, in fact, kill him. Instead, it triggered a...unique reaction to our hero. Bleaching his hair white, turning his eyes silver, and making even the lights of the warehouse agonizingly painful were the most obvious signs, but what was NOT obvious until Tim tried to leap behind a box in panic and wound up jumping ten feet was that it had greatly increased his agility, reaction time, balance, reflexes...and intellect. Naturally, Tim did what most others do in this situation - decided to go after the guys who did this to him personally, and take out every single jerk along the way. Using a home-made gray outfit, a bullet-proof vest he acquired from a military surplus store, and a paintball gun he modified, Tim uses his abilities, weapons, and intellect to combat crime as...VERTIGO. Personality & Motivation: Vertigo and Tim are almost like night and day. Tim is a calm, mild, kind-hearted individual who doesn’t usually raise his voice. Leaper...is loud, sarcastic, arrogant, and - while not confrontational - is very quick to point out when he thinks someone is screwing up. Usually with a “Well Done, ace.” Or a “Wow. That’s the most epic case of screwing up I have ever seen. Give yourself a round of applause,” ETC. He’s not cruel, though, and will lay off if he is called out on it. As for WHY Leaper goes crime-fighting, it’s...honestly because it’s a way for him to use his powers constructively, to get rid of his still-present guilt complex, and his need to get even with the “Ornery jackassasses who decided to screw with me. Jerks.” Powers & Tactics: Vertigo is blessed with both enhanced agility, balance, and reflexes as well as the ability to see in the dark. He also use his signature weapon, the Vertigas Gun, and a pair of light-weight, reinforced tonfas to further aid him in his war on crime. Complications: Name: Description Identity: Secret Abilities: 8 + 14 + 8 + 10 + 4 + 2 = 46PP Strength: 18 (+4) Dexterity: 24 (+7) Constitution: 18(+4) Intelligence: 20 (+5) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 12 (+1) Combat: 0 + 0 = 0PP Initiative: +7 Attack: +0 Melee, +0 Ranged Grapple: +10 Defense: +0 (+10 Base, +0 Dodge Focus), +15 Flat-Footed Knockback: -0 Saving Throws: 0 + 0 + 0 = 0PP Toughness: +4 (+0 Con, +0 [Other]) Fortitude: +7 (+0 Con, +0) Reflex: +10 (+0 Dex, +0) Will: +4 (+0 Wis, +0) Skills: 89R = 23PP Acrobatics 10 (+7) Concentration 5 (+2) Craft (Chemical) 5 (+5) Disguise 4 (+1) Drive 6 (+7) Intimidate 5 (+1) Investigate 10 (+7) Knowledge - Tactics 2 (+5) Popular Culture 2 (+5), Technology 8 (+5) Medicine 6 (+2) Feats: 0PP [Feat Name] [Feat Name] [Feat Name] Examples: Accurate Attack Dodge Focus 2 Equipment 2 (10EP) Luck 2 Equipment: XPP = 5*XEP Name (power breakdown, if applicable) [XEP] Examples: Gas Mask [1EP] Sword (Damage 3 [Feats: Improved Critical, Mighty]) [5EP] Undercover Vest (Protection 3 [Feats: Subtle]) [4EP] Note: The Equipment block is only applicable if your character has the Equipment feat! Powers: 0 + 0 + 0 = 0PP Power Name Rank (Descriptive Name; Extras: ???, ???, Flaws: ???, ???, Feats: ???, ???, Drawbacks: ???, ???) [XPP] (descriptors) Array Name Rank (Descriptive Name; Extras: ???, ???, Flaws: ???, ???, Feats: ???, ???, Drawbacks: ???, ???) [XPP] (descriptors) Base Power: Power Name (Descriptive Name; Extras: ???, ???; Flaws: ???, ???; Feats: ???, ???; Drawbacks: ???, ???) {power cost/array cost} (descriptors) Alternate Power: Power Name (Descriptive Name; Extras: ???, ???; Flaws: ???, ???; Feats: ???, ???; Drawbacks: ???, ???) {power cost/array cost} (descriptors) Device Rank (Descriptive Name; 5*RankPP Container; Extras: ???; Flaws: Easy/Hard-To-Lose, ???; Feats: ???; Drawbacks: ???) [XPP] (descriptors) Power Name Rank (Descriptive Name; Extras: ???, ???, Flaws: ???, ???, Feats: ???, ???, Drawbacks: ???, ???) [XPP] (descriptors) Examples: Electrical Control 10 (20PP Array; Feats: Alternate Power 2) [22PP] (electricity, genetic) Base Power: Blast 10 (Chain Lighting; Extras: Autofire; Flaws: Action [Full]; Feats: Accurate; Drawbacks: Full Power) {20/20} Alternate Power: Blast 10 (Ball Lightning; Extras: Area [50-ft. Burst, General]; Flaws: Distracting) {20/20} Alternate Power: Stun 6 (Taser Blast; Extras: Range [Ranged]) {18/20} Device 2 (Mighty Shield; 10PP Container; Flaws: Hard-To-Lose; Feats: Indestructible) [9PP] Damage 3 (Feats: Improved Critical, Mighty, Thrown) [6PP] Force Field 2 [2PP] Shield 2 [2PP] Note: If all Powers have the same Descriptor (all Mutant, all Tech, etc.), you can just write that directly under the Powers header. Drawbacks: (-0) + (-0) = -0PP Drawback (Description; Frequency: [Uncommon, Common, or Very Common]; Intensity: [Minor, Moderate, or Major]) [-XPP] Example: Vulnerability (Fire; Frequency: Common; Intensity: Major [x2]) [-4PP] Note: You can only have a number of Drawbacks equal to your PL, not including Power drawbacks. Also, Power Drawbacks, such as Full Power or Power Loss, should be listed on the Power, not here. DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch DC 15 Toughness Damage (Physical) Chain Lightning Ranged DC 25 Toughness (Autofire) Damage (Energy) Taser Blast Ranged DC 16 Fortitude Stun (Staged) Totals: Abilities (0) + Combat (0) + Saving Throws (0) + Skills (0) + Feats (0) + Powers (0) - Drawbacks (0) = 105/105 (or 150/150) Power Points

Phantasmo "Ahhed" when he spotted Naomi and in a puff of red smoke, teleported to her side. He ran, or rather loped, along side her, nodding at her as he did so. "Fair morning, duckie! Quite an odd group of tourists around here, wouldn't you say?" He was donning his hat, cape, and mask as he ran, the garments appearing on his face like...well, like magic. The old, moth-eaten hoodie he had worn to cover his smart tuxedo vanished, as did the beat-up old sneakers and jeans, to be replaced instantly by the rest of the hammy revenant's costume. "Right! I got a look at our Clangy Clods, miss, and did you know that they are Nazis?" He spread his hands in surprise. "Nazis! Zombie Nazis! Uncouth bastards, right enough. Still, better than Seagulls. Feathery little shits have been taking bits out of me all morning!" "Ooh, sorry - " He looked a little abashed. "Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING! At your service." He tipped his top hat to Naomi. "Basher of baddies, doer of good deeds, and protector of the unfortunate."

Phantasmo sighed. "Bollocks." he groused as he conjured up a large, razor-sharp playing card in anticipation of what was surely about to go down. The magical zombie 'ported in a puff of red smoke closer to the pier so he could get a better look at what was going on, and to see if there were any other super-types already on the scene. He was sure there were at least a few in the crowd...it was that kind of city. Not that he was complaining, he loved every second of it. "I really wanted to RELAX today, duckie!" he shouted in general at the Clang. He was sure it couldn't respond, but he still wanted his displeasure known on the matter. Still, the important thing was making sure that no civilians were in danger, so the zombie looked around for any official looking chap he could ask to co-ordinate an evacuation if things got pear-shaped...which they were probably going to do, as Mysterious Clanging Noises rarely meant a good thing was about to happen in the good city of Freedom.

I deserve this little break, Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING! Thought to himself as he leaned casually against a railing. He was ignoring the odd looks everyone gave him, but it was kind of hard to ignore the seagulls that kept trying to make off with various bits. He wasn't exactly sure what brought him here - maybe it had something to do with honoring his father's legacy as a soldier during the Second World War - but he was starting to regret it. Still, it was a nice day, and the breeze felt nice, and he had his lunch. So not a total loss. "F*** off!" he snarled at a seagull, unconsciously slipping into his "Pre-death" accent. But the daft creature was making a spirited attempt to abscond with one of his fingers, so the profanity was warranted. The bird complied, somewhat reluctantly. This was a bit more relaxing than his weeks HAD been, he mused as he rubbed his beard. What with the Team-up with that Rahman chap- who was a nice guy, even if he was a bit gloomy - the incident with the arms smugglers, ETC, he knew he deserved a bit of R&R. He idly wondered what his fellow Supers were up to at this particular moment.

Init Roll! 1d20+3=4

Phantasmo - THE UNLIVNG! - Fright Night

I understand you're a loony, Phantasmo thought to himself. However, he considered that the man in front of him had probably been around the block a few times and knew what the hell he was talking about. He shrugged it off and sipped his beer again, thinking of something to say. "I don't consider it a curse, Duckie, I consider it...an untended side effect. I signed the damned contract, it's my fault I didn't take the man seriously when he offered. A name like "Mr. Infamy" should have been a clue, I must admit." he said at last. "Besides, enhanced strength, genuine magical powers, detachable limbs, and a unique appearance are all bloody awesome." The zombie conjured up a small coin and began to rotate it across his fingers as he thought. "My point is, while we do miss out on stuff like pain and disease and hunger, there are some things I do miss about being alive. The feeling of a good cigar, for one thing. That's the real bitch, mate - I can't smoke anymore." He shrugged again. "Minor issue, but I tell you what - going up against demons and ugly buggers like that really makes me wish I could still have the occasional fag or two to calm my nerves." He patted Rahman on the shoulder. "But if you're happy, Rahman-me-old-skeleton, don't let me piss on your parade, as my dad used to say. To each his own."

Phantasmo looked his counterpart up and down, noting his...slender appearence. "...Right...Immortality, huh?" He asked, taking a sip of his beer. "Well...no offense, duckie, I'm sure you're an absolute wizard wizard, but...D'you mean actual immortality, or the type of immortality where once you die, you can't really die again? I mean - and no offense here, mate - don't you need to be alive to be immortal?" He held up his free hand in a disarming gesture. "I know, duckie, "Semantics," but as someone who IS the undead type of immortal - well, I'm a bit confused."

As the two men walked, Phantasmo shrugged. "Me, I'm a bugger who's been around the world a few times. Digging your way out of your own grave and coming to a city where there are colorful bastards who can shoot lasers out of their eyes and juggle lorries if need be puts things in perspective." "But if you're referring to how I wound up like I am..." He laughed a bit. It was a dry, not-unpleasant sounding noise. "I made a deal without reading the "Fine Print," let's call it. Word of advice, duckie - when a spindly old git with an odd-looking cane shows up and offers to make you one of the greatest stage magicians in the world, alive or dead, don't say yes. Even to humor the bastard." He turned to his traveling buddy. "How 'bout you, old son? How'd you wind up immortal, undead, and full of magical hoozits? Only if you feel like sharing, of course. Mrs Trent didn't raise her little boy to be a "Pryer." Well..." he amended. "She didn't raise ME to be a pryer. My brother was a private dick, so he used to pry for a living. Now he raises azaleas."

Phantasmo winced a bit at the liquid sound, feeling a bit insensitive. "Sorry, duckie - I forgot that a lot of chaps with our shared...er...condition aren't exactly strong in the digestion department." The zombie then rubbed his goatee, and thought a bit before asking. "So what do they call you, mate? M'name's Harry Trent, but to the lads - the lads being the local "Tights" crowd - It's Phantasmo The Unliving!" - His voice suddenly changed to sound like...well, like a Voice Of The Legion would. He smirked. "Bit embellishy, yeah, but I'm nothing if not a showman." He paused. "Judging by your garb, you're one of those "Necromancer" types. Nothing against you lot, duckie, not in principle, but you know - zombies, Necromancer, dog, cat. It's a...wossname...inherent fear. But you could be a lich, or something to that effect. Or..." He shrugged. "...Could just be a costume and old Phantasmo - that's me - could just be blowing smoke." The zombie seemed to be incapable of shutting up.