R. Bluefish

Starlight's hair whipped back as Flash-Forward blurred by. She brushed a few strands from her eyes, blinking, before setting off after him at a much slower pace, floating just above the surface of the foul-smelling water. She let herself glow just brightly enough to light the way ahead, casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced along the walls as she moved. After a moment, she sighed. "Miras..." She broke off, uncomforatable, then made herself continue. "I'm sorry about your friend." She was quiet for another moment, then said, "I know what drugs do to a person. And, uh, I'm sorry that that happened to someone you cared about. Really." She found herself searching for something else to say, so she said, "We're going to get the bastards who did this." Oh, real eloquent, Sam.

Starlight jumped back reflexively when the floor descended. She peered down into the newly-revealed depths, letting off a little illumination to chase back the shadows. She hissed in a breath through her teeth when she saw the sewer. This can't be good. Nowhere to go but down. She jumped into the pit, levitating slowly down into the tunnel, stopping a few inches above the water (she hoped it was just water). She saw the glowing lights dotting a line into the darkness, and nodded her head in that direction. "I guess we know which way to go?" Or which way someone wants us to go, she reflected, remembering the trap on the door.

Joining after being invited in Chat. Initiative roll of 8.

When Starlight first saw the news report on a TV in a shop window about a skeletal dinosaur rampaging at the museum, she wasn't going to do anything. It wasn't exactly the type of thing she usually dealt with, and the heroes already present seemed to have things well in hand. She blinked when the skinhead showed up. That was unexpected. While the other heroes still seemed to be on top, the fight no longer seemed quite so one-sided. Another moment passed, then she sighed. Oh, what the hell. When am I going to get another chance to fight a skinhead and a dinosaur? She concentrated briefly, and with a blinding flash of light, vanished. She materialized airborne, fifty feet above the battle below. She shook herself, slightly disoriented, then looked down. Yeah...that's a dinosaur all right.

Starlight >Drugs & Death, Inc.

Player Name: R. BluefishCharacter Name: VoxPower Level: 7 (108/108)Trade-Offs: NoneUnspent Power Points: 0 In Brief: A telepathic teenager, formerly homeless, now a student at Claremont. Residence: Claremont Academy Alternate Identity: Thanh Nguyen Identity: Secret Birthplace: Freedom City, USA Occupation: Student Affiliations: Claremont Academy Family: All deceased Description: Age: 16 (DoB: February 10th, 1999) Gender: Male Ethnicity: Vietnamese-American Height: 5' 6" Weight: 120 lb Eyes: Black Hair: Black Thanh is a teenage Asian-American boy, a bit on the short side, with shaggy black hair and a dusting of dark fuzz on his upper lip and chin. He appears slightly underfed (because he is), and his eyes are sunken and constantly darting around warily. His features are sharp and bony, and he usually walks with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his pockets. As Vox, he wears a self-assembled outfit of comprised of heavily stylized street clothes, with blue pants, gloves, and jacket. Underneath, he wears a black bodysuit, with white lines angling down from his shoulders and meeting in the center of his abdomen, forming a "V." His eyes are hidden by indigo-tinted mirrored wraparound shades, which he staunchly believes make him look badass. Power Descriptions: Vox is a straightforward telepath, capable of affecting and influencing the minds of others. He can make them feel what he wants them to feel, see what he wants them to see, do what he wants them to do. When his powers first manifested, he mistakenly believed he had the ability to make people comply with his verbal instructions through some sort of hyper-charisma, but he soon realized that he was actually mentally altering their emotional state to make them incredibly compliant. Practice has furnished Vox with a number of additional tricks on top of this - he can "eavesdrop" on other people's thoughts, or actively delve into their minds for information. He can even directly control their actions, whether they like it or not. He can silently communicate with anyone he's familiar with. And, by concentrating, he can move solid objects with his mind, which causes his eyes to glow with a soft blue light. He also possesses heightened mental awareness and discipline, being more perceptive and strong-willed than most ordinary humans. History:. Born to a struggling couple running a tiny Vietnamese restaurant in the West End, Thanh's earliest memories are of sitting in the corner of the kitchen, watching his mother, father, and older brother scurry back and forth, brewing traditional dishes for carry-out. Unfortunately, these are also his only memories of them. His family was among the small number of civilian casualties from the 2004 Grue invasion of Earth, leaving him an orphan. He spent the next few years of his life in a foster home, where he was regarded as little more than a ticket for free money from the government. Growing ever more resentful and withdrawn, at the age of eight Thanh decided he had had enough. He ran away from home, secretly hoping they cared enough to come looking for him. A police report was filed, but no other action was taken. The dramatic proof of love he was awaiting never came. Finding himself on the street without a roof over his head or two pennies to rub together, it didn't take long for Thanh to turn to stealing to feed himself. He discovered he had something of a gift for filching small items, first from shelves, then, as he grew emboldened, from people. One day, when he was feeling particularly cocky, he tried to steal a candy bar from the pocket of a boy a few years older than him. The boy immediately caught him, but instead of beating him senseless as he had expected, he seemed rather impressed. He introduced himself as Jerome, the leader of a small gang of "displaced youths" (read: street kids). Who, it turned out, were in dire need of a skilled pickpocket. The group took in Thanh with open arms, welcoming him to their little family. He felt he had finally found the acceptance he had been seeking - while they had no home, family, or money, the group always looked out for each other, and always managed to just scrape by. The gang survived mainly by swindling tourists. Various sympathy-baiting cons, three-card monte, and lifted wallets were what kept them fed. Of more concern were the other elements of the street. Every day was a gamble, evading gangs, drug dealers, cops, and unusually sharp-eyed tourists. Years passed, one by one, the dangers ever increasing, and the group becoming ever more loyal to each other. "We take care of each other, 'cause no one else is gonna" was their motto. Thanh and Jerome in particular formed a close friendship, with the older boy taking him under his wing and teaching him the many tricks of the trade. While Thanh had no gift for the social aspect of their work (he had tendency to become tongue-tied when under pressure), his fingers were as quick and nimble as mice, liberating items from their owners seemingly at will. Their luck couldn't hold out forever, of course. When he was fifteen, he and Jerome were walking back to their current hideout after dark when they were jumped by a group of toughs from the local white supremacist gang, who apparently took exception to the Asian Thanh and the African-American Jerome walking down "their" sidewalk. While it wasn't the first time such an incident had occurred, Jerome had always been able to sweet-talk his way out of trouble. This time they were having none of it, determined to teach them a lesson. Thanh watched, horrified, as two of them seized Jerome, and a third drew a knife. Desperately, he bellowed "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" It had been a reflexive act of impotent panic. The last thing he had been expecting was for them to cheerfully comply, dropping the knife and leaving peacefully without a word of protest. Jerome was in awe, and once the story was recounted (and slightly exaggerated), so was the rest of the group. All of them knew that something extraordinary had happened. Further experimentation revealed that Thanh seemed to be able to make people do what he said simply by talking to them, no matter how outlandish it might be. The entire group was ecstatic at their new advantage, and Jerome christened Thanh with his new nickname - Vox ("Voice"). The group knew that something incredible had just been dropped in their laps. Vox's gifts were the key to everything they wanted, even the thing they had hardly dared to even think about before: getting off the streets. Their painstakingly perfected system of cons and scams became instantly obsolete - Vox could make people line up uncomplainingly, cash in hand. They made a token effort to try to avoid attracting unwanted attention, only hitting a few people at most in any given location, trying to refrain from stealing overly exorbitant sums of money, but as months went by, their confidence grew. They were "earning" more money in a day than they had before in a year, and it wasn't long before they moved their hideout from an abandoned warehouse to a high-class hotel room (after a moment with Vox, the staff was begging them to stay). And Vox's powers kept growing. He discovered that his powers ran far deeper than they had first suspected. They were in no way limited to oral commands (indeed, speaking to his targets soon became unnecessary). Every day he seemed to have a new trick, a new ability. The sudden shift in the group's power dynamics took its toll. Until the manifestation of Vox's powers, Jerome had been the de facto leader, using his intelligence and natural charisma to manage their little community. Now, Vox had something he could never match, and was effectively running the show. He began to grow ever more envious of his friend's newfound power, and resentful of the way the group now regarded Vox as their savior. What about the long years he had looked after them, he asked himself? Did they count for nothing? Nothing might have come of this, if it weren't for Vox's increasing cockiness. Years of frustration and feelings of helplessness had suddenly come to an end, and now he was on top of the world. He began to use his abilities in more and more obvious ways, feeling invincible, like he could do whatever he wanted and no one could stop him. When Jerome tried to caution him about the importance of discretion, he accused him of being a coward. Tempers exploded, and every long-forgotten argument and grudge was suddenly remembered. Their other friends made attempts to defuse the situation, but the two boys would not be calmed. Words were said that could never be taken back, and the two came to blows. That is to say, Jerome punched Vox, and Vox telekinetically hurled him across the room. Everyone was stunned, no one more so than Vox himself. Jerome was mostly unhurt, but Vox had never used his powers on one of his friends before. Everyone was staring at him with suddenly fearful eyes, afraid of what he would do next. The shock of seeing his own friends afraid of him was more than he could handle - he turned and stormed from the room. Stalking aimlessly through the streets, he fumed about the ungratefulness of them all. They were living like kings now, all because of him, and what thanks did he get? Why should he limit his usage of his own powers? They were his, he could use them however he wanted. In a fit of childish pique, he stopped a passing well-to-do-looking young man, and psychically forced him to empty his bank account, in cash. Just like that, hundreds of thousands of dollars were his. He spent days spending his way from one side of the city to the other, living the lifestyle he had dreamed of for years. Feeling more generous now, he began to regret his behavior, and returned to the hotel room where his friends were staying, intent on making amends and sharing his new fortune. Fence-mending gifts in hand and an apology on his lips, he opened the door to a scene of carnage. His friends were lying on the floor, covered in blood, riddled with bullets. Three men with guns were searching the room. He recognized one of them as the man he had robbed a few days previously. For a moment he stood petrified, until the men noticed him. When they drew their weapons, instinct took over, and he sent them flying with a telekinetic shockwave. Horror turned to rage, and he focused it upon the man he recognized. Not bothering with subtlety, he tore into his mind, consumed with the need to know what could possibly make them do this. This was no ordinary businessman, he discovered - he was the son of an influential and widely feared crime lord. Their organization had been aware of Vox and his gang for some time, but had had no reason to care about their petty thefts until now. Now that one of their own had been robbed and humiliated, they needed to send a very clear message about what happened to anyone who stole from them. And since Vox wasn't there when they arrived, they killed his friends instead. Numb, not knowing what else to do, he called 911. Once the authorities arrived, they discovered that Jerome was still alive, barely, but he was pronounced to be in a deep coma. Thanh turned himself in to the police and told them everything. He told them about his powers, about the crimes he'd committed, about the reason for the massacre. He fully expected to spend the rest of his life in Blackstone. Instead, a few nights later he was visited by a representative from the Claremont Academy, who offered him a chance to learn to better use his "gifts," and turn his life around in the process. He accepted on the spot, desperate for anything that could make some sense out of what was left of his life. The Academy pulled a few strings and had his involvement in the incident erased, the charges dropped, and his criminal record expunged, mainly for his own protection. They were keenly aware that the men who killed his friends might still come looking for him. This was a second chance for Thanh, and he promised himself he wouldn't waste it. The universe had taught him a harsh lesson. He had used his powers selfishly, irresponsibly, with no regard for the consequences for those around him. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He swore he would never again steal, never again use his abilities for personal gain, and more than anything else, never forget what his mistakes had cost him. He would make "Vox" a name to be proud of, or die trying. Personality & Motivations: Thanh is a quiet, almost meek boy who rarely speaks unless spoken to in casual settings. On bad days, he is given to bouts of sullenness, during which he tries to go someplace to be by himself until his mood improves. He also tends to be rather mistrustful of people he doesn't know, especially authority figures. He's rather jumpy, reacting sharply to sudden noises and jerking away when he is touched unexpectedly (leftover instincts from his years on the streets). The one exception to his dislike for authority figures is the teaching and administrative staff of Claremont Academy, to whom he knows he owes everything. They took him in, dusted him off, and offered him another go at life, when anyone else would have let him rot in Blackstone. More than almost anything in the world, he wants to prove himself worthy of the trust they placed in him. He thinks that taking part in the Academy's "extra-curricular activities" makes for a good start. The sole remaining link to his past is Jerome, who is still in a coma at Trinity Hospital, and shows no signs of awakening. Thanh visits him every week, and sits by his bedside for hours on end, silently begging his friend to wake up, just for a moment, so he can tell him how sorry he is. Powers & Tactics: While Thanh has enough raw telekinetic power to defeat most ordinary humans, he is still physically vulnerable himself. Whenever possible, he prefers to use his various mind-affecting abilities to avoid a direct fight (or at least avoid a fair one). Trickery, misdirection, and sometimes downright mind control are his favorite weapons. If things turn south, he will "haul ass" without a moment's hesitation (unless others are in danger), priding himself on knowing when to fold 'em. Complications: Enemy: The same organized crime ring that ordered the hit on his group is well aware that the "ringleader" is still alive and well. The Claremont Academy did a good job of wiping his record, but now that he's put the boss's son in prison, they are constantly trying to track him down, and have a very big score to settle with him. Headaches: Ever since the deaths of his friends, Thanh suffers from severe headaches that make it difficult for him to function. He regularly takes migraine medication, which staves them off temporarily, but if he fails to take it twice a day, his headaches return and he suffers a level of fatigue. Struggling: While the Academy provides for most of his basic needs, Thanh has very little money of his own. His ill-gotten wealth was taken by the authorities, and he considers it good riddance. Uneducated: Thanh hadn't attended school since he was eight, and is largely ignorant of anything that isn't related to on the street. This is something he's desperately trying to rectify, with mixed results. Abilities: 2 + 6 + 2 + 6 + 4 + 0 = 20PP Strength: 12 (+1) Dexterity: 16 (+3) Constitution: 12 (+1) Intelligence: 16 (+3) Wisdom: 20/14 (+5/+2) Charisma: 10 (+0) Combat: 6 + 8 = 14PP Initiative: +7 (+3 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative) Attack: +3 Melee, +3 Ranged, +7 Damaging Move Object Grapple: +4 (+3 Attack, +1 Strength) Defense: +7 (+4 Base, +3 Dodge Focus), +2 Flat-Footed Knockback: -3 Saving Throws: 2 + 3 + 5 = 10PP Toughness: +7 (+1 Con, +6 Defensive Roll), +1 flat-footed Fortitude: +3 (+1 Con, +2) Reflex: +6 (+3 Dex, +3) Will: +10/+7 (+5/+2 Wis, +5) Skills: 40R = 10PP Concentration 6 (+11/+8) Disable Device 3 (+6) Knowledge (streetwise) 5 (+8) Language 1 (Vietnamese; Base: English) Notice 8 (+13/+10) Sense Motive 5 (+10/+7) Sleight of Hand 9 (+12) Stealth 3 (+6) Feats: 9PP Attack Specialization 2 (Move Object) Defensive Roll 3 Dodge Focus 3 Improved Initiative Powers: 7 + 6 + 2 + 28 + 2 = 45PP All of Vox's powers have the Mental and Mutant descriptors Communication 5 (Psychic Chat; mental, 5 miles; Power Feats: Subtle 2) [7PP] Enhanced Wisdom 6 (Mentalist's Discipline) [6PP] Flight 1 (Levitation; 10 MPH) [2PP] Psychic Array 11.5 (23PP Array; Feats: Alternate Power 5) [28PP] Base Power: Emotion Control 7 (Twist Feelings; Extras: Area [General, Burst], Selective Attack, Flaw: Action [Full-round], Power Feat: Subtle 2) {23/23PP} Alternate Power: Illusion 7 (Fool Senses; all senses; Flaw: Phantasms; Power Feat: Progression 2 [25-ft radius]) {23/23PP} Alternate Power: Mental Blast 7 (Overload Mind; Flaw: Action [Full-round]; Power Feat: Subtle 2) {23/23PP} Alternate Power: Mind Control 7 (Override Mind; Extra: Sensory Link; Power Feat: Subtle 2) {23/23PP} Alternate Power: Mind Reading 7 (Steal Thoughts; Extras: Action [Move/Standard], Area [General, Burst]; Power Feat: Subtle 2) {23/23PP} Alternate Power: Move Object 7 (Mind over Matter; heavy load: 1.5 tons; Extras: Damaging; Power Feats: Precise, Subtle) {23/23PP}Super-Senses 2 (Sixth Sense; Psychic Awareness [Mental]) [2PP] DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Melee DC 16 Toughness (staged) Damage (physical) Fool Senses Perception DC 17 Will Illusion Mind over Matter Ranged DC 22 Toughness (staged) Damage (physical) Overload Mind Perception DC 17 Will (staged) Damage (energy) Override Mind Perception Will (opposed) Mind Control Steal Thoughts Perception (35-ft burst) Will (opposed) Mind Reading Twist Feelings Perception (35-ft burst) DC 17 Will (staged) Emotion Control Totals: Abilities (20) + Combat (14) + Saving Throws (10) + Skills (10) + Feats (9) + Powers (45) - Drawbacks (0) = 108/108

1. If one views a role playing game as mix of role-playing (story telling focus) and game (tactical challenge focus), what kind of mix do you like? At the end of the day, both are critical. The tactical scenes give us a challenge to overcome, and the tools with which to do it, while at the same time the element of randomness prevents things from getting too predictable. And the story provides crucial context, as well as a reason to actually care about what’s happening. But if someone held a gun to my head and forced me to choose, I would probably say story trumps gameplay for me. If all I want to do is blow things up and overcome various challenges, I can play a video game – RPGs are for when I want truly feel immersed in the narrative. 2. Our site operates a policy that no PC should die without player permission. Failure, however, is another matter. A villain could get away, an innocent (or beloved) could die, calamity could happen, your PC could get the snot beaten out of him and humiliated (publicly or privately). How do you feel about the prospect of failure? What chance of failure would you like, and what type of failure would you tolerate, expect, or indeed wish? Without the omnipresent threat of failure, what’s the point in trying to succeed? Nothing makes the player fight harder than when they feel that something is genuinely at stake. But at the same time, failure is also not an occurrence to be taken lightly. If I fail, I want to know there was at least a slim chance of success, otherwise the game would quickly become just as tiresome as if I always won. And whenever is humanly possibly, the failure should be integrated into the story. If a loved one is killed, for example, it should have a profound effect on both the hero and the stories that follow. It should not be just a random event that is never mentioned again. If the hero is utterly defeated (physically, mentally, or socially), it should be a lesson to them about how to do better next time. And ideally, they should get an opportunity to settle the score, in an appropriately cathartic manner. Moments of true failure, and how the hero responds to it, are the defining moments of their career. 3. Superheroes have great power, the power to impose their will upon the world. This can mean the chance to escape the moral complexities of the world, or it can mean even greater moral complexities. What do you want? Do you like your antagonists as well defined, clear-cut evil, or your antagonists (and protagonists) to be more ambiguous, greyscale and three dimensional? (we should note that this site does not condone vigilantes or the like) Moral ambiguity is, for me, one of the most interesting angles for a story to explore, and the superhero genre is no exception. However, with this particular setting and tone, moderation is a wise policy. While having antagonists with understandable (even sympathetic) motivations can certainly enrich the story, and reasonable flaws and limitations are instrumental in creating a good protagonist, this is still a game about heroes. Balance is key: maintaining a certain level of complexity while also ensuring things don’t become bogged down in Darkness-Induced Audience Apathy. The game should make me think, yes, but it should also allow me to eventually make a decision without being constantly wracked by self-doubt. We can all get plenty of that in real life. 4. This site is unambiguously about superheroes. However, within those parameters, there is a fairly wide canvas. Three main categories that formed are the combat focus, The investigative focus, and the Social focus (which does not necessarily mean just chatting and making friends, but social conflict too). There are other themes and sub-themes, too many to mention here. Do you have any thoughts or preferences about themes? How much combat would you like in a thread, for instance? How would you feel if combat could be avoided by a subtle approach? First of all, the obvious – combat is fun. It’s what most PPs go into. We hardly ever get the chance to beat up bad guys with superpowers in the real world. Everybody loves an epic life-or-death struggle, and it makes a great climax. Even just whaling on a bunch of mooks makes you feel like an absolute badass. But conflict is the soul of drama, and there’s more than one kind of conflict. Sometimes, using some of your subtler powers to avoid a fight can end up being more satisfying than just charging in and mopping the floor with everybody. Investigative adventures can provide a different kind of challenge (and reward players who bought skills and powers geared towards it). And the social focus is, in my mind, almost mandatory to some degree. It gives you a chance to form meaningful relationships with other heroes, whether it be friendship or rivalry (or a mixture of both). How your character behaves around their compatriots can be what truly makes them come alive. So I suppose you won't catch me complaining about any of the three. 5. Finally, do you have any other comments on what your priorities or preferences are in playing a RPG, and more specifically, a superhero RPG? The tone of the story – realistic and grounded, or light and fantastical (or some combination of the two) – should match the characters playing in it. Generally, you don’t see Superman hunting down serial killers, and you don’t see Batman fighting aliens. But there should also be occasional breaks from it to explore something different, or even just try something new for kicks. Being confronted with an especially dark turn of events can lend depth to the lighthearted Cape, and having to fight off giant evil rabid robotic rabbits can make for a hilarious adventure for the dark, brooding Cowl. So, while consistency is important, variety is still the spice of life.

Search check result of 11, with no modifiers.

Activating my force field.

Starlight eyed Fast-Forward's discarded sandwich longingly, then sighed. I really miss food. Well, looks like it's go time. She concentrated, and her skin began to glow and shimmer as though lit from within. "Better watch ourselves. Most drug dealers don't have traps like that." She stepped through the door after FF, shooting her gaze about warily, one hand raised in readiness.

Starlight was about to ask if Miras was all right when the other woman sped away into the city, faster than was humanly possible. She closed her mouth stupidly, then glanced down at Jase. "What she said." She took a few paces away from the truck and looked over her shoulder at Fast-Forward. "See you in a minute, I guess." Summoning a bright aura of light, she launched herself skyward, following Miras from the air.

I like the idea. It sounds like it has some story potential, and might lead to a bit of character development for Starlight, down the road. The only immediate obstacle I see is that she's unlikely to offer up information about herself directly. (You may have noticed she's not the most personable of people - the manifold wonders of an 8 CHA). It shouldn't be too much of a problem, though - I'll just try to have her drop a few hints, or maybe mention it offhand.

Sounds like right now, he's just doing fine spilling his guts without any further input from me.

So, I'd like to get off on the right foot with this guy with an Intimidate check. And, because I apparently haven't sacrificed enough four-siders to the Random Number God, I rolled a 4, for a grand total of 14. Hopefully my "entrance" (as well as Miras's presence) will grant me another +2?

Starlight had been waiting at two hundred feet above ground level for what seemed like only moments when she saw Miras appear below, next to the rusted heap of a truck. I suppose that's my cue. She dropped like a stone, the wind whistling in her ears, her jacket whipping around her. Moments before hitting the concrete, she pulled up. Her body blazed with sudden brilliance, illuminating the entire parking lot, casting wildly dancing shadows from the streetlights. She landed in a crouch, rose, and strode towards the truck. She took three steps, then there was another burst of light and she vanished. She reappeared leaning against the side of the vehicle, bowing her head down to look at Jase through the window. She was still glowing, her eyes two expressionless orbs of hard white radiance, burning just bright enough to sting his eyes. The window was rolled up. She waved her hand in an idle circular gesture, and a thin laser sprang from her fingertip, cutting a perfectly round hole in the glass. She put her face up to it. "Just a few questions about Doze," she said. "Which, by the way, you will answer. One way or another."

Starlight eyed his outstretched hand with a touch of unease. Allying with other superhumans was one thing, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to start actually relying on them just yet. "I'll be fine," she said. "I think I know the general area. See you there." There was a blinding flash of light, and she was gone.

Starlight watched the whole display, feeling with every passing moment both more impressed and more unsettled. It was like watching herself - the way she had been before. Desperate, pathetic, and terrified, utterly terrified, of not getting another fix. Whoever this woman was, she had some serious acting talent. That, or she knows from experience, she reflected. "Deuce, huh?" she said, feeling herself start to glow a little brighter with anticipation. "Wanna go ruin his day?"

Jase, huh? I don't suppose the name Jase rings a bell for Starlight by any chance? Knowledge (streetwise) check result of 14. Again.

She called her Alison. They were friends. Feeling suddenly slightly ashamed of herself, Starlight looked away quickly, casting about the room for something else to focus on. "Yeah," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment. "I've heard of Doze. Some new drug. Seems to be all the rage. Makes you feel all fuzzy inside. Like you don't have a care in the world." Must be nice, she caught herself thinking. "Thing is," she added, "I tried to figure out where they were bringing it in from. And I don't think they are. Near as I can figure, it's being made right here. In the city."

I'll make a Knowledge (streetwise) check to see if Starlight knows anything about this "Doze." I rolled a whopping 5, for a total of 14.

Starlight wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she entered the dead woman's apartment. What she definitely hadn't been expecting was a robed woman and...that one guy with the show. She had never watched much TV in her previous life. She tried not to let her surprise show, keeping her voice rough. "Somebody OD'd. This is the Fens, it happens all the time." Trust me on that one. "Unless we're going to step on every dealer in the city, I don't think we're going to find whoever she got it from." She glanced sidelong at the woman in robes, trying to surreptitiously get a look under her hood. Unsuccessfully - despite the light Starlight was emitting, the other woman's features remained indistinct. Weird. She turned her attention back to the room. "I've been trying to clean this place up for a long time." Almost six months. "What makes you think I need - or want - your help?"

A headache was starting it's dull throb behind Starlight's eyes. She leaned her forehead against the cold, damp brick wall, squeezing her eyelids shut. One by one, she heard the emergency vehicles leave. The sullen point of pain in her skull persisted. When she opened her eyes again, the street was empty. She rubbed a hand across her face, the material of her fingerless glove scraping roughly against her skin. With a sigh, she began summoning her will, preparing to transport herself elsewhere. There was nothing for her here, and she was going to need to recharge in a few hours anyway. As she began to glow softly, as prelude to her teleportation, she glanced at the apartment once more. And stopped. The glow faded. Someone was going inside. There was a man there, pushing open the door. His back was to her, and it was dark, but she could see he was no cop. Is he wearing a costume? Curiosity overcame her better judgment. She released the energy she had been summoning, instead letting herself fade away. In moments, she was invisible. She fixed her gaze on the apartment the man was entering, concentrating on the living room visible through the door, and then she did teleport; slipping away, just for the barest fraction of a second, into pure light, materializing inside.

I'm fine with letting them leave - Starlight isn't the type to initiate conversations with law enforcement.

Starlight wasn't sure what had made her stop when she saw the emergency vehicles. They were hardly an unusual sight in Freedom City, least of all the Fens. She wasn't sure what had made her wait and watch as the paramedics wheeled out the body bad. Bodies were nothing new either. This complex in particular was infamous for being occupied mainly by lowlifes and junkies. Here, an fatal overdose was practically an everyday sight. She should know. This was where she had overdosed. Still she watched, hidden in the shadows of the alley, unable to look away. One of the cops said something into his partner's ear, and they both laughed shortly. A joke. If she had died that day, they would have made jokes. They loaded the body into the ambulance and closed the doors. Her eyes were fixed on the cold, impersonal vehicle, all blinking red-and-blue lights and gleaming white paint. It looked strange, almost surreal, against the backdrop of cracked streets and overflowing gutters. She realized she was digging her fingernails painfully into the flesh of her inner arm, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, despite the cold. Cold never seemed to bother her anymore.

The low stats are at least partly intentional - she isn't very experienced, and wasn't taking very good care of herself before her powers manifested. I'm hoping to remedy that down the road. Fixed final Bluff modifier (not sure how I missed that, I must have point-audited myself a dozen times). Specified both area attacks as Targeted. And as for Teleport, I lost the Limited flaw (wasn't sure about that myself), then lost Accurate as well to bring it back down. Does that look all right?