Hellbound

Sorry to hear about that, Doc. 'Been through it a few times myself, and I know how rough it can be. Wish your wife and all the family the best for each and every one of us out here.

As he entered the adoption center, many of the animals caught immediate notice of him and began clamoring for attention. There were, indeed, many puppies and young cats all of whom had grown tired of the Shelter life and were ready to find new homes. Most looked happy and healthy, but Hellbound just had to wonder what he was doing there, anyway. He was a rough, tough, blood letting superhero. He cracked skulls, knocked bad guys through walls and in general played the badass of Freedom City just by being Hellbound. The last place he'd have expected to find himself was in an Animal Rescue League getting ready to ask about a damn kitten. A kitten, for frag's sake. Not even a puppy, maybe some mastiff or pitbull that he could train to act mean and run at his side during missions. Something tough and manly, something he could be proud to say was his as it intimidated the bad guys into freezing in place. One well timed growl could do wonders to end a fight before it even began... But a cat? What kind of loser superhero owned a cat? As he scanned the animals, deliberately pretending not to notice the strange white kitten who was still following him with its eyes, one staff member came up to him. She proclaimed herself to be Stephanie and asked if he was interested in the animals Though there was certainly a hint of trepidation in her gaze at his appearance. He didn't look like the responsible type that'd take good care of a pet, but she'd learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving. "Yeah..." He began, giving up on the pretense of manliness and directing a finger towards the front of the store. "The white one up there? The kitten with one blue and one green eye? What's the deal with that guy?"

Hellbound leaned back and crossed his arms, considering the small, white ball of fur huddled in a far corner. He could see that it'd been spooked. Not really afraid, or at least not in a 'cowarding' sort of way, but there was an element about the scene that had thrown it into a protective mode. It was almostl like the kitten had gotten a whiff of his burning blood, but Hellbound was pretty sure he'd cleaned all of that off. The only place where he'd been cut last night was his left forearm, and that was barely even showing scabs. If there was any fumes coming off of him then it was unlikely the cat would have caught it through the plate glass window. Besides, none of the other animals were reacting in the same way. "Paranoid little fragger, aint ya'?" He asked, pointlessly. The kitten simply watched him with wary eyes that continued to shift from side to side, almost as if it were trying to see around the hero rather than directly at him. Just to be sure, Hellbound took one more look over his own shoulder. Still, there was nothing he could see which might be spooking the kitten. He slowly extended an accusatory finger and jabbed it solidly against the glass. "Shouldn't be so jumpy. It's bad for your nerves." Having had his fill of watching the young animals cavort, Hellbound decided to move on and finish his shopping expedition, but for some reason he didn't shift his position. The hero kept watching the kitten and wondering at its reactions. There just seemed something so different about this one, something that set it apart from the others. The rest of the pets were still playing around, oblivious to anything in their environment besides what they could immediately touch. Direct interraction, that's all they understood, but this white one seemed to have a greater understanding of the world it lived in. Hellbound stood for a few minutes more, just watching. A difficult expression crossed his face, shifting this way and that as it seemed a mental struggle took place within his mind. Eventually he muttered the immortal words of 'fraggit' and went inside the A.R.L. outlet.

Blame the Cell-Shaded Animation. Crap, I'm a computer graphics major and even I hate this cheap-jack attempt to reduce animation costs even further than they've already cut down. This is precisely the reason why I'm not in the least bit psyched about the show.

The small, happy white kitten made a few attempts to trap Hellbound's moving finger before letting out a small cry of frustration. There was a half-carried tone part way between a hiss and a growl in its voice as it complained, but the animal didn't seem unhapy with the temporary diversion. Life within a shelter was hardly ideal, despite the easy access to food and playmates, so the creature wasn't about to let a chance slip by if it meant new people to meet. Suddenly, the cat's attention was drawn sharply to something just beyond Hellbound's shoulder and a moment of fear overtook it's eyes. The kitten's pupils went wide and attentive as something had it deeply spooked, more so even than the chubby security guards wandering around with their flat-top hair and polyester wedgies. Never one to react slowly to signs of danger, Hellbound remained in his crouching position and pivoted in place. One hand went slightly before himself as if to protect from an incoming attack while the other cocked backwards in preparation of striking. Nothing was there, however. Behind Hellbound was just more expanse of marbled and polished shopping mall. Being on the second floor, Hellbound was close to a glass railing that surrounded an opening which lead to the level below, but nothing was rising up from this balcony-bestowed, open-air view. Even the heavy crowds seemed natural and non-threatening. Kids and adults both were going about their business just fine. If something were about to attack, explode or make the walls bleed, then Hellbound couldn't see what that might be. Returning his attention to the A.R.L. window, he could see that the kitten had retreated far from Hellbound's position.

Movement from his left caught Hellbound's eye, drawing him out of his shallow, internal revelations. For a moment he thought it might just be a reflection in the glass of a storefront, but closer examination told him otherwise. While, yes, he could see people moving in the background of the mall, that's not what drew his eyes. Apparently he'd wandered past a local Animal Rescue League center and the antics of a few furballs had caught his attention. Various cages were on display, each with one or two young foundlings preoccupied with either playtime, naptime or foodtime. "Huh. Those are the big three, aint they?" Hellbound asked after bending his knees before the window. "Eat, sleep and keep yourself from going nuts. Dudes, I can so relate." One kitten in particular, a white shorthair critter with a single smudge of grey on top of its head, cavorted over to where the hero was watching. Tiny paws pressed against the glass while the animal opened its eyes wide to see who'd shown up. Hellbound noticed that one of its shining orbs was green while the other was blue, with that one having a slightly distorted and misshappen pupil. He tapped at the glass and moved his finger back and forth a bit, surprised that the kitten was able to follow it despite the obvious ocular defect. "You're kinda allright, aren't you?" Hellbound asked even though the animal probably couldn't hear him, and of course wouldn't be able to reply even if it were otherwise.

The room might no longer be spinning, but Hellbound didn't exactly feel 100% back to normal. Water was helping somewhat, but he was pretty sure a cold beer would have gone much farther in throwing off the effects of the machine. As that thought filtered through his mind, along with a slight churning of his stomach, he reconsidered the choice of libation. Water would do just fine, thank you very much. "No sign of brain damage, huh?" He verified between sips. "Then why was I dumb enough to climb into that thing in the first place?" That wasn't really a fair statement, but Hellbound was in a pretty foul mood. He'd rather get dropped off of a cliff, at this point, rather than go through anything like that ever again. "Not sure what you mean by adapting though, Doc. Once you had that thing cranked up to full power, it was all just lights, noises and vomit after that." He was referring to the second setting that Archeville had used. The adrenaline that surged through his body at the start, and which led into the attempted counter frequencies, had begun after that and kept the negative effects relatively stable. Though they were still more than he could handle, for him the machine really didn't seem to get any worse after that. Hellbound naturally assumed that was its top speed. What he didn't realize is that the newly awakening part of his being had kept it from being as bad as it rightfully should have been. "Ah... hey, you know? Something like that did happen to me once, though. Remember that cruise ship that blew up a while back? Me, Dark Star, Scarab and a couple others helped save a few people? I had to swim out to the ship and figured I'd be fighting hypothermia half the way there since the water had to be killer-cold. 'Felt just fine, though. Even after I got out and was standing around soaking wet I didn't get so much as a shiver. "That the sort of thing you're talking about?"

Inside, the mall was a teaming cross-section of humanity. People from all walks of life and financial straits made their way from store to store or just took in the chance to be out and about with others of their kind. Some of them were here to simply socialize while others shopped for the latest must-have trend. The fact that their lives weren't actually considered incomplete until they'd even heard of it really didn't change their need to spend hard earned money on it. Whatever it was. Regardless, the constructed monument to capital excess served as a gathering point for many citizens of Freedom and beyond, which made the whole thing a haven for 'people watchers'. Those who simply enjoyed observing others as they went about their baffling business always managed to find both subjects and objects on which to exercise their hobby. Hellbound wasn't really a 'people watcher', but he was fascinated by the bustling life that surrounded him right now. Normally a night person, he was more used to darkened climes and people who kept very tightly to themselves. At three in the morning, there weren't a lot of individuals who wanted to broadcast their activities to anyone. Here, though, it was almost like the shoppers took some strange thrill in taking notice of being noticed. It was, in a way, almost refreshing. He wasn't sure where he should go to do his shopping. This wasn't his normal thing and it would have been better if someone had come along to show him the way. What stores had the best prices and most durable clothes? There was no chance of Hellbound chasing after latest trends, meaning he'd pick the styles that fit him rather than anyone else, but he didn't want to waste his money on anything clownish.

As the milling throngs of bus-riders passed him by, Hellbound had to consider the lot of so many of them. A lot of the passengers were clearly employees here at the mall and he knew they'd be going home smelling of french-fry grease, stockrooms and polyester uniforms. What sort of life was that? Hellbound tried to imagine himself in their place and simply wasn't able to do it. He didn't have to be one of the working wonderless of the world. He was special, one of the new gods. He couldn't be counted among the mortal merchants and unremarkable underlings. Even if he made the attempt at passing himself off as nothing special, he knew that it couldn't be done. Oh, sure, more powerful people than himself had managed to pull off secret identities and play along with the insignifiant ants of the universe, but it just wasn't inside of him to run that same game. It was more than just being bullet proof and stronger than an industrial crane, there was something lurking at his core that wouldn't allow him to rest. Hellbound couldn't stop fighting. At best, perhaps he could hide who he was for a few hours. A massive application of will might have him acting the undermensch for days, but eventually he'd have to open up and express who he really was. Just like last night, the raging warrior that drove his entire being would not be satisfied with a common life. Just being here today, for example, walking along with the consumer cattle got on his nerves. It wasn't so much that he felt 'superior' to them, that he considered himself to be above the common man in light of what he could accomplish, but rather he just felt... different. 'Outside' might be a good way to describe it. Inhuman would be better. Hellbound could look at all of the working schlubs going through their day and feel... what? Pity? That wasn't the word. He had no pity in him, nothing even negative to reflect his vision of those so much weaker than himself. They were fine. They were the world. He was the... alien here? The hero brought himself to an unconscious halt at the thought. That honestly felt right. He was the alien here, himself and all the other superbeings running around the city. It was almost as if they didn't belong among the common folk, the finer people who kept the world running daily simply by being a part of its functions. Hellound was something standing to the side of that, watching it and waiting for something to go wrong. When that happened, when something threatened the smooth turning of the worldly gears of mortal people, it was his job to step in and see to it that nothing was interrupted. He shook his head, shaggy hair flying around his face as he attempted to throw off the maudlin nosense. Hellbound didn't even know where the hell those thoughts were coming from. He was just here to by some new pants, man. Not analyze his place in the universe.

Midtown.... the last time Hellbound had been here it was during that fight at the ice rink. He could still remember the panicked screams and the reporter's words reagarding the injuries. in a number of ways, he still didn't consider the entire debacle to be his fault, but that didn't clear him completely of guilt. Still, to this day he didn't know who it was that he fought or even why. The damn thing had just vanished into smoke at the end and, so far, had never shown his face again. Hellbound would always remember those pale eyes, though. That dry, wicked smile and inhuman grace would be something he'd never forget for as long as he lived. But that wasn't really important, just so long as the 'thing' didn't show up again today. This was a day about self-improvement, Hellbound considered, or at least as far as his wardrobe went. Maybe he'd even get a haircut, though it was pretty tricky actually coming up with a pair of scissors tough enough to get through his mane. Just like every other part of his body, his hair was inhumanly durable. Eventually the bus arrived at the Millennium mall and began to disgorge its passengers. So far so good, no demonic entities had leaped from the shadows and started stitching holes in the vehicle's roof. Perhaps today would just be a normal day after all? I mean... come on. Hellbound was only buying some new clothes. What's the worst that could possibly happen?

But that's exactly what's breaking my fragile little mind. A lifetime of gaming has drummed a few basics into my head, such as... Stats, Derived Stats, Skills, Talents and Powers/Spells are each is own 'thing' and goverend by their own rules. M&M blurring the line between all of those is part of why I'm having so much trouble getting a handle on the rules. Being able to openly trade from one to the other is... just weird, man. Just weird. It might be easier if I didn't keep tripping over exceptions. Like I said earlier, there seems to be a large number of situational applications that are not easy to master. That's precisely my point. From a gaming standpoint, it blows my fragile little mind. From a comic book standpoint, it makes perfect sense. "Hey! Look a at me! I can catch bullets! Try to snatch the pebble from my hand... hey, gimme back my pebble!" As I said earlier, Lobo could do it. Lobo's really good at doing it, even before the writing for Lobo went to crap he was really good at doing it. But he's not a speedster. Remember the Hellfather from the JLA arc called 'Black Baptism'? I'm pretty sure he didn't have super speed either, but he did a pretty good job of putting his cloven hoof right in The Flash's face. Why? Because speedsters apparently rely too heavily on their mindblowing initiative bonuses to bother taking Seize Initiative. But that's not what offends me. The fan of fiction that I am is cool with all that. It's the gamer in me that cringes, here. Historically, going first in combat is a massive advantage. Having a +44 initiative bonus in the first place is just... just... I don't even have words for it. But it confuses the heck out of me. It'd be like a first level, first edition AD&D character having a 26 dexterity (as long as you ignore the bonuses to ranged combat and AC), but M&M is cool with it. Something I brought up back in another discussion about a similar subject -- so... my character can't be the world's greatest guitarist straight out of the gate, and yet it's perfectly cool for him to juggle oil tankers at half the speed of light? Blows... my... fragile... little... mind... man... My gamer mind. But my inner comic book reader finds it refreshing that the nigh-impossible of a four color universe can actually come to light under these rules. It just... takes a while to get used to, that's all. Sometimes it's better to work smarter rather than harder. Avatar had some pretty planet-shattering spells at his disposal, but he knew the better solution was to just put a round between Blackwolf's eyes.

G.U.R.P.S., maybe, but I don't recall that being an option in Champions and I could pretty much quote the first three editions chapter-and-verse. Though it's possible that's simply the way we played the game, ignoring the option of 'retraining'. Und, yah, ve haff been talking about the way that comic'y books tend to change character concepts every five minutes, and that M&M does a good job of simulating that experience. But that's where I brought up my background of maintaining a clear separation between 'games' and 'fiction'. Games have rules, fiction less so. Und, yah vonce more, I can see that buying a half-rank in defense is what the game designers are going for with the Dodge Focus. That's not the part I'm having trouble accepting. What is simply not sinking in is that 'feats' and 'stats' and 'skills' and 'powers' are more or less all the same thing... only sometimes they're not... but only under oddly defined conditions. In my mind, if you buy a half-rank in Defense then you should buy a half-rank in defense. You shouldn't buy a feat and then call it a half-rank in defense. In my mind, the more logical way is in how M&M allows you to apply points either to Strength or apply points to Enhanced Strength. Both have the same effect, but Enhanced Strength is vulnerable to power drains and can have both advantages and limitations applied to it. Well... most of the time. Sometimes it doesn't work like that. Sometimes it does. M&M is rife with situational applications of its own rules and it's just taking me for-freaking-ever to get it straight when things apply. For example -- PL caps don't apply to initiative bonuses. What? Are you freaking kidding me? Speedsters can have unlimited initiative bonuses? And then Hellbound himself can still go before them simply by spending a hero point on his Sieze Initiative feat? As a gamer, that offends me on a very primal level. First of all, Initiative as much a part of combat advantage as Attack bonuses, and yet the game restricts one without limiting the other. Secondly, if someone is THAT MUCH faster than Hellbound, he shouldn't be able to get the drop on them. Ever. But as a fan of comic books, I can understand what's going on. Shoot, Lobo doesn't have Super Speed, nor is it likely that he has a +44 initiative bonus, and yet he tends to get the drop on people who are MUCh faster than himself. He's not the only one who manages that little trick, either. Shen Li Min did it to Impetus after he'd been raised from the dead during Devil's Night. So I get it. Simulating a very fluid element of pulp fiction is what the game was designed for. But that still doesn't alter the fact that having such a loose system leads to argument, conflict and confusion. Has there been a writeup yet on the board that didn't lead to "Well, that's not the way you should represent that...", or some other drawn out discussion? It doesn't seem like it, but then I haven't reviewed all of the characters that have been presented. So, fine, I'm slowly getting used to it. Eventually I might even get the hang of it. Ah -- and that still doesn't answer the question of why Dark Star and Scarab II are attempting a record-setting feat of telekenetically manhandling a cruise ship when they could have SIMPLY DROPPED THE ANCHOR! :P

Well, yeah, I can dig all that. But remember where I'm coming from -- I can still clearly remember the day way back in the late '70s when the Basic Box Set got me to click on the difference between playing a game and writing a short story. That was a lesson which stuck with me for a long, long time. We're all familiar with the miniatures and tourney rules that gaming initially developed from. It was made crytal clear to me that we were paying a game and that games had to have rules. Ruiles kept things organized and blanaced. I looked at that, recognized the difference between fantasy gaming and fantasy novels, and declared that 'lo, it is good. 'Fast and Loose' is a good way to mess up an otherwise organized and well run campaign. But now I'm finding myself thrown suddenly into Steve Kenson's universe where people are told to, hey, just lighten up already. Games don't have to be played under the assumption that campaigns will automatically go Monty Haul or spiral into a chaotic mess if they're not ran against a strict formula. As far as player driven content being a hallmark of PbP or PbEM? Nah, that's a new one on me as well. I haven't done much with RL groups since the early-to-mid '90s, and this is the first time I've seen players allowed to have so much direct input in the creation of their own universe. C.O.R.E. sure as heck doesn't allow it (or, at least they didn't used to allow it, not sure if that's changed in recent years), and neither did any of the other games I've been a part of. GMs are Game MASTERS, not Game Guiders. For something to be considered cannon or to be worthy of XP awards, then a GM has to drive the thread and/or plot. But this is cool. I realize that RPGs have declined a great deal since I was a younger punk and that the pool of people willing to dedicate so much of their lives towads the creation of entire universes is getting a bit thin. So it falls to us, as players, to pick up the slack and keep the imaginations flowing. I'm actually having a pretty good time tracking Hellbound's day-to-day activities without having to worry about rolling to hit the toilette. And I'm assuming that, at some point, I'll become more comfortable with the character creation rules and start outlining a few of the NPCs he's running into. PS: All of this Extra Efforting and tossing about of Hero Points? Well, as I mentioned earlier it seems to draw players away from creativity and pushes them toward brute force solutions. Like trying to shove a cruise ship around with superpowers when it'd been made clear that the only reason why it was adrift in the first place was because the anchor hadn't been dropped ;)

Hellbound stood and tried valiantly to fill the proceline bowl with a long stream of urine. Somehow, though, the water level never did seem to rise. Ever. He wondered why that was, seeing as how the thing had to have its limits. Yet, no matter how much used beer he spilled into the device it never changed. Weird and pointless, but those were his thoughts on this late and hung-over Saturday morning. At some point he'd have to come up with a plan as to how his day would be spent, but at the moment he had greater concerns on his mind. One of them was in regards to the color of his flowing stream and whether it was always like that, or if this time it was as the result of minor internal bleeding. Eventually it ceased to be a concern, however, as his bladder managed to empty itself without setting anything on fire. Presumably, if he was urinating blood then it'd behave exactly as any other time he bleed and produce those smokey flames. Wandering from the dingy bathroom, Hellbound scratched himself in a most un-heroic manner and made his way to the kitchen area. Living in an efficiency as he did, there wasn't much space between the refrigerator and the toilette which sometimes had proven itself handy in the past. Unfortunately, this morning he seemed to be out of beer so no breakfast for Hellbound. Closing the appliance with a measure of dissapointment, he then tried refocused his mind on the day's future events. There was always the option of crawling back into bed, but somehow that didn't seem as productive as he'd like to be today. Not that there was anything that absolutely had to be done, but sleeping all day just didn't seem like the sort of thing a Knight of Freedom was all about. His clothes from last night still lay in a heap on the floor, slightly separated from the 'clean' pile and not looking too healthy as far as fashion went. If, at some point today, he was going to do more than just hold fond recollections of how they became so tattered and destroyed, then he was going to have to get dressed. Unfortuately the garments which supposedly hadn't gone through an historical bar fight weren't in much better condition. Hellbound considered that for a moment. He had some new cash in his pocket after having gotten paid for last night's gig. He'd still earned his keep even in spite of the damage that'd been caused. Apparently Morley's was well insured against such things, much like any wise business in Freedom City. So here Hellbound stood with cash in hand and not much of note to wear. Apparently it was time for him to go shopping, and this time it would be a place with a little more class than the Salvation Army.

Well, sure, it makes more sense to think of it in that way. Unfortunately, that's not the way that the designers presented it. Defense Bonus is a stat (and, honestly, it feels as if it should be a derived stat even though Dex, Will and Wis bonuses don't factor in at all), while Dodge Bonus is a Feat (which has the feel of a non-superpowered character perq that has some subtle-but-understandable differences from Skills). Now, if they'd have listed certain limitations that can be applied directly to the Defense bonus then I'd have an easier time getting into the groove. "Buying off limitations" is a time honored concept that I can understand. That's just part of improving something which has already been purchased and is something that pretty much every other game on the market allows. But that's not what's going on here. This is a matter of selling back a Feat in order to put those points into an Ability. That... no... that's not right. I do realize that it's my three decades of gaming experience that's making me so inflexible. I've been doing this for a long, long time and there are certain things you simply do not do. You do not 'sell' back powers, skills or feats. Once a character purchases something and it's on his or her sheet then it stays there. It can grow and it can change, but it does not get sold back for the same number of XPs that it was originally purchased for. But in M&M, you can do that not just with the Dodge Bonus feat, but with anything at all you want to sell back in particular as long as you present in-character justification to the GM. Another thing you do not do, under any circumstances, is whip new powers out of nowhere. To paraphrase one of the lessons that Aahz taught to Skeeve in the first Myth Adventure book: Don't waste your time wishing for powers or abilities that you don't have. Work with what you have, in other words. Force your players to rely on their ingenuity rather than allow them to just whip out a 'save the day' power or gadget. Also? Creative writing projects do not earn bonus experience points. If you go to Gen Con and submit a writeup for Lolth's older sister to be used in the GDQ series? No, man, that's not going to happen. Granted, I'm learning to overcome that last one with Singing for His Supper. That's quickly turning into Hellbound's Playground and I have no problems going to it whenever my regular threads slip to a halt. I'm also starting to understand why M&M is so fluid. I remember one of the great gaming wars of my youth was Champions players (that'd be me), vs. Mutants and Masterminds players as to which was the better system. Having never played M&M before, I can dig why there was so much argument. But M&M allows for more of a 'comic book' feel. There was a time (what many people consider a campy and poorly written time), where Superman was pretty much whipping a new power out of his Kryptonian ass every other book. Well... Extra Effort allows for that. You also have characters like Supergirl and... well, okay, it's only 4:40 in the morning over here and I'm having problems coming up with other examples... but you get characters who seem to have their entire backgrounds and power sets rewritten every few months. You also get Batman or Hawkeye who always has just the right gadget for just the right situation. Both of those aspects have the feel of deus ex machina and that's just not good writing. But comic books rarely are built on solid writing. That's why they're comic books and not classics of literature. M&M is built along lines that allows players to imitate that aspect of comic book creativity. In so many ways it seems like M&M was deliberately built for exploiting loopholes, power gaming and generating arguments about how things should be done. But I'm getting used to it. I still don't find the character creation process in itself to be an enjoyable process (at least not like Champions or Shadowrun was, where I could sit for days working the numbers until they were just right), and maybe I never will. So why am I playing this goofy game to begin with? Well, you go where the good gamers are. It's a fun site with some really creative players, so with a little help from time to time I'll learn to deal with what it, to me at least, a completely alien way of running an RPG. And that's all I have to say about that.

Okay, not sure how many rolls this would require, so here's a few for good measure: Dex Roll to make it past the monster: 1d20+7=26 Plus a Toughness just in case he gets burned on the way past: 1d20+10=16 And another Dex to roll to the chick: 1d20+7=12 Not sure there's anything else I can think of.

Dammit... Hellbound mouthed silently. It didn't seem as if the creature had noticed him yet and so there was a chance of taking it by surprise. Unfortunately, saving the life of the woman was far more important than snapping this thing's neck. It'd done a lot of damage in its short rampage today already, there was no way Hellbound would let someone else die just so that he could work out some frustration. Why were things always getting in the way of him busting heads? Maybe he should have been a villain after all. They never worried about helpless bystanders. Trying to time the creature's lurching with the motion of the ship, Hellbound started moving forward quickly. That action broke into a true run once in range and then a sliding leap as he dove between the monster and the wall, rolling towards the crew-person. Scooping the woman as he rolled to her side, Hellbound began moving her to safety.

Hellbroad knew where that was located and seemed to be in a hurry to get there. Soon the semi-levitating tart was fully airborne and taking winds underneath her wings. "Word of warning!" She called down to the other victims of this rather odd joke. "If Ark says anything about checking you for neural damage and tries to strap you into a machine...? Run."

Shaweet. I reduced the consequences of his nausea since, even though he had plenty of failures, it doesn't look like any of the Will ones were by more than 10. Though it is early over here and I may have missed some... Certainly he didn't end up with those catastrophic 15+ throws in rounds 3 and 4.

The following morning found Hellbound rising late. After all of the gangsters had been hauled away, the revelers from inside of Morley's had been reluctant to go home. It'd been a fantastic evening as far as they were concerned, and most of them believed that more excitement was yet to come. In response, those who ran the bar decided that an impromtu block party was in order. Surviving tables, crates and stands of any random variety were brought out to line the front of the building. Though the lights were out inside, the street was still well illuminated by the sodium streetlights above. The night air wasn't as warm as one might hope, but for early April is was better then one could expect. After donning a few jackets and moving about vigorously for warmth, the crowd was ready to keep things swinging until the early hours of the morning. It was a wonder that the cops hadn't been called out a second time just to quell the noise. Apparently, after successfully vanquishing Tony 'BigHorn' Shapella and his infamous crew, Morley's was getting a free pass tonight. Investigators had been trying for months to bring them to justice. Now it looked like they were going to have a pretty tight case against them. The appearance of a gun at the crime scene only helped make the case against them, even if the actual gunman had managed to flee the scene. Hellbound had managed to find the energy to get back out in front of the band and continue his singing engagement. Working outlets had to be located along with enough extension cords to cover the new, exterior venue, but where there was a will to party then there was a way to power the amps. Thus it was that when Hellbound did finally come to the next day, he was several hundred dollars richer than the night before. Sitting up in his narrow, creaking bed and taking in his crappy hotel room with bleary eyes, the hero tried hard to remember all of the action. He was hurting, sore and stiff in far too many places, but it'd been a great fight. No better way to blow off a little steam, in his opinion. Shifting painfully from the edge of his bed to the cold, dirty floor underneath, he made his aching way towards the bathroom.

Ooh, you know? I really kind of like the idea of an easter egg hunt obstacle course for the final exam. Set up a series of chambers filled with different environments ranging from repair labs to lost jungle ruins. Hellbound has to make his way through them, watching for and escaping traps while trying to spot the one item in each section that he has to bring back to Archeville. Maybe it's an actual Easter Egg set in plain sight on a shelf of spare parts, or maybe it's a fountain pen laying next to an idol in a mayan temple. Something about each item makes it look relatively innocent, and thus easy to hide in plain sight, and yet still incongruous enough that a sharp observer would notice that it doesn't actually belong. And for Phase Three -- the one aspect that hasn't really been tested is his high Initiative bonus (plus his Sieze Initiative feat). Setting him up against a machine that he has to outdraw or in some way react more quickly than would be a nice run for the boy. Would you suggest that I go ahead and AP the Immunity for the Doc's machine even though it won't fully protect him from its effects? At least in that way the Doc can get difinitive evidence of the adaptation as it happens since he's keeping Hellbound under continuous scan at the moment.

An obstacle course would be nice. Something in the Indianna Jones milleaux? Make him work those notice skills he's lacking (to spot traps), backed by reflex rolls for when he fails along with balance checks? Other than that? Run some intuition tests. Set him up with three or four Archevilles and have him try to figure out which is the real one based on subtle clues? Allow him to ask whatever questions he wants, but put a limit on either the time that he has or the number of questions he's allowed to ask before the fake Archevilles 'kill' the real one. Don't forget that he's actually more than just a brawler. His fast reflexes actually push him towards the quick-reacting role of a speedster. Granted, he can't run faster than sound or dismantle a car in .7 seconds, but he's good at getting the jump on the bad guy. I'd like to see his Initiative Bonus put to the test as he tries to out-draw a digital opponent. After we run Phase 3 I'm sure I can come up with another couple of possibilities, as well.

Eventually the cops did show up, complete with armored prisoner transports and a host of support cruisers. The emergency calls that brought them here had been placed with enough detail that it'd been clear metahumans were involved. In this town, that meant there would be no taking chances. Even though the participants weren't immediately identifiable by reputation alone, the damage that they were causing warrented precautions. A lot of onlookers escaped into the night when they showed up, but most wanted to watch the show to the bitter end. Though actually picking up and hauling off the mutants was far less exciting than the actual battle. There was a lot of standing around, talking, considering and checking for priors before the industrial-war-machine looking transport van was loaded. They managed to find the Brick Brothers, Kid Sparks and Mr. Whipcord all where they'd been left, but G.D. Badman seemed to have vanished. He had been, after all, the only one of the crew left conscious and capable of escaping despite his injured hand. The rest were picked up and checked by experienced medical teams before being marched into their awaiting chariot. It took a little fast talking on Hellbound's part to convince the police that he wasn't one of the bad guys. Despite his appearance, he actually did belong to a real superhero team and this was all in the line of duty. Eventually he was instructed not to move while his story was verified, and fortunately it checked out in the end. Hellbound was who he said he was, which owing to the oddball laws of meta-activity in Freedom City meant that he was free to go. Even after causing so much damage to one of the better bars in the city, he was given a pass to his violent activities. After all, Captain Thunder alone tended to cause more destruction on a regular basis. At least Hellbound hadn't gone around putting holes straight through any skyscrapers. Of course, the Thunderer tended to battle more world-menacing foes than the Mutant Mafia, but it all fell under the same set of legal circumstances. That didn't help ease the mental suffering of Morley's manager, however. As he sat alone in the darkness of the damaged bar, casually pouring a measure of strong scotch into a glass on surviving elements of the furnishings, he considered how much cheaper it would have been to just pay the protection money. Granted, that would have made them a future target for the racket, but at least he wouldn't have to explain to Moira why they needed to find a master craftsman to fix their antique, mahogany bar. C'est la vie, he considered. If a businessman couldn't handle a few metahumans battling it out from time to time then he really didn't belong in Freedom City in the first place. As he went through these depressing considerations, though, there was yet another figure watching the events roll through outside. A dapper man; well dressed, tall and fashionably thin was taking everything in and considering the results. It was a little odd, though, in that he managed to remain standing alone and not one soul near him reacted to his presence. Though he did nothing to protect his own position and moved not one inch, nobody took any notice of him nor did they seem to think his dark, dangerous stare was anything to be concerned about. It was almost as if he weren't really present, a fact clearly denied by his actualy standing there and glaring at the officers arresting his boys. Tony 'BigHorn' Shapela was a strong lieutenant, and not just physically. He and his crew were one of the best that the Mutant Mafia could field. They were experienced, controlled and tough as nails. A good combination of obedience, discipline and ingenuity had always made them one of the more valuable assets to the orginization and made Tony B. a rising star in the meta-mob. But now they were being arrested and carted off downtown. High priced lawyers were already being dispatched to ensure their quick release, but this was going to be both expensive and embaressing. The dapper man was going to have to go into the next council of dons and explain how his best lieutenant and the people working under him had been thrashed badly by a couple of punk superheroes. Worse, the one that'd seemed to have done the most work wasn't even well known. A nobody that'd come out of the woodwork like some cockroach. He didn't even have a costume even if he did claim to be some Knight of Freedom, whoever the hell they were. No, the next council meeting was going to be bad. He could already imagine the dissapointed stares of the Cappo and his consigliere. Drawing one, long hissing intake of breath through clenched teeth, the dapper man relaxed his concentration and slowly faded from the seen as if he'd never even been there in the first place.

"Yeah, but I look so damn cool with a cigar." Hellbound protested, still seated on the ground. he turned towards the approaching cops along with Avenger, but elected to stay behind to deal with the official aftermath. Someone had to stick around and make sure all the thugs made it into lockup, and who better than the bottle-throwing punk that started it all? "You take off. I'll handle the paperwork. Besides, I still have a set to finish out." He then looked towards the darkened bar, only a few exterior lights and security illumination still working at the moment. There wouldn't be any more singing tonight, but he still wanted to step up as the official superheroic presence of the event. He was, after all, one of the Knights of Freedom. "Oh... no, I guess I don't. Ah, well, it was a hell of a good gig while it lasted. See'ya around, V'ger. I'll give you a buzz if I need bail money tonight."

The muscles in Tony B.'s neck were thick and tough to squeeze tightly, but Avenger managed to cut off a fair amount of his air supply. The mutant reached forward and dug with his hands, but with the painfully bent position he was unable to get decent leverage. The same result occurred when he tried to grasp Hellbound and throw that one from his back. His face started to turn red and his eyes began to roll back in his head. Tony 'BigHorn' kicked with his legs, bucking at the infuriating situation but his was done for. Slowly, slowly the strength was draining from his limbs. Already pushed farther than he'd had extend himself in years, Tony B. slipped further down the path of exhaustion. His muscles were already starved for oxygen and his lungs straining against a tight grip that showed no mercy. Eventually he had to admit defeat. Avenger could see the light of resistance fade from his eyes. Hellbound could feel it, as well, as the man stopped fighting against them both. Still, he waited an extra moment or two before finally accepting that the battle was over. Somewhere off in the distance could be heard the approaching sounds of police sirens. Slipping from the mutant's back, Hellbound rolled into a sitting position on the ground. He was tired, beaten badly and exhausted on his own. But he'd won with a little help from his friend. With shaking hands, he reached inside his ruined jacket for the ever-present silver matchbox. Miraculously, it'd survived the titanic struggle even if none of his cigars had. "What took you so long?" He asked in a breathless and jovial tone of Avenger. Examining the cigar he'd selected, and noticing that it'd been smashed beyond all usefulness, he discarded it in disgust. Blood hissed and burned in midflight as he spat at the pavement and then felt at a loose tooth somewhere in the back of his mouth. "Hey, your friend Jack was in there. Last I saw he was mixing it up with a couple of real bruisers. You might want to go check on him."