Gizmo

As the class toured the lab, Trevor didn't have much trouble spotting Mike in the crowd. Even if he hadn't been hanging towards the back of the group, the broad shouldered teen was one of the few students who towered even over him. Still not knowing very many people at Claremont, Trevor wandered over to stand next to him. With characteristic terseness, the dark haired youth simply tipped his beaten fedora in greeting, taking a sip from the paper cup in his hand. In his short weeks at the school, Trevor had displayed an uncanny ability to procure coffee regardless of time or location. He turned his attention back to the tour. While Travis Hunter was a brilliant chemist, his son, Trevor's father, had never shown any inclination toward the sciences, much to the original Midnight's disappointment. Trevor, on the other hand, had displayed an aptitude for mechanics at an early age, taking appliances apart and putting them back together. The number of those appliances which continued to function after this treatment steadily grew and he matured, and much of the current assortment of gadgets he used as the new Midnight were a combination of his grandfather's chemical inventiveness and his own talent for miniaturization. Visiting ASTRO Labs, natrally, was akin to touring a candy factory; not that one would guess it from his relaxed expression.

A black motorcycle roared through the streets of Freedom, nimbly picking its way around the piles of overturned pavement and flaming rubble. It's rider lay low, letting the wind flow over him to blow his jacket outward, tendrils of inky mist trailing behind it. Ahead of him, the entrance way from the airport's parking lot had been completely blocked by overturned cars. Glowing red eyes narrowed behind the visor of the cyclist's helmet as the bike accelerated. The front wheel shot into the air, and the motorcycle flew forward, using the ruined vehicles as a ramp to launch through a wall of fire and smoke to land on the tarmac on the other side. The acrid cloud didn't bother Midnight. It was time to see if these monsters could say the same.

Initiative. (1d20+9=17) (For the sake of argument, Vince knows Jack's true identity, since he tracked him down in the original Interceptors thread. That brings the list to him, presumably Doktor Archeville, by extension, Ellie, Fulcrum and Ace Danger.)

Jack of all Blades was lounging in the underground, leaning back in a chair by the central monitors and tossing a deck of card one by one into a nearby waste basket. The swashbuckler sighed and looked over at the screens. "Vince, buddy, tell me there's something." The computer generated talk show host shrugged in his immaculate suit, his feet up on his desk. "Nada, chum. S'all quiet on the-" He was cut off as a red indicator blinked on one of the panels. "Huh, now there's luck for you," Vince grinned, suddenly in front of a weatherman's chart, pointing out the location of the disturbance. Even as he opened his mouth with another quip, a second light blinked on, then a third. "Boy, it never rains but i-" The map was rapidly covered with hot zones, a klaxon alarm wailing through the base. Vince's face fell as his simulated background disappeared and he turned to the swordsman. "It's... Erik, it's everywhere." Jack was already on his feet and sprinting to the vehicle bay. "Call in everybody. Every number, every favour, everything, and give me directions to the closest attack in the MAVERIC," he instructed as he ran, Vince's image appearing on the screens in the hallway. He paused at the doorway to the garage to slap the intercom. "Colt, Grim, get down here now!"

Initiative. (1d20+3=7)

Reflex save. (1d20+5=24)

In retrospect, maybe not a flawless plan... Trevor decided as he scrambled up the tower of angry alien, doing his best to keep moving while simultaneously holding on for dear life. Miraculously, he made it to the thing's head, where he viciously latched onto whatever fleshy bits he could lay hands on and began to smoke. Inky black fumes poured first from his sleeves, than out from his entire jacket and finally from his every pore, rapidly covering both himself and the Grue's head in utter darkness.

Climb check. (1d20+2=14) Hahaha... yeah. Midnight gives the Grue a face full of midnight mist and oh my goodness that came out so very wrong.

For all the stories his grandfather had told him, and all the times over the past months he'd willingly put himself in harm's way, Trevor had never been saved himself. One second he was about to be a greasy smear on the giant's fist, and the next an auburn haired amazon was taking the hit meant for him and getting back to her feet like it had been nothing at all. He felt as though the breath had been knocked out him despite the punch's deflection. In that moment, simulation or not, he would have followed Erin to the Terminus and back. "You call the play," Midnight agreed with a curt nod.

If the simulated Grue hadn't stopped to quip at him, she might have taken off Midnight's head. As it was, he was given just enough warning to throw himself out of the way. There's a lesson in that, he supposed dispassionately. Don't talk so much. As Erin disposed of the first alien, Midnight tumbled forward, rolling under the roaring giants view and swiftly coming up behind him with a swift kick to what would have been a pressure point... on a regular sized human, anyway. Trevor had to admit to himself that it wasn't much of a plan, but he wasn't exactly in his element. Time to broaden my horizons.

Alright, Midnight will use HiPS to Skill Mastery Stealth for 28, then Power Sneak Attack! Power Attack 5 (1d20+9=12) Argh. He'll reroll with his sole HP: Power Attack 5 reroll (1d20.minroll(11) +9=22) *sigh* That should be DC 26.

The massive blow sent Trevor flying, and he blacked out for a moment. Knocking against the building wall brought him back to consciousness, albeit with his head swimming. Staggering forward, he instinctively released another cloud of mist, over lapping the concealing cloud already covering the scene, and moved to secret himself amidst it. One of the first things his grandfather had taught him was how to blend into the shadow at a moment's notice, practicing over and over until his body could melt away from sight without his instruction. It gave him the time he needed to clear his head and take stock of the fight.

(Midnight made a recovery check in chat, for the sake of argument, folks) Nothing exciting, gonna renew the mist and use Stealth.

Jack flipped through the air, landing lightly a short distance for Mongrel Angel and her double. Jackalope hopped over and the pair of swashbucklers stood in silence for a moment while the two winged women apparently sized each other up. Eventually Jackalope looked up at his taller counterpart. "Five bucks says they make out," he wagered. "No deal," Jack replied, shaking his head. Frankly, he thought it was a sucker's bet.

Jack stood stock still for a moment, mouth opened is a silent shout and wide eyes covered is swirling magics, before staggering back a step and doubling over, clutching his forehead with a grimace. "Madre de Dios! Why do I keep doing stuff like that?!" he groaned, covering one eye with the palm of his sword hand as he straightened. The swashbuckler blinked as if adjusting to the light in the room, wincing and cracking his neck. "Seriously, who thought 'Nazi war crimes: apply directly to you head' was a good idea for a magic scroll? At what point in your life do you say, 'Ja, das ist das, was meine bibliothek ist fehlt: die bösen gehirn magie.'' He paused briefly. "Funny story, I don't actually speak Germ-" He was cut off as his left hand abruptly punched him in the nose, apparently of its own accord.

"One salad for the lady, coming up," Jack quipped to the Phantom's friend as she somehow managed to move herself into the greenhouse. Leaping forward, his fiery blade flashed back and forth with blinding speed, slicing effortlessly through the closest yellow plant creature, leaving it a pile of charred pieces. Tumbling forward, the swashbuckler did away with its compatriot in similar fashion, adding to the growing pile of smoldering plant matter on the ground. "Anything I should know about these things beyond 'kill it with fire'?" he asked the flora specialist.

Power Attack 5. (1d20+12=31) Same deal, but with added crit-goodness, for DC 39. Nice.

Groovy. HP reroll: Power Attack 5. (1d20.minroll(11)+12=27) I'm using the Autofire 3 version, so that's DC 34. Let me know if he gets to go for the Takedown attack or not, then I'll throw up the IC post.

Will save vs. Stun DC 20. (1d20+10=24) Will save vs. ?? (1d20+10=20)

Not so much.

Okay, super tiny thing: the first line of Jack's history names his mother as "Gail Espadas". That should be "Gina Espadas" instead. Doktor'd

Jack shook his head sadly. "Personally, I judge a mummy by his actions, not by the colour of his bandages." When Ace described the scroll's intended use, Jack stepped forward and took the papyrus gently in his hands. "So it's magic? I wonder..." The swashbuckler strained his energy awareness to it's limits, it's greatest level of acuity and detail. Sure enough, there was the slightest tingling mystic energy in the paper, the feel of dormant power. Mentally reaching for that feeling, Jack laid his free hand out palm up, and a whispering wisp of energy rose from the scroll like a lover's sigh. There wasn't enough there to form a true sword; the smokey blade that solidified in his hand was small and fragile, almost looking more like a key than a dagger. Jack looked up, from Ace to Edge and back down at the paper. "Well, when in doubt..." he muttered before jabbing the blade dead center into the symbol the immortal adventurer had revealed and turning it as if unlocking a door.

Alright, Jack's got this one, then.

"I know all about monsters in the dark," Midnight responded in a perfect deadpan, eliciting a confused look. "Aliens. Shapeshifters." His tone was terse but respectful. He tilted he chin upward, revealing a sliver more of his glowing red eyes from under his fedora's brim, and asked, "Why?"

Yee... wait, how is a PL10 guy hitting DC 32? Toughness save. (1d20+8=10) Oh, man...