Dariusprime

Hooray! And thank you, Cyroa. Running such a big story must have been a handful. I can't speak for everyone, but I'm definitely up for another big arc if the opportunity arises. :clap: :cthulhu:

"Hmm...," Fulcrum gazed uncertainly at Colt and Geckoman and back to Tempest, "Not to be a downer, but I'm not sure how much I can really help, 'connection' or not. Sounds like you need a scientist or mystic, and I don't qualify in either department." Popping a berry into her mouth, she added facetiously, "If you wanted a portrait or something smashed, I'm your gal."

Fulcrum smiled and waved at Ace and Jack. Getting the rundown from the organizer took only a moment, and in the process she glanced furtively back to Jack. Something about the way he looked at her seemed off. She was accustomed to getting strong reactions from people, but the colorful rogue looked like she had gut checked him. Considering what little she had heard of the swordman's reputation, she chalked it up to his demeanor with the ladies. Even if he did seem a bit out of character... In any case more practical matters came first. Thanking Ms. Nielson, Mona headed past the two and into the lady's changing area. Soon enough she returned, her normal costume replaced by more appropriate boxing attire. The new look sported gold trunks, a white top and blue/gold-striped gym shoes. All matched her costume's hues and the blue boxing gloves over one shoulder. Since Ace and Jack appeared deep in conversation, she veered over to Colt, Grimalkin and Atlas while fighting her hair into a manageable pony tail. Grinning, she hopped up to them stiff-legged, striking a similar pose to Atlas, "You dare insult a man of honor?" she chuckled, winking to Atlas, "Hi, guys. How's it going?"

Long after Dark Star disappeared inside, Fulcrum slowly circled the venue. A look of intense concentration dominated her expression. Every few moments she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally she steeled her nerve, clinched her fists and began her descent, "You can do this, Mona. You fought extra-dimensional monstrosities and killer robots, you can deal with an...arena full of people watching you..." Her confidence wavered but her approach did not. She landed on the red tape with a light step and took in the crowds. By now many people had turned their attention to actually getting into the event. Smiling and waving at the few that noticed, she slipped down the lane amid a new round of cheers and flash strobes. Lisa was busy talking to the camera, and Fulcrum silently thanked her luck. Just when she thought she was home free, fate intervened. Three fans in the crowd yelled and held up a sign reading Go Fulcrum! Rock and Sock'em! All Mona could do was laugh and wave at her neighbors. That interruption was all Lisa needed. As Fulcrum headed for the entrance, Lisa deftly intercepted her, "Fulcrum! I hear that, along with Atlas, you brought in quite a bit of money for the Foundation. What did you use as a fundraiser?" The reporter's sudden appearance brought Fulcrum to a flustered halt. Her smile faltered a moment, but soon she knelt down to the microphone, "Several sources actually. I donated five of my original pieces to the Foundation. Two will be raffled off tonight, and the other three are up for the charity auction next week. Most of the money came from portraits done at other Foundation fundraisers, all proceeds going into the fund." "Did you use any special subjects or topics?" "They cover slices of life and landscapes in Freedom City. My favorites are a landscape of Riverside Park at sunrise and a group of kids playing street baseball in the West End." "They sound lovely. Fulcrum, can you tell us more about your new cost..." Fulcrum waved her hand and stood up, "Tonight is about the kids, and I really should be going. Pleasure to be here, Lisa. Thank you." Moments later she entered the locker room for briefing.

Fulcrum sat down and listened intently. Judging by her expression, she was both interested and deeply troubled by Tempest's current situation. After Geckoman voiced the optimal question, in his own unique way, Fulcrum added, "How long do you have before the link is severed and how can we help?"

Hot on the heels of the Pitchoo came another flying figure. The white caped giantess descended slowly through the ready made opening in the trees. Landing in Tempest's clearing, she took in the scene before her, "Hi, everyone. Sorry I'm late." Her eyes lingered on the Pitchoo long enough to inquire, "Is something on fire?" as she pointed into the recently exited hatch. Looked as if she didn't know what to make of the ship either. She shrugged to Colt. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to Tempest. If Geckoman and his ship were an unknown factor, then Tempest was something completely alien. Still she recognized the urgency of the situation by his appearance alone. After Colt introduced himself to Geckoman, Fulcrum offered a hand to Tempest, "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Fulcrum. I suppose you already know that." She smiled, but still looked a little uncertain.

I'm back, internet restored and am ready. :)

Fulcrum heard the horde approaching, or more aptly, she felt the horde approaching. Sighing one last time, she forced herself up to one knee, then upright. By this time the horde was virtually upon them. Maneuvering didn't matter at that point. She didn't have time to talk. Taking up a boxing stance, Fulcrum braced for the first victim. A surprise kick to a demon's groin turned into a clumsy stumble. The monsters vanished. She stood there slack jawed and unmoving. Finally Grimalkin's cheers broke her out of the brain lock. A huge smile broke over her battered face. What to do? Cheer? Weep? All she could think of doing was run and she run did. She took off, yelling victoriously as loud as she could manage, fists high above her head. Round and round she went. She snatched up Ace in a bear hug, spun him around, sat him down and was gone in a flash. She patted shoulders, gave thumbs up and generally made a wonderful nuisance of herself. Finally she leaped into Atlas' arms, or barring a catch, threw an arm around his neck and hovered next to him. "I love this job." She may love her job, but you couldn't tell from how she looked.

I've been having serious internet problems since Friday. A technician should be out Monday afternoon, but I can't guarantee that I will be back online that day. I apologize for the inconvenience and will be back as soon as possible. Have fun! :mrgreen:

Happy very belated birthday, Sandman! :clap:

I wouldn't miss this one for the world. :)

From what I've heard from Cyroa, some memories but no physical effects will be retained. Hopefully those memories would include enough to justify the feats. As for the regeneration, I was going for healing (at least trying to) during the Invasion, not healing after the event. Didn't really clarify that very well. Cyroa, thoughts? If those won't work, can I remove the explanations and ask for the updates anyway please? Abilities (2): +2 Charisma Feats (2): Fearless and Takedown Attack Powers (2): 2 ranks of Regeneration, improving to Injured 1/rd Done by Sandman XI

Left. Right. Left. Uppercut. Fulcrum was having trouble with her big one. When snapping its jaws didn't work, the dragon tried to claw her to death. That didn't work either; the stubborn woman flailed her legs and started kicking out teeth. Finally the great beast shook its head wildly, dislodged her and roared in triumph. Big mistake. After rib kicking the wind out of it, Fulcrum went heavy bag on the freak's head. The charging bravado faded into a timid back petal as the dragon clawed ineffectually. She proceeded to rearrange its facial bones in a variety of grotesque and innovative ways while knocking its head from side-to-side. Finally the towel was thrown, and the dragon retreated with its little remaining strength. Of course Fulcrum was having none of that. She latched onto the base of that thing's skull and squeezed for all she was worth. Crazed somersaults and rolls followed until the last of the monster's strength was sapped. Wings faltered and the two warriors tumbled to earth. Rock and splintered wood shot up from the crater. A crater that was uncomfortably close to the last barricades, but far enough to crush dead only the shrubbery. Moments passed. Then the wet crack of bone echoed from the hole, and the dragon's head emerged over the edge. Quickly then it was tossed out, decapitated, and Fulcrum crawled out to lay on her back. A strange black aura seemed to seep from every pore. All she could do was lay there and laugh maniacally. And cough up blood.

I would like to spend 6 points on Fulcrum please. Abilities (2): +2 Charisma to represent her increasing confidence and social development in the super hero community. Feats (2): Fearless and Takedown Attack to represent the experiences and fall out of the Invasion. Powers (2): 2 ranks of Regeneration, improving to Injured 1/rd, representing her body's attempts to heal the various Invasion injuries and the long-term acceleration of her healing process. Thanks! Done by Sandman XI

While her theme is more cosmic, Fulcrum will help out a hero in need. :)

"Alright, sweety, a little more to the left. That's great," said Leslie. Focusing the camera, she snapped several photos of the model. Brandon had that posh-bored look she wanted, but she knew he really was bored. Modeling jeans for some no-name company wasn't making him (or her) rich. Still the gig was a pay check and padded out the commercial portfolio. At least the ad department was picking up their lunch tabs. She sighed as she reviewed the photos. The new, digital camera wasn't working out the way she wanted. The light was fading out the image way more than she wanted. Pulling out the manual, she flipped to the index, "May as well take five, Brandon. This will take a few minutes. This new camera still isn't working right." Brandon just nodded and sat down on a pier support, bottle of water in hand. He stared off down the lane at the innumerable boxes and the huge ships offloading them. From their view at the east end, the Waterfront looked like an endless, multi-colored maze. Brandon thought it reminded him of an ant hill. Men and loaders criss-crossed in a chaotic dance. All pursuing a common goal. He squinted. Something strange was happening. People were scattering off the main lane of traffic. Even the forklifts veered off wildly like something big was coming. He blinked when a smashed up SUV zipped out of chaos, narrowly avoiding a pallet. Even stranger was the bolts of electricity spraying sparks all over the docks. And that thing was moving fast. Moving fast toward him! "Les, watch out!" he yelled. Normally he wasn't a courageous man, but without thinking he leapt from the post and tackled the photographer. All Leslie could get out was, "...finally. Hey, Bran..." The SUV missed them by inches, but not only because of his heroics. Shaking violently, it accelerated for the on-ramp in the distance. They still should have been clipped. Instead a giant, caped superwoman lifted the vehicle over her head. Jogging along under her burden, she dug in her heels to slow down. Aimed away from the ramp, the SUV crashed head long into a concrete divider and crumpled. All Leslie could think of doing was snap picture after picture.

Single-minded little monsters. Fulcrum wasn't sure what to make of the flying monkeys or their vicious interest in the flying machine. The hero tucked safely inside the flier must have really ticked them off. Looking that ugly was bad enough but still. Maybe the beasties thought the ship was the Wicked Witch of the West or something. Didn't matter. Arm cocked back again, she didn't waste any time and unloaded a hay maker right between the wings of her original target. This time the swing landed square. A satisfying thud echoed in her ears, and she hoped to hear an even more satisfying crack. Buckle those wing bones and spine. One way or another they were going to pay attention to her. Needed to get some of the heat off of the other hero. As she followed through, her gaze drifted down to the bridge for brief moment. Looked like everything was going well enough. If only she had any idea how wrong that thought would be. For now though she just focused on the monsters before her.

Alrighty, thanks. All-Out/Power Attack (-/+5) vs Flying Demon (1d20+8=22) If that is a hit (I hope O_o), then Toughness DC 32.

She nodded, speaking softly, "Thank you," as she too looked up at the statue. After a long sigh, she stood up from eye level :mrgreen: and stretched. Her full height put Kristian's eye level in the middle of her chest, but she didn't seem to mind or care. Shifting to a more upbeat tone, "I take that back. People do talk about that day. How strange it all was, the existence of demons, religious and cosmological implications of the invasion, heavy topics like that. Can't say I blame them, but I'd rather deal with the practical aspects of life, you know? Demon, alien, cyborgs-from-the-future, its a wonder anyone is surprised at what happens in this city. Life is too interesting to worry about what new peril will pop up tomorrow." After an energetic meow, Archimedes was scooped up in one arm, "This is my handler, Archimedes. Best one-eyed, mutt watch cat you'll ever encounter." She looked off into the distance a moment, her face more solemn. Archimedes meowed again and she scratched his ears. "I appreciate you sincerity, Kristian. Not only because of what happened to us that day but just in general. I've gotten a lot of flack since I adopted my new costume, and any positive feedback is welcome." She smiled.

I think Geckoman and Angel are up first. <.

Four Toughness Saves vs Demonic Attacks (1d20+12=28, 1d20+12=23, 1d20+12=16, 1d20+12=28) Two successes, so 6 wounds. Ouch. :)

Yes, Fulcrum had lost herself in the roar of battle. Throwing all of that raw horror back at the demons gave her confidence. Confidence and that annihilating drive shielded her from the worst of the feelings. One negative emotion remained. Even as endless claws and teeth and limbs tore at her flesh, her only real enemy lingered in the shadow at the edge of her red-tainted consciousness. That feeling was regret. Regret for failing her family, her friends and her city. Regret at not coordinating better with the other heroes. Regret for not picking up that cargo container to swing at the demons. Even somehow, although unaware consciously, regret for not hearing the death cries of the other defenders. The inhuman darkness tightened around her, close enough that she smell their fetid breath, and she most regretted not training to fight groups. She fought like Centurion, and Centurion favored single, powerful foes. Hundreds of fliers swarmed her, latching onto her with claw and tooth and tail and tentacle, massing into a ball dozens deep trying to drag her down. Almost in unison, wings ceased, and only augmented strength kept them aloft. At the very least, she had drawn many fliers away from the lines. Suddenly a scream echoed through the noise. She couldn't or wouldn't register the intent, but the power behind it was undeniable. The demons reacted, distracted for mere second, and Fulcrum struck. Twisting her body around, she tried to whip free of their holds and tore loose. That they took whole chunks of tissue didn't even register. A hole opened in their ranks, and then she saw it. As Dark Star's final assault blasted the small demons away, Fulcrum hovered there in stillness. Before her the fleet scattered and one of Hell's flying generals appeared. It crunched down on those unfortunate demons blown too close. The Hellspawned dragon, all black scales and skeletal skull, dipped and weaved serpent-like as it approached. Acrid black smoke puffed from its nostrils, and licks of fire blazed in its empty sockets. A magnificent specimen. A worthy foe. In that moment, something changed inside her. Physically she was gapping wounds and seeping blood. Her costume clung to her in shreds, only Centurion's cape holding together with any real coherence. Broken bones ground together as she balled her fists. Blood poured, then trickled, from a skull-deep laceration across her forehead. Her eyes though registered the real change. The last fear was burned away in this crucible of evil. Never again would she feel it, and in that moment she was free and unfettered. The dragon burbled and twisted its way forward, jaws open, but Fulcrum struck first. From hover she vanished in a blur. The dragon reared back in pain as its skull face split and fractured. Arm embedded in its upper jaw, the dying hero was pulled along. The accompanying roar couldn't be deciphered clearly as the dragon's or her own. But in her mind, the blazing eyes burning through her belonged to something else.

Getting just the right color blend for the statue's surface had been tricky. Several tubes laid in a row next to her as she mixed on the palette. She started at the voice, turned to the young man and in the process dropped her brush. Palette laid at her feet, Mona shifted up to one knee and looked at him with curiosity. Considering the grin creeping across her face, his judgment was spot on the money. She shook his hand like he was an old friend, "Yes, we were, weren't we?" she spoke quietly as she nodded. The shake was a good, firm one, but not anything like the bone-crushing force she had demonstrated that day. "I'm Mona. I can't place you, but it's still a pleasure. Not many people talk about that day." She stole a glance over him. Yes, she did admire his physique and poise, but mainly she focused on his eyes, like she was searching them for something. Her eyes had a piercing quality to them, but maybe that was just a side effect of having one brown and one blue eye. Whatever she saw reflected, she must have liked. Cocking her head to the side, "You were one of the front liners?" she added slyly after glancing around. She obviously didn't know, but let her curiosity run wild.

"I would say that the nature of a person is bound to the physical form of the person in question. This nature or intelligence is a product of material properties. Regardless of the complexity or simulation of human intelligence a machine may have, fundamentally these processes are always artificial in that they always mimic the original pattern. In essence, the material foundations from which the intelligence develops is not human and thus can never be considered human-like intelligence." Again a small chuckle echoed over the phone line. Following a cat's meow, she continued in an even more rambling tone, "Considering the nature of current scientific understanding, Descartes' substance dualism simply does not stand up to scientific scrutiny. Mental properties must necessarily flow from material properties, as even simply modification of the material properties of an intelligence or other arrangement can significantly alter the so-called mental properties. They do not have an independent existence. By contrast the evidence of mental-to-physical modifications is much less striking. The placebo effect, for example, may have a mind-body connection, but this does not provide testable evidence for a distinct mental property." "More simply though, I wonder why anyone would even attempt to create an artificial intelligence. Humans are the product of billions of years of evolution, and represent an unusual offshoot of a primate lineage. We are shaped tremendously by the capabilities of our brains, bodies, genes and environment. Hypothetically, an artificial intelligence would be unfettered from these restrictions and be far more capable and less prone to self-illusion, erroneous pattern seeking and perceptual distortion. Perhaps we want A.I.s to be like us because they would be comprehensible in a way a more enlightened system would not be. Perhaps the system, if unbidden to greater environmental and structural issues, would near a singularity of consciousness." Even over the phone, her smile shined through, "Ever read 'The Last Question' by Asimov? Maybe both of us are robots, even if one is logically inconsistent. Besides why a robot? A robot doesn't have to think."

Despite the wind, lines of sweat dripped down Mr. Gray's face. Red, Blue and Green sat rigidly still, too frightened of the car's escalating malfunction to move. Arcs of electricity buzzed through the car and erupted against passing objects. A neon sign took a hit, scattering glass over a storefront. A red light turned permanently green as the red and yellow sprayed sparks. The console, once full of yellow and red alarms, turned solidly red. The display read, "Inertial Dampeners Critical Overheat: Emergency shutdown in 0:34." One last harrowing turn and freedom was in sight. Pramas Bridge was indeed congested, but as confirming Fulcrum's fears, the sidewalks looked like the gangsters' intended target. The car shook and swayed with every motion but soon targeted the curb. Only a few more feet... "I don't think so," yelled Fulcrum as she dove from above. Leveling off just above the sidewalk's pedestrians, she charged forward, fists before her, toward the giveaway car, "Wanna play 'Chicken'?" No, they did not. Over three terrified screams, Red managed to yell, "Leftyouidiot!" before jerking the wheel. The car turned as directed at first and promptly went berserk. The thing cornered around on itself in a beautiful, green square and touched its own trail. Lightning shot in all directions, the car disappeared into a spinning whirl and righted itself only to ramp off the side of the bridge. Even Fulcrum was surprised this time. Banking sharply, she circled around to see the SUV launch itself off the bridge and down onto the docks. Somehow, be it skill, circumstance or miracle, the car not only survived but kept zooming along. "Now that is a good car." Off she went, following their trail among cargo crates and longshoremen.