Skysong

Lukos was sneaking around, so I should have given him a surprise round. What I'll do instead is say that you can put a surprise round wherever you want, which is effectively how the post worked out, so there's no need to change it. Lukos guesses, based on the smell of the gas, that it's not just smoke. Given how close he is to the Mobsters, though, and thus how far he is from the C's, he's not in the affected area. Since the Mobsters were actually out of range of Physicus's fearsome presence (range 50 ft, and they were at the other end of a 70 foot long warehouse), Lukos will have the first crack at them. They can't succeed against a 25, so all of the mobsters are now shaken, too, because Intimidate can't do more than that in combat. Updated Initiative Order: Physicus (29) Romeo's Crew (18) Murielle and Zombies (17) Lukos (16) Fulcrum (13) Mobsters (2)

The confused shouts that echoed from within the building told Zakitaj that his time was up; he knew that Mona was faster than he could even conceive, and trusted her to arrive as soon as she could, but he had apparently already run out of time to head off the gang fight. His only option was to jump into the fray and hope that he could hold out until help arrived, since someone would almost certainly be killed if he waited. Deftly he shoved the door open and stepped inside. A murky white gas was rapidly issuing from somewhere on the floor, but it didn't yet obscure the coughing and wheezing C's who were caught in it. Their assailants had to be the mob, then; no one else who was likely to be involved had access to that kind of hardware. He was going to have to move fast to keep everyone from dying; the C's, despite being outgunned, were sure to fight back to defend their pride and hopefully hurt their rivals unless he intervened, and they might even get somewhere given the amount of backup their supplier seemed to have stashed in the shadows. It didn't matter so much to him if the criminals got away so long as they stayed alive; the Khaladi code of honor not only forbade killing, but placed the preservation of even the lives of enemies from any threat as much more important than anything else. Besides, after tonight, these gang members might reconsider their membership, especially given that things were about to get much, much worse for them. Quite the intimidating sight as he loomed out of the darkness in his fluid silver and deep purple armor, Physicus spoke with a voice that was calm and level, yet it was somehow still heard above the tumult of shouting, coughing, and fumbling for weapons. "You are all under arrest. Drop your weapons, or I will make you drop them. Refuse to come peacefully and I cannot guarantee your continued safety, though if you run very, very fast, I might not bother to come and catch you." The words were not in and of themselves terrifying, but their perfect delivery, level, detached, and extremely sincere, sowed fear among the nearby gang members. The Haitian woman in the trench coat he took to be the supplier had clearly lost most of her confidence, as had the C's. Even their leader and his closest cronies, all looking to be far from the real world, managed to get it through their thick heads that they should be afraid. The mysterious back-up men at the edges of the warehouse, however, didn't react at all, leaving Physicus to wonder what he was up against...

That was a subtle way of asking for a date, Zakitaj was tempted to say, but Mona was clearly just joking again, and there was something charming about her bluntness. "Guilty," he replied with an even smile to her question about his flirting, "but how could I help myself? On Earth less than a day and I've already met someone worth flirting with." He was glad she accepted, in any case, though less glad when forced to admit that his suit merely walked. On the other hand, the mode of transportation she offered was certainly welcome. As she took hold of him in a wide hug and leaped for the clouds, his arms braced against hers, he reflected that it wasn't exactly what Khaladi ballads told of; then again, the thin, lithe man and the considerably taller, incredibly well-muscled woman bearing him aloft tore up pretty much every gender role stereotype he could think of. And then thoughts vanished as the wind whipped into his hair and he watched, awestruck, as the city he'd been standing in moments before spread out beneath him like a topographic map. He wasn't afraid, not only because Mona was more likely to snap him like a twig than to drop him nor because he never seemed to feel fear anymore but simply because the entire leap was too incredible to leave room for anything other than wonder in his mind. As they reached the crest and began to plummet again, he felt adrenaline pulse through his veins as his eyes took in the ground rushing up at him. He forced himself to stay loose; he would gain nothing by tensing, as it was merely a psychological response and not a practical one. The wind became more and more intense until his cheeks pulled back slightly from the force of their rapid descent. And then, all at once, Mona hit the ground and stopped as easily and casually as if she'd taken a jump across a puddle of water half a foot in diameter. He marveled at how powerful her feet and knees had to be if they could withstand such incredible impact without cracking themselves or the pavement. "I think I now truly understand why people have always dreamed of flight." Turning his mind back to his immediate surroundings, Zakitaj inhaled the aromas that surrounded the building Mona had taken him to. Everything here was exotic to him, but he couldn't deny that the smell was appealing, and he trusted his guide. "I don't doubt it," he replied to her statement of her near certainty that he would approve of the little business's food. It had occurred to him some time earlier that he didn't actually have any Earthling money, but he would deal with that in such a way that Mona wouldn't have to know. She'd carried him here in addition to having helped save his people from the Broan, and for the sake of his masculine pride he had to do something for her. Easing the door to the eatery open with one arm, he tucked the other under him to point inside and did a little half bow over it. "After you." Noticing that her great height might cause problems, he quickly added, "be careful with your forehead."

No need for the check; with all the confused shouting and choking coming from the C's, it's obvious something is going down, and Big Boris is only just moving inside. Fulcrum does notice that the warehouse has several skylights, though. EDIT: Since Physicus has a much higher initiative modifier than Lukos, and he got a natural 20 on the roll, I'm going to go ahead and post with him before we finish the initiative rolls so that whoever goes next (it'll probably be some of the crooks, unless Lukos rolls really high) can go as soon as his roll is in. EDIT 2: All of the C's and the dealer, Murielle, are now shaken, and take a -2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, and checks thanks to Physicus's fearsome presence. I was hoping to get some of them to run away, but they all did a little too well. Maybe I'll try again next round. The zombies presented in "Crooks!" aren't actually immune to fear, but I figured that, for the sake of movie-style horror and given that they're Baron Samedi's utterly mindless slaves, it made more sense to have them be unaffected by fearsome presence.

I put up an NPC post to start the action now that Physicus has given Fulcrum a call. That post was the surprise round (sorta), and only the Mobsters acted (by moving forward or reloading). The gas will take effect next round, though both Lukos and Physicus are too far away to be affected and Fulcrum hasn't arrived yet. At any rate, everyone needs to roll initiative. Physicus - 29 (1d20+9) Romeo's Crew - 18 (1d20+1) Murielle and Zombies - 17 (1d20+2) Mob Enforcers - 2 (1d20+1) I take back what I said about Physicus rolling badly. EDIT: I made a map, to clear things up with regard to positioning. The orange star is Lukos. The purple star is Physicus. The dark red stars are Mob Enforcers. The dark green stars are Zombies. The dark blue stars are Southside C's. The teal star is Romeo. The light green star is Murielle.

The van pulled up behind the decrepit building in which the Mob's enemies had presumed to take shelter, and the five well-armed enforcers filed out. They flanked the small back door, two on each side and "Big" Boris in the middle, grenade launcher at the ready. Andy held up three fingers, then brought each one down. As the last one touched his palm, Boris kicked the rusted door with all his might, sending it off of its hinges and into the half-light beyond. Raising his weapon, he fired twice in rapid succession, sending two grenades between the shelves on either side of the assembled group with pinpoint accuracy before falling back behind the wall to reload. His four comrades pressed inside, AKs raised and bodies crouched low behind the shelves. They advanced, covering one another and rapidly making their way toward the area where thick white fumes were beginning to obscure their quarry... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "And how d'we know this stuff is the genu-wine article?" Romeo stared down the Haitian chick, looking brave even though he knew that her backup had the C's surrounded. "Because we'll hang around while you try it. But you don't get any unless we get the cash, first." The gang lieutenant nodded and pulled six stuffed envelopes from within his discarded sweatshirt, then tossed them down on the cracked wooden palette that separated him from the dealer. She picked each one up, flicked through the bills with practiced ease, and stowed them in her trench coat, then pulled out the nine packages and slid each of them over, one at a time. Romeo distributed them to the others and, to once again prove his boldness, was the first to open his and pull out a pinch of the fine grey power within. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled. At first, it really hurt, but that only lasted for a few seconds. After that, his body accepted the change, and he relaxed as all of his stress left him. He was no longer sore, and no longer worried about failure. He'd practically already done it, hadn't he? It was all gonna be good. Behind him, two of his men worked up the courage to try some of the dust. They flinched at first, then also settled into the same relaxing feeling. "S'good stuff. Let's go bust us some heads. Later, babe." No sooner had she rolled her eyes at his comment than two metallic clanks caused Romeo to tranquilly look around. Something had fallen to the ground... and then they slid open, issuing white fumes into the room. "Oh... shit..."

Zakitaj stuck to the shadows as he made his way though the streets of the Fens. His armor was inactive, to keep him from looking too conspicuous. He wasn't on patrol; he stayed in West Freedom for that, close to his people and playing host to its own set of problems. Tonight he had a very specific destination, and a very specific goal when he reached that destination. One of his contacts had heard a disturbing rumor from a bribed member of the gang known as the Southside C's: they were going to make a move on Mob territory tonight, and they were getting a secret weapon to guarantee their victory. Digging a little further with his other contacts, he'd found out just how bad the situation really was. The C's were buying some sort of highly-illegal substance they called "the victory package", or sometimes just "the package", and whoever they were buying it from was bigger-time than they were. To make things even uglier, he'd gotten a last minute tip that the Mob knew exactly what was being planned. How they were going to react to it he didn't know, but "quickly" and "brutally" came to mind. He was headed off to stop a gang fight and a drug deal all rolled into one when the final tip rolled in: the "victory package" was called "Zombie Dust". Vividly remembering his encounter with the practically indestructible Dead Head, who he'd later discovered would be considered a "zombie" in popular culture, Zakitaj had decided to call in help from someone who knew how to deal with that sort of thing. As he neared the aged warehouse that was to play host to the deal, he moved sideways into an alley and allowed his suit to spring up around him. Hoping that his friend was on patrol, he opened the cellphone interface one of his Khaladi friends had programmed in and deftly dialed Fulcrum's cellphone. He wasn't sure if she had it with her when she was out and about, but he didn't have time to track her down at home, so this was his one shot. Knowing that time was running out, he didn't wait for it to ring and instead left a voicemail. "Mona, it's Zakitaj. I think I've found something that falls under your 'giant robots and mutant monsters' field of expertise, and I'm not sure I can tackle it on my own. If you can, come to 3464 Pinkerton Avenue in the Fens as soon as possible. I think things are about to get really unpleasant, unless someone intervenes." With that, he carefully slid toward the front door of the warehouse and stood beside it. He could only wait so long, and it paid to be ready.

Spent Physicus's starting Hero Point to re-roll a natural 1 on Gather Information. I've not been rolling well lately.

Glad to have you on board, Dariusprime.

Thank you. It's fun to write for characters that perceive things differently from average people. :)

As Lukos arrived at the walls of the old warehouse, the rusted steel that braced its dented plastic imitation timbers only barely keeping the entire construct together, he detected new smells even more unpleasant than the normal filth of the Fens. Beneath the general aura of mildew and decaying wood, his sensitive nose picked out an odor that might seem similar to the average Human, but to an animal was distinctively different. The scavenger in him knew it well: bad meat. Ten or more good-sized animals of some sort were decaying somewhere inside, but the scent was muted, as though they'd been rolled in dirt to mask it. In any case, the C's didn't show any sign of noticing it as they mustered their confidence and headed inside. There was something else, too, something very faint. It had the crispness of the neatly stacked dollar bills he could smell in the possession of the C's, but it was acrid and sharp, as though it could cut and burn his nostrils if he were closer. It was like nothing he'd ever smelled before, somehow sickly sweet but also dangerous. Then the wind shifted, whistling softly through the high windows long ago cracked by thrown rocks, and it was gone as soon as it had come. All of the gang members were now inside, and muffled voices reached Lukos's keen ears. There was some sort of exchange going on; a woman was displeased, and a man was defensive. All of them sounded tense. Somewhere in the distance, tires squealed.

I'll put up an NPC post to move the action along a little bit, and give Lukos a more detailed description of his surroundings. If you'd like to post again after that to describe his wanderings, that's fine. I just don't want to have the Mob show up and the all-out brawl start until Physicus shows up, hopefully with Fulcrum.

It made no sense at all. The origin Dead Head described provided no explanation, only more questions. Still, it seemed like the corpse-man himself was equally confused, probably because he had some ability to recognize the fact that the insanity-twisted memories he was speaking of were utterly nonsensical. He probably really didn't have any idea how he'd gotten his abilities, and (so long as he wasn't misusing them) that didn't really matter. But, since Zakitaj had asked for such information, it was only fair that he also provide it. "My friend was from this area; he left Earth a long time ago, and I met him on my homeworld, a long way from here. To make a long story short, we were invaded, and he gave his life to help us escape. This suit I'm wearing is one of the last examples of my people's advanced technology, and I feel obligated to use it, since it only works for me." The summary was extraordinarily brief, but it was all true, and certainly less ridiculous than Dead Head's explanation of events. Still, more information was needed before a judgement could be made. What if the attack he'd suffered wasn't the first? Even if he had been in an unfortunate position, that didn't mean that everyone who got shovel-smacked even seemed to deserve it. "How exactly do you help who you can, Mr. Dead Head? And who do you help?"

The warehouse hasn't been used to store anything for a while, but it's still full of empty shelves and broken palettes. Given that it's dark, it wouldn't be too hard for Lukos to sneak past the Human sentries, and since he doesn't know about the zombies, he judges that he could almost certainly get inside without being seen by the C's. I like the description, definitely. The idea of the smell of a neon sign really makes him seem alien and animal-like, yet human at the same time.

Nicely done again, Doc. I just wish I could actually have Zak react to Monty Python. He's so culturally deprived...

Zakitaj had no idea what Dead Head was babbling about, as he seemed to be using words he hadn't come up with himself, but he did get the general idea, which was also the obvious and impossible conclusion: that he was, in fact, both dead and alive. Every bit of reason the alien half-prince had ever been taught railed against that thought. People who were dead were dead. Their brains stopped functioning. Even if that somehow didn't happen, their hearts stopped pumping blood to their brains, which then suffocated, killing all of their brain cells and then making their brains stop functioning. Horror stories had been written on Khalados about nanomachines using the dead as puppets, and while this wasn't impossible, they wouldn't be able to do the things Dead Head did. Nor could any mutation allow life after death and decay, because mutations affected bodily processes, which no longer occurred after death. Despite his absolute certainty that the supposed zombie-man was wrong and probably incapable of explaining himself due to insanity, Zakitaj held his ground and spoke again, trying not to let his confusion creep into his vocal patterns too much. "I... don't think that can be the beginning, because you haven't answered why you aren't quiet... err... resting... err... not moving, like your friends in the graveyard over there. Could you please try to explain to me how you came to be a walking corpse, rather than just an ordinary corpse?"

What was intended to be a simple Zombie Dust deal ends up becoming a four way brawl between the Southside C's, the servants of Baron Samedi, the Freedom City Mob, and several superheroes. Who will come out on top?

The filthy streets of the Fens, illuminated only by the flashing neon signs advertising strip clubs and a few guttering streetlights, were quiet as Romeo Levine led his crew toward the meeting point. It was nearly midnight, and that meant that he was running out of time; if he didn't make a good impression on the gang's new supplier, he would lose his chance to get 'the package' (as he'd been carefully instructed to call it), and probably a finger or two if the gang leaders decided it was his fault. Behind him, eight C's traveled in tight formation; their gang colors were hidden by baggy, dark-colored sweatshirts, as were their switchblades and the guns of the three who were packing heat. They didn't want to run into trouble before they made the deal; afterward, they would go looking for it. The old warehouse loomed up before them in them dimness, and Romeo swallowed a little nervously, though he was careful not to let the others see it. This was his big chance, and that meant that he was done for if he blew it. He reached into his pocket and flicked the safety off of his piece, then allowed it to sit within easy reach; there wasn't any point in hiding it any more, and he wanted to make sure the suppliers knew not to mess with him. Now feeling more confident, he pushed the rusted door open (it was unlocked, as he'd been told it would be), beckoned to the other C's, and walked inside, a low bounce in his step and his chest thrust outward. He was going to get 'the package', and then he was going to kick the ass of anyone who dissed his gang. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Murielle Lefevre waited impatiently within the dark, chilly confines of the old warehouse, the nine small packages in her trench coat seeming to weigh several tons each. The stuff she was carrying was major enough that metahumans were known to get heavily involved at the merest mention of it, and the damn buyers still couldn't show up on time. She was low level in the DuLac cartel, having agreed to transport packages a few weeks before only to be promoted to actual dealing a few days earlier. With an unmemorable face and an ability to remain outwardly calm no matter the situation, she knew she was an asset to the group, even if her role was small-time. And while she'd promised she would stop as soon as she could pay for Betrand's chemotherapy, she wondered if this job might work out better for her than her studies as a social worker. Whether she kept that job hinged on the next few minutes, assuming her clients showed. The nearby door squeaked open, and she managed not to jump. Nine burly gang members swaggered inside, pulling off the dark overgarments they'd been wearing to reveal the colors of the Southside C's. Murielle wasn't paid to know things, but she knew that they were way outside their turf, and that they would be even edgier than she was. Fortunately, she wasn't as defenseless as she seemed. Around her, in the shadows, thirteen men and women stood in awkwardly straight poses, the aura of rot that surrounded them hidden by the general smell of mildew that permeated the warehouse. They were just visible, and that was just enough to keep her buyers from trying anything. "You're late," she said, her voice level but obviously irritated, "so let's see the cash and get this done." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Within the confines of the unmarked black van that was racing through the streets of the Fens, five men in leather jackets and gas masks loaded and checked their weapons. Andy "Juicer" Scaglione, leader of the little crew, looked down the sights of his AK-47 and imagined mowing down the damnfool gang members who'd thought they could outmaneuver the mob, looks of terror plastered forevermore on their faces as they realized their mistake. Beside him "Big" Boris Brustachev, on loan from the Russian Mafia, was debating whether he should put a gas grenade or an incendiary into his military-grade grenade launcher first. Andy tapped the gas grenade, and Boris obeyed with speed and efficiency. The mobster looked at his crew with no small measure of pride; these weren't just any old hitmen. Kevlar vests, genuine Soviet military weapons, and discipline set them way above every other group on the streets of Freedom. "Awright, boys," he began, "ya know what we're doin'. De Southside C's think dey can walk around an' do business in de Fens wifout ah permission, and we gonna prove 'em wrong. Make sure dey learn da hard way, got it? Da boss says no prisonas, no savivas, but we don' torch the place 'till we got whatever they was sellin'. S'gonna be a cakewalk, so have a lil' fun wif it, know what I'm sayin'?" Behind their masks, the other men nodded; the sound of five bullets being simultaneously chambered served as a grim foreshadowing of the carnage that was to come...

"Of course," Zakitaj said with a smile in response to her final question. What she'd said told him something interesting: she was effectively the opposite of his predecessor, who had focused exclusively on street crime, though she still had good advice to give that certainly didn't clash with what he'd heard from Physicus. He'd always said that you had to look for the people behind the problem because there were an infinite number of people willing to be part of it, and from the sound of it Mona would agree. The long description of crimes put him a bit on edge, but he could see how people in the Fens could get involved in such things. When nothing changed for the better and people stopped trying, other people would try to better themselves however they could, and scumbags looking for profit and discounting morals could easily sweep in and use such unfortunates to make money. It was going to be his job to catch those scumbags. But the fact that Mona operated differently gave him an opportunity: he'd heard all the stories about street crime, but not the ones about robots and giant monsters. He wouldn't have to feign interest if he heard about that sort of thing, though he doubted he would ever be uninterested in anything Mona had to say. It was a win-win situation: learn something new and seize the chance to prolong a conversation with a woman who fascinated him. "Giant robots and mutant monsters, you say? Sounds like you might have more than a few interesting tales, and I'd love to hear them. But I can hardly leave you standing on a street corner with a dry throat and keep asking questions in good conscience; perhaps you could introduce me to a local eatery? I'll pay if you'll tell me of your adventures. Besides, it would be good to know where food can be found; even aliens need to eat now and again."

Zakitaj was rather surprised that his strategy had worked; the being was still talking to thin air, but he seemed to be somewhat reasonable after all. Looking back on his own actions, he felt a twinge of shame; he'd reacted with hostility because of an insult to his pride, but it wasn't unreasonable for the... whatever it was to have thought him to be a grave robber. Reacting in the way he had had earned him a bruise and an unnecessary fight, but in another situation it might have allowed criminals to go free and the innocent to be harmed. He'd only just taken up his new responsibilities and he'd already made a mistake. When the being was done relocating its arm with another unpleasant pop and pondering how to explain its existence, he forced out words that dealt a blow to the pride he'd been trying to protect. "I... should also apologize, Mr. Dead Head. Given my position, and the manner in which I reacted to you, I can hardly blame you for being protective of your friends." It sounded like madness, but that might make his confession easier for a madman to understand. Besides, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing for a graveyard to have a guardian. He hadn't heard any prior complaints. "And no, I'm not from around here, and much remains in this culture that I am unfamiliar with. Please try to explain regardless. I've seen many amazing things since I came here, but all of them made at least some sense to me. I can't seem to find any principle of science that would allow you to appear and do as you do."

I did have Physicus give a couple of introductory words, since that's a free action and he acts before the Broan in any case. If you'd prefer that he not say anything until it's his turn, I'll make an edit.

The rain was not bothersome to Physicus; within his dry, climate-controlled armor, it didn't matter whether he was in a drizzle or a hurricane. There was something peaceful in the rush of falling water, and in the way the clouds above softened the light that fell on the city. He calmly trudged along the road down from Lantern Hill, eyes alert for any sign of lawbreakers. There were definite disadvantages in having no vehicles and no transportation powers in a large city, but at least he'd quickly learned the shortcuts and dangerous back alleys that were accessible only by foot. Humming an old Khaladi ballad that would seem totally out of tune to any Earthling that chanced to hear it, he was considering heading back to his haunts in the West End; as usual, the hill was pretty quiet. Then came a sound that tore the tranquility asunder, a sound he recognized all too easily. It was the discharge of starship weapons, and these specific weapons were used by only one species he knew of. An earsplitting *crashsmashblam* followed, and the ground shook a bit with the impact. Physicus broke into a full-out run toward the source of the sound, rounding two corners with dangerous speed and nearly smashing into an elderly woman making her slow way home beneath an umbrella. He called an apology over his shoulder, narrowly missed an ornamental tree, and still didn't slow. At last he skidded to a halt and beheld a scene out of his nightmares. He had been right. A good twelve Broan warriors stood not far beyond an unmistakably Broan starship, busily working at cutting down members of a blue-skinned alien race he didn't recognize. With vivid memories of his own arrival on Earth flowing through his mind, Physicus strode forward openly, allowing his helmet to become transparent (though raindrops still halted above his head as though stopped by empty air). The light that existed beneath the clouds reflected off of his wet metallic battlesuit, making it shimmer even more than usual. His handsome face was contorted with fury, and he shouted with a deep, booming voice as he raised the hands that contained his powerful kinetic projectors. "Foul, despicable Broan! Here is your true adversary! I spit on you. Come and do battle, cowards!"

"So be it," Zakitaj said with a heavy internal sigh. If he wanted this to end peacefully, and perhaps simply to end at all, he was going to have to play by this strange being's rules. "I am called..." He almost gave his real name, but that wasn't what he was going to go by while armored. Not anymore. He'd earned the right to take up another identity. "I am called Physicus, and, as I told you, I didn't steal anything." He opened a temporary gap in his armor at the shoulder, pushed it forward, and allowed the film canister to roll down his armored sleeve and into his hand before holding it up in the fading light. "An old friend of mine left this hidden in the graveyard. I believe it contains information he wanted me to have in the event of... of his death, which has now occurred. You can ask your friends; it doesn't belong to them, and never did. Industrial plastics weren't around when that grave was dug." Hoping that logic and evidence were enough to get through to the mind of even a madman, Zakitaj decided that it was time for him to ask his own questions. "Now that I've given my explanation, how about you give me yours? Who are you, what are you, and how can you do what you just did? And what on Earth is 'black magic'?" The being's explanations would probably be shot through with insanity, but even in the words of the mad there was often some underlying truth.

*shudders*

Heh... there you go. I have second trimester finals next week. We have more in common than we could have known. I'll try and PM you an idea by tomorrow; hopefully that will work out.