Supercape
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Freedom City Guidebook
Freedom City PBP: A How-To Guide
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Events
Posts posted by Supercape
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GM
The tower was a mile away, and was half that in height. Anyone with even a smattering of architectural or engineering training would have laughed at the structure; it would have - normally - fallen over with a light breeze. Perhaps there was no breeze in this digital world, or perhaps it was held together with magic.
But it still looked precarious.
Golden Star and Cortex had two problems with the approach;
Firstly, there were tanks and patrols milling about. On close study, they looked predictable in route, but they still represented eyes and bullets. There were plenty of ruined buildings to sneak about in, but a misstep might bring an army on them.
Secondly, the tower itself was bristling with machine guns and observation posts. And at the very tip, they could seem so outlandish science-fiction weapon on a turret.
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GM
In the tower of bolts...
Everything here was concrete and blocky. Suspiciously blocky, as if someone had constructed it out of building blocks. Or it was designed to be run on an old gaming system...
Blocks that served no purpose other than for stealthy characters to hide, needless passageways, always ninety degree angles to everything. Patrols of quasi-nasi's with rifles marching, goosestep, in entirely predictable patterns, and barking occasional but repetitive statements.
There were lots of them, but the predictable patrol patterns and blocky blocks were a great aide as Cortex slowly went down the tower.
One oddity thought, it seemed to be designed for players to go up, rather than down.
Halfway up/down the tower, she came to a laboratory. Evil nazi scientists with scraps of grey hair protuding from shiny bald scalps, white coats with flecks of blood, thick glasses. Four of them, milling around an engineering station that had "WEAPON RESEARCH" on its door.
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Sorry for midweek delay (my job is intense midweek!)
Anyway we can wave away that staggered with an HP and the narrative of the health potion!
ALso enough time for Cortex to recover.
Cerebral - UNharmed 2 HP
Cerebellum - Unharmed
Golden Star - 1 HP
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Echohead will aid other to help Predator
With the teamwork 3 feat, that gives Predator a whopping +6 bonus
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GM
In the Tower of Bolts!
The iron door slammed behind Cerebral, cutting of General Sparks roar of fury
"Insolence! You will now face the mighteous might of the mighty General Sparks! My powers are shocking! You will offer no resistance! Watt can you do? The current situation is to my advantage!"
Clearly General Sparks did not have a very good speech writer. But a very good bad pun writer.
The Iron door slammed shut, clicking into a locked position. It could be opened from the outside, but not from the inside! General Sparks was a prisoner in his own prison!
The tower itself was twenty stories, and had stairs and lifts to every level. the scuttling minions of General Sparks scuttled around. Some soldiers, a few boffins in white coats...
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Stealth for the win!
Cortex/Ceberellum- Bruised - 2 HP
Golden Star - Staggered - 2 HP
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GM
The Ringmistress smiled... a nuanced, cunning smile. But at the same time, her eyes were damp. Her make up was old, already smudged and cracked. It was running. Just a little.
"You interest me, Tattered man..." she started.
A little shuffle forward.
"You are something between a devil and an angel. A bit of both. A rag, tossed in the winds of fortune. Broken? I know broken..."
She tentatively reached out a hand.
"Come with me. Together we can tear down this filthy city. Maybe build something good on its broken remains? What say you?"
The whip flickered, just a little.
"Are you not... tempted?"
A half smile.
"You want to destroy, don't you? Come let us destroy. Whatever you wish. I could be a hero, a demon, and both. By your side. Or I can set my beasts on you. And tear you apart, like the tattered rag you are. That would be... sad...."
in the cages to the side - the Tattered Man could see a panther, a bear, and even an elephant. Maybe more elsewhere... probably some horses.
And two dark green barrels, sealed, filled to the brim with that ape-making fluid!
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GM
"Threats? No.. at least.. well..."
Lyong shrugged. "I mean, we get crackpots all the time. They saw some glow in the attic, or some mutant cow. When we, ah, screen the crank calls out, some of our customers get angry. We have had to work with local police and mental health services a lot..."
She didn't look happy at that part of her job.
"So yeah, we get crank threats to us, and Director North, all the time. But nothing out of the ordinary recently. As for what he was working on, apparently some new drug, called Synthetic, was developed in Alaska. Hit the streets. Dangerous - massively boosted your metabolism, but then the user gets so hot they set themselves on fire. Or explode, sometimes..."
She shuddered.
"Normally just another drug. But Synthetic seemed to be potentially a biological weapon, or at least a drug that could cause massive disruption and death. For a few minutes, the user gets super strong and fast. So... yeah, North was investigating. He was a bit secretive about Synthetic, but he always is secretive. And stressed, to be honest..."
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Echohead
Echohead felt the sweat on his brow. Not from heat - his impervium weave cool black suit was excellent at, well, keeping him cool, but from anxiety.
This was proper spy stuff, and he was determined to look like a cool spy. Despite his bald head, weak chin, and flubbering speech. And five foot five of weedy bones.
But underneath the neurotic ball of anxiety was a deeper fear. This could be a pandemic of Dennis, that could swarm over the world. The threat was potentially very serious.
Predator and Rewind had been sent from AEGIS too. And he was glad to have their company. They looked like they knew what they were doing. Echohead tried very hard to look like he knew what he was doing, too.
He examined the corpses. Same height? Same temperature? His cool sunglasses gave an indepth HUD of various aspects of the corpses. He adjusted them, zooming in on the bodies. Anything suspicious?
"Uh... I suppose you have... ah... put the corpses through a full forensic examination?" he asked August. "If.. I mean.. is it safe to do that?"
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Echohead has analytical mental senses so I guess would pick up any brain activity (INT 1+), but I rather suspect they are dead!
He has Knowledge (Life Sciences) at +7, but is going to see if he can copy any examiners brain (Mimic power) to boost that up.
Also using Microscopic Senses 1 (Dust) to see if he can pick up anything interesting. Taking 10 to start off with on a search scan, for +17
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Diamondlight
The mechanistic approach to demographics and pop psychology was starting to grate on Diamondlight. He kept a poker face, but... inside, it felt nauseating. He was no stranger to psychology, he studied it. In depth. And he knew the nuances of manipulation. Advertising was part of the Zoss business. But this felt somehow fragrantly awful - blathering on about who was selling what.
The volume knob of the whole enterprise seemed turned up to eleven. Perhaps this was a culture clash... but one rule of manipulation, perhaps the golden rules, is dont let the manipulated feel manipulated.
He took the drink... hesitated. Was it safe to drink?
It didn't matter. He couldn't turn down the opportunity to drink an alien martini.
He swirled a sup in his mouth.
"What are we gambling with?" he asked Tun. Hoping the answer wasn't "your lives."
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Lighting up the cave with independent environmental control:
Bright light, 250' Radius.
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Gamma Buzz
"Oh shoot! Things have gone wrong..." lamented Baltazar, his antennae drooping.
Although on a positive note it was excellent distraction from his ham-fisted innuendo. He had already decided to vehemently deny he said what he had said and change the subject if it ever came up again.
What had he said? He couldn't remember. And obviously he hadn't said what he couldn't remember. There. That suited his brain very well, thank you very much.
Red eyes blinking, he strode into the cave after the others.
"I think we need some light..." he said, and, with a few seconds of conentration, the walls and the caves started to glow...
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That hits (because he is flat footed / surprised)
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GM
Inside the Tower of Bolts!
the Iron door slammed open, coliding into the concrete, sparking blue sparks.
And the reason?
GENERAL SPARKS HIMSELF!
His costume was purple, outlandish, with golden military shoulder pads, and an outrageous military hat that was two feet tall. Sparks himself was square jawed, with a fiendish moustashe, and sparking blue eyes. Sparking, not sparkling. There literally were sparks flying out his eyes, as well as his fingers.
"So! The Traitor finally talks, like all traitors do! Soon, the world shall be in my grasp. Your foolish compratriots have almost no chance of defeating my army, and almost no chance at all of defeating me! MUAHAHAHAHA!"
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Haven
"A Scarecrow... and one without brains, too..." said Haven.
He adjusted his digital tie.
"The intruder has been detected, but has left. Report for upgrade. Modern anti-crow visual deterrents are now available, improving counter measurement efficacy by 200%. Report for upgrade. Inefficient software detected."
He highly doubted anything would work. That was thing with simple programmes. They were less likely to fail.
"Insert programme. 1 Goto 1. Repeat."
All the while, Haven started scanning the bar for a window to jump through, or, if things got really desperate, some kind of digital weapon...
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GM
"Fascilities... I... uh.... yeah...."
Predator could almost hear the awkward expression on the other end of the line.
"Well, we got some fascilities...."
A bit later...
The WEST office in Freedom City was small, and obviously not well funded. Officer Lyong was waiting for Predator. She was a woman of entirely average build, extremely dark skin, and spiky (dyed) red hair. She was obviously competent, and dedicated, but also a bit socially awkward. This was not helped by the rather meagre funding WEST had.
Basic kitchen. Tattered chairs. The cheapest coffee. Although Lyong did offer Predator a cup.
What could be said about the WEST office is that it had up to date computers and communications. WEST were more an advisroy body who relied heavily on their (limited) leverage with other agencies. Everybody, politically, agreed for the need for the united nations to fund the world exotic science taskforce. But stumping up the money, building the infrastructure... a work in progress.
However they did have a basic laboratory, able to analyse any chemical, cell, or energy. And they were likely to be a small target for interested parties.
Although somone obviously had Dr North in their sites. He was well and truly missing in Alaska!
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Haven
Gamma Buzz
Survival Class- Survival in the hereafter
Diamondlight
Echohead
Dennis Deacon of Woodbury New Jersey
Vignette (1.1 K Words)
Rev
Torque Talk (Posts rolled to Snakebite)
Red Rat
Vignette (1.1 K Words) -> Roll to Snakebite
Captain Cosmos
Vignette (1.1 K Words)
GM
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GM
The bound thug was in no position to bargain. Begging was more his style right now. Lying on the floor encased in a snare arrow with a menacing superhero kind of made negotiation a rather lopsided affair.
"This freak's blood is the source of synthetic. And before you ask, I have no idea who or what he is. Not even a hundred percent sure its a he. Didn't dare look. Seems a bit short of brains though..."
"Ugghhh...." mumbled the albino.
"He got dropped off in a truck a week ago. By some boffin. Maybe the freak is some kind of mutant, or has been infected with something. I don't know. AllI know is the boffin paid me to sell synthetic. Paid me, that's right. Get paid by the boffin, get paid by the druggies. No fool is going to turn down a deal that good!"
He smiled at his stupid cunning.
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Awesome! Feel free to pretty much narrate whataver you fancy with that!
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Diamondlight
Four earthlings... most of them no more than a score years. And can any of them play poker?
Are any of them even allowed to play poker?
Earth rules, he reminded himself. A sage lesson to remember. They werent on earth any more. The rule book was out of the window. Had Tun even made sure the tables were accurate? What was his/its game, anyway? Ratings?
Earth poker was exciting. Maybe gambling was an excitement shared by all cultures, but Diamondlight furrowed his burrow slightly, alert to the fact that he must not use Terran Paradigms here. He must be on alert.
But a table was a table, and he could not resist.
He adjusted his cuffs.
"Pleased to meet you all," he said, graciously, to all his three fellow travellers. "I think this is a conversation to be had over a martini and a poker table?"
"Assuming you serve vodka?" he asked Tun.
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Haven in
Memory Leek
It was the leek that did it.
The smell.
Every four years, the charming and twee agricultural village of Blossomwell Rivers had a festival. A leap year festival. Meats, vegetables, fruits, specially planted early and harvested early (For Blossomwell was a southern town, blessed with fair weather all year round, fertile soil, and blossoms that, yes, blossomed very well).
Haven fought boldly against existential melancholy. He studied philosophy, maths, theology. He would lose himself in digital worlds, and even just digits. But some blackness would ever remain, no much how much light he reflected upon it.
Who was he? He was not Milo Mekano, not any more. That was an echo, a shadow, no more than a series of memories, a blueprint at best. His brain was a sphere of quantum positrons in an iridium shell. A mimic of a human brain. He was unique.
Haven had no problem with being unique. In his view, most (if not all humans) craved uniqueness in some fashion or another. What beckoned the gloom as the though that he had human feelings, human thoughts, human passions, but was not human. There was the grind.
It was, he had come to think, best epitomised by smell.
He had no sense of smell, not any more. Just the memories of what smell was like. How he missed it! No digital recreation could create those sensations. Cooking steak, burning manure, it did not matter. There was nothing.
And so, slamming his fists in frustration, he had set off to Blossomwell Rivers, to try and stimulate his senses, such as they were. To remember the memories.
It was custom, on this festival, not only to serve and eat the harvest, but to dress up as vegetables and livestock. Cows, sheep, and chicken strolled past, waving at the crowds, doing occasional dances. It was rather silly. Haven liked the silliness, and disliked liking it.
He sat down at one of the café’s, playing with a cup of untouched and now tepid espresso. Another taste lost.
With every passing vegetable or animal, he tried to recall the smell, the taste. His gaze swept across the side stalls. Here, street food stewed and sizzled, but he smelled nothing, nothing but memories. Was the memory of barbeque sauce accurate? Did it really taste like the memories?
He frowned, pressed two fingers to his forehead. Was this a journey of discovery, or had some masochistic impulse driven him here. The frown deepened, the skin furrowed. Here was the core-an existential anxiety. He needed no air, but he breathed anyway, air filling artificial sacs in his chest, then expelling.
Does it matter what I am? For ultimately, like all things, I am me.
A soothing philosophy. But he still missed the taste of things. What use had philosophy for grief? A thing, a pleasure, occasionally a pain, was lost. Something so very organic, a map to lost humanity.
And then the leek sat down next to him.
“I need a breather,” said the Leek, who proceeded to take of his leek-hat, revealing an elderly, sweating man with a grey beard, grey hair, and a broad smile. The rest of his body still wore the leek costume.
The Leek man wiped his brow, and ordered a sparkling water from the waitress.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked Haven.
Haven slowly turned his head, and nodded silently. He didn’t feel the heat, his crisp suit was free from the stains of perspiration. Watching the old man, he realised that sweating was something he absolutely did not miss. And yet he would have the sensation for a moment, just to remember.
We only miss things when we no longer have them.
An obvious truth, oft forgotten.
“Out of town?” asked the old man.
“Yes. Emerald City.”
The waitress brough the sparkling water. Haven studied it, almost hypnotised. Water, he recalled, had no taste, no smell. But it fizzed. He could still feel the fizz.
“One for me, too…” he asked the waitress, who nodded.
“Come here for the show? We are a bit eccentric, I guess!” said the old man, with a wry chuckle.
“Why do you do it?” asked Haven.
The old man waved his hand over the procession. It was hardly organised, and yet flowed all the same. Like a river.
“Because its fun!”
“Why is it fun?”
The old mans face grew a note of sourness. “Why do you need to know why something is fun? It just is.”
Haven gave the slightest of shrugs. “Because happiness eludes me, today. And I would know how to find it.”
“Son, if you try to bottle happiness, you are going to end up miserable.”
The words slapped Haven. “Then it appears I may be engineering my failure.”
“Ain’t no failure in the blues. That thinking just makes you all the more blue. I think if it like blue waves in an ocean. They come, they pass. Would you want a life without sadness?”
Haven shook his head. “It would be a lesser life. And sadness makes joy all the sweeter.”
“Right, right, you got it! So enjoy the ride, cowboy. Don’t try to control the waves, surf them!”
Haven turned back to the crowd, closed his eyes. Yes, he could remember the flavours of life. He could even…
…recreate them.
In his digital world. His brain working at quantum speeds, one second withdrawn to his digital reality was a week to contemplate. In a Bedouin tent in the desert, in a Viking hall in the snow. And then, recreations – a Tokyo restaurant, sizzling noodles, perfectly cut sushi. Or an American diner, selling greasy burgers with sauce. Yes, time to enjoy memories.
Were they real? Did it matter?
They were real memories, and Haven could afford the pleasure and lamentation of letting memories leak into his consciousness.
Week, after week, after week. Second after second after second.
But memories were seductive, and living in them addictive. It was a trap. He had to make new memories.
He opened his eyes.
“You okay there mister? Seemed like you had a fit or something…”
Haven smiled at the old man. How long was he lost in the virtual reality halls of his mind? Months…. Maybe half a minute in the real world. How seductive!
“I am quite well, thankyou, just lost in memories.”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of remembering, young man. Especially a my age!” laughed the old man.
Haven got up, and shook the old man.
“I think you are right, sir. Remembering what we lost… I find it makes me appreciate what I have. And maybe, just maybe, what might yet come…”
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GM
The agent at the WEST office recognised Predator's voice, and this time was clearly anxious.
"Director North has gone missing!" she said. "We can't make contact. The Hotel he was at said he just vanished, bills unpaid! Two days ago. We had some phone calls from him over the last two days, just checking in. I've reviewed the logs... he sounded a bit... odd. Confused, maybe. Oh maybe I'm reading too much into it. But, do you think he is well? WEST agents can get exposed to some odd energies. Maybe his brain got scrambled!"
She paused for breath.
"I've checked the local hospitals. Local police no nothing. Last confirmed sighting was the White Regent Hotel, Anchorage!"
"Do you think you can help?"
Never Was (OOC)
in The Theatre District
Posted
Sorry for holding this up! (The dreaded Wednesday is partly to blame!)
Baz is going to take a bit of (in his mind) gamble and release Atomic Breath!
Its a Damage 8 Cone effect, with Fort Save.
Lets see if these drones have a fort immunity or not!
His move action will be to set up the cone so he can get as many as possible in the effect.