Cubist

First things first: Jube pours 1 point of his Gadgets Pool into "comm links", and gives a comm unit to Revenant. It would be stupid to not have a way to keep in touch even while separated, right? And if ToyBoy (or whoever...) anticipated this and set up some sort of jammers, well, at least Jube tried. What to do after that… Dealing with the bomb takes priority over triangulating the signal source. Jube does not have Disable Device, but Jack of All Trades lets him try it with his base INT modifier, i.e. 1d20+4. Disarming a bomb... doesn't seem like the sort of thing you should be able to Take 10 on, let alone Take 20. Somehow, Jube just isn't comfortable with the notion of untrained him tryna disarm an explosive device. Well... frump… time to come up with alternative courses of action… Plan B: Set up a little signal transmitter next to the bomb, to jam whatever signals it may be expecting. This, of course, assumes the bomb is expecting to receive some sort of transmitted signal, which may or may not be true… Plan C: Pick up the bomb, carry it outside, and throw it straight up into the air, the idea being if there's nothing fragile within the blast radius, let the bomb go 'boom'. Possible downside of Plan C: It might set off the building's fire sprinklers. We're a little too small for that to be comfortable! Jube's next move is, Take 20 with his Quickness and Knowledge: Technology +9 to analyze the bomb ('roll' of 29), and thus figure out whether Plan A, Plan B, or Plan C would be the course of action least likely to result in the bomb going off if Jube's luck turns bad.

Alas, Jube doesn't have 'real' Escape Artist skill, just Jack of All Trades. This means he gets the 1d20 roll with his base +7 modifier from DEX. Fortunately, the writeup of Escape Artist (pg 48 of the 2E Core Book) says it's okay to Take 20 on Escape Artist, so Jube and his Quickness will do just that: Take 20 on Escape Artist, for a 'roll' of 27.

As Jay Xavier had hoped, the mutt didn't win one single event. Xavier hadn't been 100% certain of everything; before the show, he'd worried about the alphabet blocks in particular. True, there seemed to be some sort of 'Magic Translator' in play which allowed him and Brandtford to converse normally in a patois that neither of them actually knew, but did the Magic Translator work with written language as well as spoken? Fortunately… it did. And while the fastest cat alive had definitely expected his opponent to be a sore loser, in reality Pericles demonstrated himself a model of sportsmanship. Go figure, Xavier thought to himself. Still be on guard just in case Perry decides, later, to recover his losses by force. For the time being, there was no danger, only red-carpet-style pampering from zealous fans. Finally, the right kind of attitude, the feline thought. I could get used to this… The first assassination attempt occurred two nights after Pericles' monolithic loss. Whether by dint of training, or observation, or just blind luck, the intruder had somehow contrived to approach Brandtford's sleeping form during the short span of one of Xavier's catnaps. It didn't help. The feline awoke well before the intruder's spatha got within striking distance of his target. Suddenly the intruder was in free-fall— Xavier threw the would-be attacker up into the air; he wouldn't hit the ground for a good many clock-seconds. Plenty of time for the fastest cat alive to confirm (via exhaustive search of the immediate vicinity) that the idiot had come alone, before he had to catch said idiot. —and then the intruder's world turned into a very bumpy blur that rattled his every bone. The feline reviewed his options as he dragged his cargo across rocks and loose branches. What to do, what to do… Jerkwad, here, doesn't matter worth a damn. Want to send a message to jerkwad's employer, discourage them from sending anybody else. Kill the bozo? No, that way he just disappears, can't convey any message in person… It didn't take long for Xavier to make up his mind. At that point, he was 5 miles outside Segesta; good enough for privacy. Xavier gave the hapless, bloodied attacker a few seconds to recover his senses, then smiled an disquieting smile. "Let's play cat-and-mouse," he said. "I'm the cat. Guess what that makes you, hrrmmm?" More races, none of which were even vaguely as close as Xavier engineered them to appear. More 'feats of dexterity' to wow the rubes. More being fêted as conquering heroes by the unwashed masses. "Um. Mr. Xavier? Last night I thought I heard something…" "You did. Don't worry, Brandtford; there was a little disturbance—" "You tried to chain me up in a cage," Xavier stated. "And who knows what you planned for the kid? I don't like that kind of crap, or the jerkwads who think that kind of crap is okay." "You…" The would-be trapper and assassin swallowed. "Demon! I do not fear death!" Inhuman eyes glittered in the darkness. "Relax: I don't kill," the feline breathed into the attacker's ear. "I get creative." Sweat broke out on the prey's face. The feline could smell its fear. Life is good. "—but I took care of it. With any luck, it shouldn't happen again." The kid looked at his companion, an expression of concern on his face… and said nothing. Xavier liked the oxcart. He'd been wondering if he'd have to schlep all his winnings back to the cave they'd started out in; with the cart, they could transport everything with them as they moved along the coast. With each new town came more predefined-outcome 'races', more 'feats of dexterity' that wouldn't tax the abilities of a 6-year-old human, let alone a 60-plus-year-old man… Strictly speaking, what he and Marty were doing was the moral equivalent of taking candy from babies. Xavier knew this, and had he or the kid been able to think of any better way to get what they wanted, any better way at all, he'd have jumped at the chance to try it. But this was the best tactic they'd thought of, and they were committed to it. And even if they weren't committed, what the hell were they supposed to do? It wasn't like they were interfering with history; this was another timeline entirely, filled with people who'd lived and died thousands of years before either Xavier or Brandtford had even been born… Still and all, it was robbery, of a sort. And it bothered him. A little, anyway. Mount Etna: One of the most famous—and active—volcanos on Earth. Well, on Earth-Prime, at least; they'd seen too little of this version of Earth to know how closely its geography matched Prime's. But given 'identical geology' as a tentative premise, it was a pretty good bet that local-Etna was going to erupt while they were in the area, most likely a minor eruption. The feline hoped for nothing worse than that; molten lava was bad enough for living flesh, but when you added fur, it was even worse. Well, it wasn't erupting now. Which was good, because the kid had set up another series of 'events' for him to run roughshod over. The first one was a standard not-a-race against an utterly outmatched opponent (a dog, in this case), first one to reach the finish line (a decent-sized boulder with some flowers on it) wins. The kid signaled the start of this ultra-light workout… done. Yet another flawless victory for the fastest feline on the face of the planet. Xavier tallied up a mental inventory of all his winnings; just how much more wire and such did they need, in order to complete the generator they had to build?

Initial draft of Acinonyx; the actual, approved sheet can be found here.

Lots of other people have established threads for their own creations, so here's mine… Acinonyx: Jubatus' nemesis. Approved version in Character Bank, flawed original draft here. Jenny Everywhere: A true 'citizen of the multiverse', defined as having an avatar in every universe—and as having access to all the knowledge/awareness of all those avatars. Attempt at a FC character sheet for the character. My second character (maybe) Villain concept: Doctor X, man from a future that never was! Jubatus' first major expenditure of XP.

Transmitter, good. Jube will not stop examining the mech's remains when he finds the transmitter, because he doesn't want to miss anything else that might be lurking in said remains. Once Jube is satisfied that he's found all the 'secrets' he's going to find in the robot's 'corpse', he'll zip on out and around the layout we're all trapped on. Two goals here: One, try to pick up the transmitter signal from different locations, and triangulate to determine the precise location (well, as precise as he can manage…) from which said signal emanates. Two, try to find any bombs that may be hidden. For the bomb-finding, Jube will trust his nose; explosives tend to have fairly distinctive odors, and said odors should be pretty easy to pick up on unless whoever-it-was made a point of concealing that odor.

Jubatus nodded. He approved of Revenant's vocal caution; reminding the crowd of civilians that they might yet be in deadly danger… was not a plan likely to yield any helpful results. Matching her low tone as best he could, the feline replied, “Second item on my to-do list, after checking out the 'bot's remains.†Then he upshifted, extracted a pair of multi-tools from his vest, and began to dismantle the robot for detailed study of its inner workings…

Dismantle the robot and examine the living heck out of its components -- anything in it which might help us figure out where the Big Boss is? Maybe a transmitter that sends on an unusual frequency or something? Since we're out of combat, methinks Jube and his Quickness will Take 20 on a Knowledge; Technology roll here, for a 'roll' of 29.

Jubatus listened attentively to Life Knight. Right, makes sense that someone with that kind of ability would want to stay the hell off most people's radar; otherwise, hurting people would chase him down 24/7/365. Crappy way to live. And then— Those words hit the cheetah like a metric ton of depleted uranium. "It can change their form." He can make me human! And then, a split-instant after that shattering realization: I can't trust this 'Life Knight'. Don't know him from Idi Amin. No matter how attractive the prize, I just—can't—trust him… not yet, I can't… "Well… I was mostly curious about how come you've stayed out of the public eye, and if I had your powers, yeah, I'd keep a low profile, too. But since you offered, sure, I'd like to hear your backstory." Always keeping in mind that this is what he wants me to hear. The stronger your need for something, the more scrutiny you'd better give anyone who looks like they can satisfy that need.

This 'Pericles' person—Xavier didn't believe he was either the famous one or any relation—had shown up rather early in the morning, demanding to talk with Brandtford and see, in the flesh, the 'miracle cat' he'd been hearing so much about. One look at the man persuaded both travelers that Pericles was a wealthy man. Not only had the innkeeper, Hermes, let him in with no evident reluctance, but his raiment was a great deal more clean than that of most other Segestans. Pericles raised one eyebrow when he saw Xavier. "So your beast is a cheetah. I suspected as much, but wasn't sure. Some of the stories being told of him are just…" He shook his head. Xavier wondered if the man owned a cheetah himself, or knew of the breed from friends who owned them; that sort of thing was hardly unheard-of in the Greek Empire. Brandtford said, "Ah, yes, he is. Um, do you have an horse or dog you want to race against him..?" "Against a cheetah?" Pericles asked incredulously. "Heh-heh! I assure you, boy, I'm not as big a fool as all that. In truth, I've a different proposition, if you're of a mind to entertain such. Now, your beast: Does he do more than run?" "Oh, yes!" "Well-trained?" "I've got better training than a lot of humans," Xavier said before the kid managed to reply. Both humans in the room were shocked speechless, albeit for different reasons. Hmph. Typical. "He does talk!" Pericles exclaimed. "Not at all, Mister Pericles," Xavier replied, again beating Brandtford to the punch. "I just thought I'd demonstrate how well-trained my cat was, by favoring you with a display of ventriloquism." And he gave the kid a meaningful look. Fortunately, Brandtford caught his cue: "Ah… yes. I've been working with him for quite some time now. You have just seen, and heard, just one example of the many things we can do together!" Pericles looked at Brandtford, then Xavier, then Brandtford again, before he spoke. "Alright… Here's my proposal: Not just a single race, but, rather, a series of events, for the prize of a hundred talents. And if your cat beats my Gram in every one of those events, you get the hundred talents!" Hearing those words, Xavier wondered whether Pericles' 'animal' might be another transformed human who'd retained their human intellect. Like it'll make a difference? No matter what sort of 'dog' this guy's got, and no matter what 'events' he's thinking of, I still got my Timeshift. So… Brandtford was making talking noises with his mouth, just not the only noise that mattered at the moment. Oh, come on, kid, say "yes"! What the hell are you waiting for? Fine— The kid shut up when Xavier draped his forepaws over the kid's shoulders and leaned his head up next to the kid's head. "I accept," Xavier said. "Now, what sort of 'events' do you have in mind?" Looking over the crowd in the amphitheatre, Xavier wondered how many people were there because of Philothestes' efforts, and how many because of natural word-of-mouth? It hardly mattered either way; the crowd was there, and that was the important thing. The kid's MCing was about what you'd expect of a complete and utter novice, but he did seem to have taken the 'look confident no matter what' advice to heart, so that was alright. Brandtford announced the first event, a race for a hunk of meat. Xavier and the dog, Gram, were moved into position, side by side with Xavier a tiny bit farther away than the dog… …and Xavier upshifted when Brandtford gave him and the doggie their cue to start. Gotta make it look good. Match Gram's pace to start with… pick it up as we go… burst of speed towards the end, and it's MINE! The feline let himself return to a tempo of 1 and started munching on the raw beef… Not bad. Have to remember this when we get back home.

I must be alive; dead people don't feel like this… "Welcome", said a weird voice (distinctly less weird than his, the feline noted with annoyance). Jubatus upshifted. Bleah… let's see if I can slip a forepaw or hindpaw out of the damn straps… no joy. Upshifted, my muscles generate the same amount of force, just compressed into a denser package, so… nope, the straps can take it. A little experimental squirming around proved to Jube's satisfaction that all of the straps were safely out of position to be sliced up by his built-in pointy bits. Great. Even if I had my vest, couldn't do a damn thing with it, or its contents. Okay, the gorilla's got a brain in his head. He returned to the normal tempo of 1, to hear whatever else the big ape might have to say. Jubatus was stunned. This guy wants my DNA? Given the evidence at hand, it's a decent bet he wants to Timeshift like me. Not good. But my DNA was tweaked by Grue, with genetic booby-traps so I can't be changed back to human. So if that's his game, he's playing Russian roulette! Maybe I can keep him monologuing until an opening reveals itself..? "Hello, Vimes. You sure you want my DNA?" Jube asked. "I mean, you know my biochemistry well enough to work up a gas weapon which zaps me without affecting humans, so why bother with my genes, hrrm?"

Strapped to a table: Classic scenario indeed! Okay... To start with, Jube will upshift to a tempo of 40 (Jube's practical maximum). Vimes may have calculated Jube's strength, but did his calculations take the Timeshift into account? Jube will attempt to answer this question by lightly twitching one upshifted arm, just enough to feel how much resistance the strap(s) on that arm offer. Also, while upshifted, see whether or not the straps were designed to restrain someone whose anatomy is purely human, as opposed to someone with Jube's nonhuman body plan. Can Jube slip a forepaw or hindpaw out of its straps just by pulling it out, hard? Can Jube maneuver any of his claws, or fangs, into a position where he'd be able to slash on any of the straps that hold him down? Did Vimes allow Jube to retain his Vest Of Many Things, or is it somewhere else?

Hearing these worlds, Jubatus' brain executed a perfect Internal Facepalm. Savitar preserve us, this idiot is going to get himself killed! And then an immediate second I.F., this one directed at himself: I—I can't… I'm not a mentor-type. I don't do 'caring'. Haven't got the patience to help a clueless moron grow out of his moronitude. But if not me… then who..? I'm doomed. So very doomed. I just hope I do the kid more good than harm… "Not a problem, 'Smith'." Jubatus nodded. "Sure, winding down is good." Gesturing at the Stan's Super Heroes sign, he said, "Hey, how about we go inside and talk over a sandwich or five? I'll cover it," he concluded, in order to forestall one obvious objection.

'Sauntering'? I see that the Snark is with this one… "Yep. Can't really do the whole map in one day, so I got a rotation going on my patrols." "If you're talking personal best velocity, I top out in the supersonic range. Maybe a little on the slow side, as speedsters go, but I'm okay with that. I kinda like the idea that there's people who can outrun me if I ever go berserk, y' know?"

Jubatus gave 'Smith' a bemused look. "Nice to meet you, Mr. 'Ez-Over-Smith'!" No, bad idea. "Or if you want, call me 'Jay Xavier'. No secret identity here—kind of impractical for someone who looks like me, hrrm?" 'Smith' was clearly discombobulated, and the odds that it wasn't because of Jube were too trivial to bother with; that didn't bode well for any hero-type activity 'Smith' might want to get into… Okay, take it slow, ha-ha. Let him make the next move when he's ready. "Uh...how are you doing that?" "If 'that' means 'moving as fast as you', I'm making my personal 'clock' run faster than normal." And if he thinks he's gonna get any details beyond that outta me, he's got another think coming… Dude seems to mean well, but he's gonna friggin' kill himself if he's not careful. Needs guidance, and maybe a collar and short leash… "You, hrrm, got any kind of mentor?"

On patrol. City Center. All very standard, perhaps even habitual, for the fastest feline alive… Okay, that wasn't standard: A moving person. Not just moving at a perceptible pace, but actually running. While Jube was upshifted. The man was smiling (Jube could get behind that; "runner's high" took on a whole new meaning for cheetahs), and wearing civilian clothes. Dubya-tee-eff? Doesn't look like a badguy, but what is his game? Both superspeedsters stopped and regarded each other. The human goggled at the feline… then pinched himself. "Ow!" "Careful about that," Jubatus said. "Relative velocities can be a [bg=black]xixxx[/bg] and a half, particularly if you're not used to the speed thing. My name's Jubatus; who are you?"

Okay, 'bot-boy here isn't the sturdiest of mechs, Jubatus observed. Wonder if he's TEMPEST-rated? He extracted a C-cell battery and some electronic components from their respective vest-pockets. The other hero-types kept the machine busy as, with a few deft wire-twists and drops of conductive adhesive, he rigged the battery to release all of its stored energy in a microsecond—a pocket-sized EMP. The fastest cat alive blurred up beside the robot. He made the final connection on his gimmicked battery—shoved it through the shoulder-gap Wisp had torn in that shell, as deep inside the mechanism as he could manage—blurred back a few feet (perhaps an inch or so of real distance, but given the scale they were operating on now...)—and there was a respectable KTZAKK!!, accompanied by convulsive jerks and sandpaper-grinding-transmission noises as the robot's servomotors went screwball. Jube's accelerated eyes caught the motion of gear-fragments, shooting out from the shattered 'bot like shrapnel; he caught them all before any civilians were in danger of being hurt. Closest threat neutralized. True menace still at large, Jube thought. He got his sensors out again, this time on the lookout for any signals the dead robot might have emitted as a kind of 'deadman switch', and looked at the crowd to see if anyone needed assistance, medical or otherwise…

Jay Xavier had discovered that birds were like potato chips: He couldn't eat just one. Some part of him remained firmly opposed to the entire concept of hunting and killing live meat, but honestly, what alternative did he have? Even the part of his mind whose mantra was 'Jay shalt not kill' drew the line at starving to death… which, somehow, didn't stop it from whining about the unavoidable. Stupid. Every day, he found it was a little easier to ignore that part of his mind… His snacks left very little blood on the feline's fur; he still made sure he was thoroughly cleaned up before rejoining Brandtford. The kid was just too damned squeamish, and anything that kept him from focusing on Job One—getting the hell out of here—was best discarded as a bad idea. Xavier smiled when he heard this information. He wasn't sure how (or even 'if'!) the concept of 'distance' applied in this context, but this was a topic the kid knew about, and Xavier didn't, and that was that. Hopefully, Prime being 'closer' meant the Channeler would need less energy to bring them back home! The feline's smile turned smug: "Let's just say the stores carried a full range of food-like substances." Like pigeon, and seagull, and… "Any more good news?" "Well… maybe," the kid said. "I mean, I hope it's good news. I'm, uh—I want to do more to help out while you're wowing the crowd! So I guess I have to be a better Master of Ceremonies, and, um, I'm not really good at that, and, um…" "And you pretty much suck at showmanship," Xavier concluded for the kid, who nodded with a very red face. "And you want me to give you some tips." Again, a red-faced nod from Brandtford. "Well, I can't say I've done a lot in the way of show biz, but I'm a freelancer. Presentations for clients, pretty much the same ballpark. Basic fundamental need is confidence; if you don't actually have it, appearing to have it is an adequate substitute. Like Fred Astaire said, 'never let them see you sweat'. And what's not to be confident about? I, Jubatus, am the fastest living thing in this timeline, so what possible reason could you have for not being confident in my ability to deliver the goods?" "Well, yes, but…" The discussion continued for some time.

And in Jubatus' mind, a sentient crayfish intoned the words, It's a trap! The solid k'chunk of a vault-like door—from the machinery the henchmen were holding, sibilant noises & discernable clouds of gas—Maximum upshift. Whatever these clowns're trying to sell me, I seriously doubt I want any. Jube tapped his hand-held computer with a stylus to send off the unlocking signals he'd already prepared. No, wait, tap there. Okay, got it. He sprinted for the door, fumbling in his vest for the gas mask. Not likely any gas weapon can take me out… 'specially not and leave the humans untouched… mask is good anyway, just in case. There was a quiet ringing in his ears that didn't seem like it came from any external source. Goddamn forepaws, of course they cramp up now—and while the cheetah's attention was focused on forcing his unruly limbs to obey his will, he slammed into a wall, directly beside his intended exit. The impact didn't actually damage Jube; it just knocked the air from his lungs, and the gas mask from his hands. He leapt for the mask, which was moving through the air at a perceptible rate of speed, and undershot his target by a ludicrous margin. Who is this man… who is so wise in the ways… of cheetah biochemistry… Hitting the ground scrambled his coöordiation a little more—or was that the gas? Hard to say. The gas mask drifted away from him, floating as if in Lunar gravity, and Jubatus couldn't hardly move at all. The henchmen approached Jubatus, their lazy steps absurdly slow. But even that languorous pace was sufficient, here and now, when he couldn't move and his vision was all blurry and getting worse by the second. The fallen hero managed to utter three words before darkness (and the henchmen) claimed him: "Oh, [bg=black]xxxxixx[/bg] hell…"

Not a good time to fall unconscious. On the other hand, if Jube gets knocked out, we get the classic "gloating villain monologue to the trapped hero" scene… Oh, what the hell. I bow to the force of Narrative Causality. Let Jube be KOed!

Joyous friggin' day, Jubatus thought. Either they're only remodeling the place so they don't care if they can't move the goods to another locale, or they've got an alternate mode of transportation. Now, how do I get in there with the least amount of collateral damage..? It went without saying that a technically-focused school H.I.T. would have a campus-wide internal computer network; Jube pulled an oversized palmtop and stylus from its vest pocket, and fired up a program of his own devising that would exhaustively try all legitimate modes of access and see what it could find. While that app did its work, the fastest cat alive zipped through the building in search of access points to the sealed-off region. He made frequent stops to downshift so he could examine the place in infrared wavelengths, as well as the ultraviolet range he saw in while upshifting. The physical search was a bust; there simply weren't any other ways in than the obvious, and obviously sealed, doors Jube already knew about. My complements to the architects and/or engineers who designed the place. The cyber-search, however, yielded a valuable prize: The locks on the doors to the sealed-off region were computer-controlled—and the necessary access codes were stored on the system as plaintext, in an unencrypted file that resided in an unprotected directory! Even better, the building's realtime inventory system indicated that the sealed-off area didn't contain any active biohazards! Jubatus grinned; his fangs made it a rather disquieting expression. He sent the necessary signals to unlock one door and re-lock it after he went through said door, then entered the sealed-off area. Once inside, he made an exhaustive search of the place. The hostage he'd seen was the only one he could find; likewise, there didn't seem to be any more henchmen than the the four he already knew about. Jube prepped to send another set of lock-and-unlock signals, then downshifted to talk to the tied-up scientist as he freed the hostage from his bonds: "You know what these guys are after?"

Jube has Jack of All Trades, so he's got a virtual Computer skill. Which is oddly appropriate, now that i think of it… Anywho, unlocking, good; no messing with the password, got it. Once Jube is inside, he'll (try to?) rescue the hostage and ask said person what they know about what the perps are doing.

Damnit damnit damnit! Making a difference for the better: That was the reason Jay Xavier had chosen to play hero in the first place. An overpriced convenience store doesn't have to replace a window. Real big 'difference for the better', that. You go, Jubatus! Yay Jube! He didn't even know their names; hadn't spoken to them, hadn't checked their wallets. But they were dead. And they'd died on his watch. It left a foul taste in Jube's mouth, it did. At least the scumbucket who'd pulled the trigger was wrapped up like a friggin' Christmas present for the police. Maybe the corpses would take comfort from that. 'Fastest cat alive'. Just not quite fast enough. Damnit! Jubatus had put scent-blocking plugs in his nostrils after the victims died; it helped, but not enough, as the goddamned odor of blood crept up through his mouth. He waited for the ambulance and police… A dreadlocked man in civilian clothes approached on foot. Jubatus noted his presence with rather more than his habitual level of jaundiced cynicism. At this hour of the night? Naah, not even a little bit suspicious. This guy tries anything stupid, I am so taking his ass down. …and then the newcomer glowed with green light—as did the entire area! Oh [bg=black]xxix[/bg] what the hell is he doing—wait, they're moving!?— And the bullet holes closed. Some kind of healing power—but they were dead—what can I, should I, even do here!? And the two victims stood up. "I'm… alive..?" The feline's racing mind coughed up only one response: "Ah… yes. You sure are…" Who is the guy with the green, and what's he doing here? "Xander! You're not dead, either!" And the two men embraced like long-lost lovers. "Oh, man, thank you, Jubatus! And you too, green guy!" And suddenly dude-with-dreadlocks was looking decidedly different. "Ah… right," Jubatus said. Then, looking at the 'Christmas present', "How about you, pal? You got a name?" The perp—now that his victims were revived, was he still a 'murderer'?—glared back at the feline: "I'm not saying anything without my lawyer. " Jube shrugged. "Suit yourself." Before long, the ambulance arrived, and the paramedics confirmed that Philip and Xander were in remarkably good health, particularly considering that both of them had just recently bled out over an engine block. The police weren't slow to arrive; Jubatus gladly provided testimony to collaborate the now-healthy victims' complaint against the shooter. And soon enough… the little episode was complete. The police drove off; Philip and Xander got a free ride to the hospital for a better, more extensive physical than the paramedics could do with the tools at hand (Jube's idea, just in case the two had any lingering traumas to deal with); and Jubatus and 'Life Knight' were by themselves on the street. The feline spoke up: "Like the kids said, my name's Jubatus. And you're Life Knight…" He searched his mental database of superheroes who'd shown up on the news for anyone of that name or appearance, and came up dry. "Either you're a newbie at the hero game, or else you've been out of the loop for a long while. What's your story, L-K?" Jube didn't offer to tell his own story; all the important bits were publicly-accessible knowledge…

Long past sunset on 4 February 2012, and the fastest cat alive—Jubatus—was speeding through Riverside. He noted the two men approaching an apparent car breakdown on Fenton Street. Don't look like thugs; file them under 'good samaritan' for now, and check back in a few clock-seconds just in case I got them wrong. 17 blocks away, some idiot actually thought he could get away with vandalizing a convenience store. Correction—five idiots, common gangstas all, no exotic abilities whatsoever. Jube didn't even break a sweat taking them down and wrapping them up in strategically-placed loops of duct tape. He called for the police and left a prominently marked USB thumb-drive with full photographic details of the interrupted street crime, then rocketed back to the breakdown. The car's hood was open. The two putative 'Samaritans' were leaning over the engine hmm, a little too much lean there? and the car's driver had something in one hand come on, guy, you don't need to hold a wrench that far out from your body and when Jubatus reached the car and downshifted to the standard tempo of 1, the reek of burned cordite fought with the aroma of fresh blood to see which would be the first to overwhelm his sensitive nose. Oh [bg=black]xxxx[/bg]—missed it by that much— In a horrified half-second, Jubatus had the gunman on the asphalt, stripped down to his underwear and completely immobilized by one-point-four full rolls of duct tape. And if the tape was uncomfortably tight in some areas, Jube didn't give a damn; he'd been fully focused on taking the idiot down, fast. The hero's cellphone was in his hands without conscious effort. Dialed 9-1-1, check—earbud connected, velcroed to the fur— "Yes… I'm reporting two gunshot wounds." shouldn't move injured—like it'll hurt them?—too risky— "I said, Two. Gunshot. Wounds." CalmthehelldownJube, nottheirfaultyourvoiceiscrap—stop the bleeding—breathe thru mouth— "Fenton Street, 1900 block… Sidewalk near the Cuppajoe parking lot." Aargh! need more gauze!—oh [bg=black]xxix[/bg] the blood—ignore the scent— "Eleven mi- —the gunshotwounds don't have eleven minutes!" Carry it all here—no way I'm strong enough—don't inhale— "Look, I got a seriously hi-res camera, is there someone you can hook me up with to walk me through the procedure—whatever procedure!" Maintain pressure—ignore the [bg=black]xxxxixx[/bg] scent damnit—cooling pads! delay braindeath— "Okay, okay, sorry. I'm still here…" And Jubatus was on the phone for the rest of their lives.

Obvious next step: Unlock a door, zip inside, re-lock it and do an exhaustive search of the sealed-off area to find all the perps, be they henchmen or villains or what, and any other civilians who might be trapped in this situation. Hmmm... Would it be possible for Jube to change the passwords on the computer-controlled locks? If so, he'd do that before zipping in.