Northstar

Gred was shocked by the part time job revelation. Someone this intelligent working there was like a rabid dog protecting people from tiny kittens, it made no sense. Still, at least it wasn't a total waste. Hey, idiot, you're still doing diagnostics. Stop analyzing and start conversing. He cleared his throat, and smiled. "Don't worry. You're not talking too much." "You can design anything in seconds, and you're doing it at cost. It thought I'd seen everything." He laughed a couple times. "Well, this wouldn't be much of a conversation if I didn't say things too. So let's see..." He took a moment to figure where to start. "Much like yourself, I'm an inventor, but I'm mostly limited to medical advances. New bone saws, scalpels that'll penetrate superhuman flesh, that sort of thing. Also have a number of drugs in clinical trials, but things are looking promising in most of them. Other than that, it's preforming surgeries. Usually uneventful, sometimes heartbreaking. What a business." He didn't put too much emphasis on that last bit, but it hurt sometimes. It was never a good day when someone when out the back door. "There is the 'saving lives' part too, which is always good. Getting to help save a life, and do something challenging at the same time is a lot of fun. The superhuman patients more so than others. Figuring out how their put together can be just as difficult as treating whole other patients." He stopped. He was going on a little too much. He changed gears. "So, what else do you get into?"

Greg looked over the 'improved model'. What she said made sense. It had a lot more flexibility now. And he hadn't even thought of a coned deployment. This was seriously impressive. Very little study time, and a lot of improvement to the model. This was a bizarrely intelligent person. He gave another round of applause. "Original assessment was slightly incorrect, it seems. You are not overclocked. You have two processors. Some seriously impressive hardware. And while it would be amusing to see just how much you could do, I can hazard a guess that you'll likely be able to design just about anything asked of you, given enough time. Which is very impressive." He took another look down at the gas deployer. There was still the issue of what to deploy, but as is the mechanism was top notch. Seriously impressive. "So, did some corporate firm snag you, or is it research and development somewhere? I can only imagine the attention you drew." It had been obvious where he was going, when he got out of school. This one's choices were quite open.

"So aside from the stone man, there are only two other problems active in your area. Has there been anything...out of the ordinary? Any new players, or anything like that? They'd been sent here because something big was happening, presumably. It didn't seem like nabbing three supernuts was why they had sent five helping hands. It would be really disappointing if that were the case. Titan didn't want to believe that he'd made this commute to round up a couple local troublemakers.

Doc Titan ran up to the build, nearly tearing off the door as he passed through them. Little shards of glass broke underfoot as he for the stairs. Pushing himself through the stairwell doorway, he started up. it wouldn't be difficult to figure out which floor to stop on. Just follow the sounds of screaming. Breathing slightly heavy, he climbed the small steps, trying to get to the madman as quickly as he could. Finding a spot to make the change had taken up too much of his time. God only knew what the psycho was doing while he waited. I think this is my stop. The doc left the stairwell, and closed in on the noise. It wasn't difficult to find the right room. Screaming and a giant hole were more than enough. Stepping through the hole, the enlarged doctor took in the situation. "Did someone call for medical assistance?"

Apologies for not posting. been a busy couple of days. Magical 8 for the Doc's initiative

Waiting for things to pick up in a hospital was always dull. It was a couple hours before he was scheduled to do anything, and an emergency page was unlikely. Greg found himself in one of the staff lounges, watching the news. He could go work on his pet projects, the All-Nighter was coming along, but none of them were really work friendly. He needed his lab at home all of them, and he might be needed here. So he watched the news. "The next couple of hours are going to bore me to death." I just had to say it. Greg fiddled with the little blue Titan spray in his coat pocket has he rolled his way to the doors.

A little courtesy wouldn't have hurt anyone. Oh well, let's just get to business. So this stone man was just dumb muscle, and Rook here was one of the three local supers who were doing anything. Good to know. "How many other problems like Monolith do you have around here?" The only reason they were here was something was bothering Doc Metropolis little cousin. Couldn't be too much that was even capable of that. He got the feeling that the finding part would be a large pain.

it was always impressive to see someone proud of their work. At least when the work was worth a damn. And while he would have treasured a line like hers any other time, it would most likely lead to an end of their chat, and it would be a damned shame to have this go south now. It's been a while since anyone capable of intelligent conversation was found, outside of the hospital. And the people there seemed resistant to him, of late. There was likely a reason, but he couldn't think of why. When she started flipping through his notebook, he almost panicked. Those were his side notes. All of his fun little side project he'd come up with since the Titan started working. Most of that was militant in nature, things like the anesthetic bomb he was working on, or the special drugs he derived from the success of the Titan. If she was able to design a wheelchair in the small amount of time she'd had, what would happen if she deciphered those designs? Just before he reached out and snatched the book away from her, a part of him started to speak up.Woah, woah, woah. Hold on. You're jumping the gun on this, pal. First, nothing in there is out of the design phase. Regardless of what she deduces, there's no danger. Two, No one is going to believe that you tiny little Doc Bruce is able to take a pill and more than double his size. Three, this is the rare opportunity to show off your ideas to someone that might gain an understanding of them. Relax, Greg. Don't worry so much. He took a deep breath, than took a look at the page she was on. "That's a design for an anesthetic delivery system. Deploys it's payload anywhere in a 20 foot radius in about...three seconds if my math is right."

He took a second to catch up on the conversation. This girl was a tornado, impressive to see but difficult to follow. There was also that slight awkwardness that it took a slight effort to ignore. he looked over the design. It was quite impressive. "Either you memorized that design in case you came across a wheelchair that wasn't up to standard, or you have engineering software built into your brain. That's impressive." He gave her a small round of applause. "Now we have engineering, and an overclocked head. What else do you have in there?" This was certainly more entertaining that berating some college student. though the more he thought about it, the more this seemed like a diagnostic rather than a conversation. Hmm. Need to change the catting protocols around. He took another look at the design. Damn impressive. And off the top of her head too.

Greg blinked a couple of times, trying to get his bearings. The torrent of words that came out of this...Rachel was beyond anything he had anticipated. He did a quick mental once over, and amazingly did not find whiplash. "Well, You're certainly not what I expected you to be, Rachel. And don't bother with the starting again. I don't have whiplash yet, but the way you speak I might get it before we're through. Besides I caught...most of that anyway." Now he marshaled his mental forces, and prepared his counterattack. "First off, the chair is for simplicity. Whenever I drive myself anywhere, I need to stow my wheels, and the simpler the chair, the easier storage gets. Besides which, function before form. It works, and until I have nothing better to do, that's good enough." He wished he hadn't spent his coffee, as this was likely to be a very wordy dialog. "Second, my badge isn't about driving people away, or drawing them in. It's about the bar, and where I set it. Society sets the bar to the common man, because there are more of them. There are..." He took a second to recall the latest census for Freedom City "about 3.8 million people in the metro area. Of course they set the bar at them. I, however, have set my bar differently. With the exception of somewhere between a couple dozen to a couple hundred, I know that none of those 3.8 million people are as smart as I. I set the bar at me, because measuring up from all 3.8 million of these dull, dim, and boring people takes too long." He gave a small smile before going to point number three. "Third, I have the feeling you were partially right when you said that it was wrong. I have the feeling you aren't at their level either. You didn't walk away, or ignore me, you made your points based on your observations. Now you're not at the bar," He gestured to himself, "just yet, but I do wonder how close you are." Usually when he confronted someone, they ended the conversation and walked away. This one didn't bother, and that was interesting. "You may call me Gregory."

Greg flipped to the next page in his notebook, and took another sip of his coffee, emptying it. The gas bomb idea was interesting but would require too much tinkering to be effective any time soon. He was sure there were compounds that dealt with the problems, but he didn't have access to any of them. Such a hassle. Well, perhaps I'll be able to come up with a new one. Or at least a bastardization. That would be good enough in the short term. Now, I think another coffee is in order. As he turned around to pitch the empty cup, he found that he was being stared at. He didn't get that too often. Most of these kids payed him attention only when he was about to run a foot over, or already had. The line was already gigantic, so he wouldn't be getting that coffee any time soon. More time than I know what to do with, and I'm not getting my coffee any time soon. Won't get much done with that distraction, so I may as well find a new way to amuse myself. If nothing else, he'd at least get rid of the distraction. He pitched the empty cup, and turned himself around. He rolled his way over to her and asked in a quiet, condescending voice, "Is there something I can do for you? You seem quite curious about something, perhaps I'll be able to enlighten you." Pinned on his coat pocket sat his hospital staff nametag which read Doctor Gregory Brunce, MD. Underneath it was a seperate tag which read Why yes, that does mean you are inferior to me.

For this thread

Greg rolled over to a table, making sure his coffee did not go overboard. The last thing he needed was getting back in line with these kids. The Starbase Coffee was filling up with the usual batch of trendy college kids, who filled the place with they're incredibly dull chat. If this place wasn't so close to the hospital he'd never go there. But with mobility issues, you take what you can get. Once he had situated himself at a table, he took a sip, and set down his cup. Just about perfect. He pulled the notebook from his side compartment onto the table and started reviewing his notes. He didn't really think much progress would be made, but it would get his brain working. Besides, there were a lot of interesting way an anesthetic could come in handy. All he needed to do was find a way to aerosol it without losing potency.

mostly that second one, i think

I'm up for threading.

Titan took a few breaths to calm himself down, and gave the group a once over. Discounting Monolith, he didn't see any bruises, people rubbing at sore spots, or any indication that any of the others were hurt. That was good. Saved him time. Now to the business at hand. This Rook fellow was entirely unknown to Titan, which wasn't a surprise really. Before he said anything about why he was here, he at least wanted introductions out of the way. Matter of fact, he was only acquainted with half of the 'Freedom City team.' Introductions seemed like a good idea all around. "Before we all get carried away with business, I think we'll need to make introductions. I'm not familiar with you, and I'd like to know who it is I'm dealing with. You can call me Doc Titan." He tried to make it sound at least somewhat sincere. Sincerity seemed to make most people more amiable to conversation. That little fight was fun, but he'd rather get some information so they weren't just sitting on their wheels with this little investigation.

This lab sounded interesting enough. With his own limited equipment, he hadn't made much progress on the why of his transformations. If this lab had more sophisticated equipment, he might be able to make some progress. And who knows what other interesting concoctions he could devise, with better materials. "I haven't been, actually. I hope it's no trouble if I take a gander."

Doc Titan took off running. His bare feet smacked against the pavement as he closed the distance between himself and the stone giant. He balled up his massive fist, and threw his weight behind it. There was a loud, dull thud when fist met stone. "I'm curious if a man of stone can become concussed," he spoke in a very flat tone, seeming disinterested in the whole thing. "Tell me, how are you feeling? Headache, anything?"

Move action to get up close and personal. Standard to give this guy a Megaton punch: 1d20+8 gives an 18 DC 27 smack to the head.

Player Name:Northstar Character Name:Alan Winnfield Power Level:7 105/105PP Trade-Offs: -1 attack/ +1 damage, -1 defense/ +1 toughness Unspent PP: 0 Progress to Bronze Status: 0/30 In Brief: Inheritor of the Beacon Legacy. Alternate Identities: Beacon II Identity: Secret Birthplace: New York Occupation: Store Clerk Affiliations: The Albright Institute Family: father Benjamin, mother Jenifer, brother Jacob Age: 26 (DoB: December 1985) Gender: Male Ethnicity: African American Height: 5'10†Weight: 130 lbs Eyes: Brown Hair: Black Description: Alan looks like he could have been in the Army. He keeps his hair high and tight. He runs and exorcises to keep in shape. With the exception of the beard he is growing, he looks just like he did when he was 18. He dresses real casual, usually tee shirt and slacks. When he needs to do the hero thing, he sports a thick set of tights that covers him from the neck down, and a small yellow . Most of it is white, with a yellow sunburst on the chest. He makes sure never to touch the ground when he's in costume. He gets a big kick out of flying, and likes to do it as much as he can. History: Alan didn't know a lot about his parents' jobs when he was a kid. He knew they worked for the government, and he knew it was a big secret. It moved them around a lot, and they'd never say why. He wouldn't learn much about them until he was 16. It was his brother Jacob's 13th birthday. There was supposed to be a surprise party, and Alan was supposed to keep Jake busy until everything was set up. When they got home, something was wrong. The lights were out, and his parents were no where to be seen. The two kids didn't notice the men in black outfits until they grabbed them. Their parents worked for AEGIS undercover. Someone had found out who they were, and had come to get rid of them. The assailants didn't count on them being out. They tied the two kids up, and waited for their parents. Ben and Jenifer got back from their quick cake run to find the lights out, and the kids seemingly not at home. If it hadn't been for the brothers stomping on the foot of their captors, their parents might never have known anyone was there. The scream drew attention, and their parents were able to subdue the assassins. They did shoot his brother, though. It was at the hospital, where the doctors were patching his brother up that they told him about what they did, why they were attacked. He hated his parents after that. They hadn't protected his brother, and he almost died. When he was 18 he left home. Things were bad for a while. He couldn't hold down a job for too long, missed rent payments. There were days he wanted to give up, let go, especially the days he went hungry. But he'd make it to another day, and he keep going. There were times when he thought about stealing too, but he never did. 'If I've got somethng to do, I'm going to do it, not rip someone else off,' he would think to himself. Things changed after he moved to Freedom City. He got a job at a VideoTech, and a small apartment in Lincoln. He had a steady paycheck, and even had his own POS car. Things were looking up. He was walking home one night, when he spotted a small group of thugs pulling up to shops, and ripping them off. For a moment, Alan thought he was going to run, going to mind his own business. But before he could turn away, a small angry part of him started convincing him to do something. 'For everything you suffered through,' it told him, 'you never needed to rip anyone off. They're going to make someone's life hell. Get yourself in gear and do something about it!' He still doesn't quite remember most of that fight. He remembers smacking one's head into the glass of a door, and he remembers throwing a punch the knocked one in the jaw. After that it's less clear. Punching, kicking, getting knocked in the head. In the end the police end up breaking the fight up, and Alan got a trip to the emergency room to get himself patched up. A few days later he had a visitor. Guy in a suit that told him they needed to talk. So they talked. Mr. Mystery Man said that he'd seen the fight, that he was impressed that an ordinary man had the intestinal fortitude to take things in hand like Alan had. When asked what Mr. Mystery wanted, he answered “To see if you're ready for a new job. A job that could help you, and help a lot of people.†Alan ended up at The Albright Institute, standing in front of the only 80 year old that Alan knew could toss him across the room without trouble. He was 'interviewed' for more than an hour. He got asked questions about his family, his work ethic, everything. Alan answered honestly, still not sure what sort of job he was interviewing for. At the end, the old man told him that if he wanted it, the job was his. Alan still wasn't sure what job the old man was talking about, and told him as much. The old man smiled and said “I think you have it in you to do a lot of good. I need someone to wear that old costume of mine. Seems to be about your size. Sound good?†That night, Alan Winnfield was flying through the air, and calling himself the Beacon. Personality & Motivation: Alan has taken up the mantle of the Beacon, and he's real nervous. He knows that he has a responsibility. He knows that he has the strength to get things done. But he doesn't know if he can fill the shoes that were given to him. Still, Alan loves the power he's been given. Flying around alone has helped him releave a lot of stress. He no longer minds work being dull as much, because he knows that as soon as his shift ends, he can start flying again. Powers & Tactics: Alan hasn't been the Beacon long enough to have developed much, tactically. The old man tries to be a tutor, of sorts, but most days Alan flies by the seat of his pants. Complications: No family: Alan hasn't seen or spoken to his family since he was 18. He doesn't know where they are, or if they're all right. He may still harbor some anger, but he worries about them. Legacy: Alan is the new Beacon. He has to deal with all the folks who remember the original, for good or ill. Enemy:Nacht Krieger hasn't forgotten the last time he fought a Beacon. Abilities: 2 + 4 + 0 + 0 + 4 + 4 = 14PP Strength: 12 (+1) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution: 10 (+0) Intelligence: 10 (+0) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 14 (+2) Combat: 12 + 12 = 24PP Initiative: +6 Attack: +6 Grapple: +7 Defense: +6, +3 Flat-Footed Knockback: -7/-0 with no forcefield Saving Throws: 6 + 3 + 4 = 13PP Toughness: +0/+8 (+0 Con, +8 Force Field) Fortitude: +6 (+0 Con, +6) Reflex: +5 (+2 Dex, +3) Will: +6 (+2 Wis, +4) Skills: 24R = 6PP Concentration 6 (+8) Knowledge (arcane lore) 6 (+6) Knowledge (streetwise) 6 (+6) Notice 6 (+8) Feats: 5 PP Improved Initiative Luck 2 Precise Shot Quick Change Powers: 8 + 16 + 19 = 43PP All powers have the Magic and Light descriptors. Flight 4:(100 mph, 880 ft/round) [8 pp] Force Field 8:(Extras: Impervious 7) [15PP] Light-Bearer Array 8 (16 PP Array, Feats: Alternate Power 4) [20PP] Base Power: Light Control 8 (1000 foot radius[) [16PP] Alternate Power: Blast 8 [16PP] Alternate Power: Create Object 8:(Max Size: 200 cubic feet) [16PP] Alternate Power: Dazzle 5 (Visual SensesExtras: Area[burst]25ft radius) [15 PP] Alternate Power: Healing 8 (Extras:Ranged Flaws:Limited to Others ) [16 PP] Drawbacks: -0= -0PP DC Block: ATTACK   RANGE   SAVE            EFFECT Unarmed   Touch   DC15 Toughness (Staged)   Damage (Physical) Blast    80 ft DC23 Toughness (staged) Damage (Energy) Create Object 80ft DC23 Toughness/DC18 Reflex Damage/trapped Dazzle   50ft DC15 Reflex Blindness Abilities (14) + Combat (24) + Saving Throws (13) + Skills (6) + Feats (5) + Powers (43) - Drawbacks (0) = 105 Power Points

It's about time.

Ah, but can you remain in your sealed environment forever? Greg would actually voice the thought. The last thing he needed was to turn the conversation adversarial. Still, when Caradoc ended up in the hospital for treatment, it would be very satisfying to ask him about that sealed environment. When questioned on his specialty, his reply was simple, straightforward, and more boast than fact. "I am a doctor with a specialty in superhuman medicine." While he could have lied, but there seemed to be no reason to. Besides, he never got to brag about it to his coworkers. These folks should at least appreciate the prestige that specialty brought him.

Doc Titan scores a natural 20. He goes at 25

Greg filed away the machine's statement. Knowing it's capabilities could be useful, and besides it would be interesting to think about. Putting away his personal curiosity, he turned toward the armored man, Caradoc. "Hello to you as well. A pleasure to meet you." He smiled at Caradoc's question. There was a lot of pride in his answer. "Why yes, some of us doctors are actually doctors. Are you ill?"

Carefully shaking Supercape's hand, Greg said "You can call me Doctor Titan." "I'm not so sure on the harmless part, though. You don't build a robot to preserve organic life without a way to do it. Certainly wouldn't leave the thing defenseless." He wasn't too worried, but being a little cautious with the unknown wasn't a bad thing. Greg figured that now would be as good a time as any to get to know the others. Running into these people seemed likely, so identifying himself as one of the good guys would save problems later. "So, since I'm the new guy on the block, perhaps you could help me get my bearings. Get the lay of the land, so to speak. Just got into town, and I'm not familiar with anybody."