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From Quinn's Warped Mind

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Abilities: 6 + 2 + 4 + 0 + 6 + 2 = 20PP

Strength: 26/16 (+8/+3)

Dexterity: 20/12 (+5/+1)

Constitution: 14 (+2)

Intelligence: 10 (+0)

Wisdom: 16 (+3)

Charisma: 12 (+1)

Combat: 12 + 12 = 24PP

Initiative: +5

Attack: +6 (+8 /w Sword of Valor)

Grapple: +15

Defense: +8 (+6 Base, +2 Dodge Focus), +3 Flat-Footed

Knockback: -1

Saving Throws: 3 + 5 = 8PP

Toughness: +8 (+2 Con, +6 Defensive Roll)

Fortitude: +5 (+2 Con, +3)

Reflex: +6 (+6 Dex)

Will: +5 (+0 Wis, +5)

Skills: 36r = 9PP

Acrobatics 7 (+13)

Intimidate 8 (+9)

Notice 8 (+8)

Sense Motive 7 (+10)

Perform (Saxophone) 6 (+7)

Feats: 15PP

All-Out Attack

Attack Specialization: Sword of Valor

Defensive Roll 3

Dodge Focus 2





Power Attack

Quick Change 2

Uncanny Dodge (auditory)

Powers: 2 + 1 + 10 + 8 + 7 + 5 + 8 = 40 PP

Comprehend 1 (spirits) [2 pp]

Immunity 1 (aging) [1 pp]

Enhanced Strength 10 [10 pp]

Enhanced Dexterity 8 [8 pp]

Super Senses 7 (Blindsight [Auditory] (Extras: Accurate), Precognition) (Vigil's Sight) [7 PP]

Speed 5 (25 MPH) (Valor's Charge) [5 PP]

Device 1 (5PP, Flaws: Hard-To-Lose, Feats: Restricted 2 [Vigil], Indestructible) (Sword of Valor) [7PP]

Strike 0 (Feats: Improved Critical 2 [18-20], Stunning Attack, Precise) [5PP]

Drawbacks: -1 – 3 = -4 PP

Disability [blind] (uncommon, minor) [-1 PP]

Visions of the Past (Recurring Nightmares, DC 10) [-3 PP]

DC Block:

ATTACK            RANGE        SAVE                       EFFECT

Unarmed           Touch        DC 23 Toughness (Staged)    Damage (Physical)

Sword             Touch       DC 23 Toughness	           Damage (Physical)

Abilities (20) + Combat (24) + Saving Throws (8) + Skills (9) + Feats (15) + Powers (40) - Drawbacks (4) = 120/120 Power Points

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Player’s Name: Quinn

Character’s Name: Chain Gang

Power Level: 8 (120/120)

Tradeoffs: None

Unspent PP: 0

Progress to Bronze Status: 0/30

In Brief: A gentle giant with friends and a bar, infused with power from a bungled ritual.

Alternate Identities: Douglas Tree

Identity: Public

Birthplace: Freedom City

Occupation: Hero, bartender, owner of Three Olde Kegs Bar & Grill.

Affiliation: Fifth Street Family.

Family: Herbert and Mary Tree (parents, deceased)

Age: 30 (D.O.B Apr. 20, 1981)

Apparent Age: N/A

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 6’4â€

Weight: 180 lbs

Eyes: Green

Hair: Bald

Description: Doug’s transformation was, sadly, not kind to his physical appearance. He’s a monster of a man, built like a football linebacker; huge shoulders, ham-sized fists with claw-esque fingers, slightly over-long arms, and thick, strong legs. His visage was changed drastically as well, to a monstrous face with sharp teeth, a wide grin, and clever green eyes instead of his former baby blues. The fact that his skin is also a somewhat dull green doesn’t help much either. He usually skips the costume route, given that it’s hard to really hide who he is, and goes around in his regular outfit of a plain white undershirt and old blue jeans, with the chain of his name wrapped around his waist like an ersatz belt. Other than the obvious markers, he’s also chosen to get a few tribal-esque tattoos done up his arms, with Fifth Street Family in fancy letters across his back shoulderblades.

History: Douglas Tree was a nice guy. Everybody knew it down in The Fens, everyone who’d spend an evening shooting the breeze at the Three Olde Kegs, a quiet hole-in-the-wall bar where the drinks were cheap, the pool tables comfortably ragged, and the other customers had a friendly ear. Anyone was welcome at the Kegs, so long as they paid for a single round for the house, and gave their keys to the bartender when they ordered their third drink. There was even a standing rule; all heroes ate and drank free (not that any really showed up to take advantage of it, but nobody’d ever think of taking that sign down from above the bar). Douglas owned that bar, a bartender, bouncer, cook, and ersatz therapist all in one. Some of the customers thought it should be called Doug’s Place, but he always met those comments with a big ol’ grin and a mug of something cool and frothy, or a slab of grill-seared meat and potatoes. Frank O’Dell’s marriage was on the rocks, and Tree gave him a couch to crash on until he made up with his wife. Nicky Lynch’s car broke down in front of the bar, and Tree got the boys together to push that sucker off the road. Jack Martin’s dojo was having trouble earning enough cash to stay solvent, and it was the boys from the Kegs who got together and held a big fundraising barbecue. Bob Ball’s repair shop was having trouble thanks to some local gangers, and it was Tree and the guys who put together a neighbourhood watch that soon saw those jerks behind bars. The boys from the Kegs were a close-knit community, and Doug always saw them as sort of a family.

Douglas Tree was a tough guy, too. Anyone running a business in The Fens’d have to be. More often than not he’d have to be a bit rough with some rowdies from whatever gang’d decide to show up for a beer and a bash, though he was always careful that they could leave under their own power. Once he even ran a drunk supervillain out of the Kegs, although the guy was a gadgeteer whose toys had recently been busted in a failed job, and the cops were mighty grateful when they arrived to find the dude tied upside-down to a lamppost right outside the rather cheery joint. A couple of times bad guys’d be causing trouble in the Fens, or their minions’d be trying to take over the whole city, and it’d be the Three Olde Kegs that’d be a bastion of safety as Doug and the regulars took in as many people as could fit, guarding it as best they could.

Still, even if you had a rep as a nice guy and a tough guy, that didn’t exactly mean you were immune to the nasty business that could happen in Freedom City to its citizens from time to time. For Douglas Tree, that came when he was walking to a convenience store in the wee hours of the morning, and everything went black as he passed an alleyway a few blocks from his bar. The bartender woke up chained to a slab of rock in a decrepit warehouse, an orb of acrid green energy being formed over his chest as men in purple robes surrounded him, chanting. A small group of occultists, trying their very first ritual, had been lucky enough (debatable, in Doug’s opinion) to catch Tree walking home, and had their very own human shell to use for their ethereal lord and master. Said lord and master, some eldritch abomination with an unintelligible name, was going to use Doug as a conduit into the world he knew, to wreak havoc and conquer as was it’s wont. Doug, quite reasonably, took a rather dim view of this idea, particularly the realization that he’d be stuck with his body as a time-share, and struggled against his bonds to no avail. The energy sank lower and lower towards him, and as he struggled further he could feel his body changing and morphing as tendrils of it began connecting to it here and there…

Then the cavalry arrived.

A band of regulars from the Three Olde Kegs came crashing through the door of the warehouse, quite literally with an old pickup truck. Jimmy Tin had been nursing a headache by leaning on his bedroom window and enjoying the night air when he’d seen Doug get jumped, and it hadn’t taken him very long to call the cops and round up a few of the boys for a search party. The cops did their best, but it was the regulars who’d picked up the trail first. Frank O’Dell jumped off of the back of the truck, tackling three of the cultists to the ground before they could complete their parts in the spell. Nicky Lynch swung an aluminum bat with aplomb, catching the leader of the cultists in the gut and causing him to double-over, mis-speaking the final words of the ritual. Jack Martin punched here, there, and everywhere, holding the robed men back while Bob Ball hauled out a blowtorch to cut Tree loose. And everyone helped haul the poor guy out before an unearthly scream from the ether and unleashed ritual energy from the botched spell caused the whole place to collapse.

The band got back to the Kegs around midnight, and huddled over a lot of bottles while they looked over the now-transformed Douglas. The voice was the same, fortunately, and he didn’t feel that different, save that he seemed a lot heavier, and a hell of a lot tougher. He could move faster, catch the distinct scents of every bottle of alcohol behind the bar, and put a fist through concrete with ease. On a bet, he went outside and lifted up the pickup they’d used to escape the warehouse, both his and the regulars’ eyes going buggy as he hefted it, grunting with exertion. The band of regulars sat about after that, drinks all but forgotten, into the wee hours of the evening, and came to a resolution. They’d done their best to keep their neighbourhood safe as citizens, but now their good friend and, well, leader had been, for lack of a better word, changed. He’d become more than he was before, he was stronger, faster, hardier. Like…a hero. Admittedly, an extremely ugly one (a roll flew through the air to bounce off of the head of the guy who said that comment), but this was a golden opportunity to start taking back the streets like they’d always wanted to. To act instead of just react.

The five men made a pact in that bar, right at sunrise. They’d always acted like a community and family before, for people that needed it. And now they’d act like a community and family for the whole city. They’d go up against the gangs and the crime syndicates, fight back against things that would snatch people in alleyways, stand up against the supervillains that’d try and threaten the little guy. They’d be the Fifth Street Family, named for the street the Kegs were on. And Douglas, the big man himself, wrapped the chain he’d carried all the way from the warehouse around his waist, still thrumming with strange energy, and cracked his knuckles. Cause with his new family backing him up, no way he’d let ‘em down. He took the name Chain Gang (the group wasn’t entirely sober at the time when they came up with the name, unfortunately), and when more regulars showed up, they raised a cheer and signed on too, until practically everyone who walked into that bar gleefully signed on, knowing they’d do anything to help out on this grand endeavour. In a haze of camaraderie and good cheer, they swore they’d rock the underworld, no matter what. Evil beware, Chain Gang and the Fifth Street Family were on the job!

Personality and Motivations: Douglas Tree’s motivation has always been to help others, one of his favourite sayings being that “his momma raised him rightâ€. When he runs the Kegs, he’s a barside therapist, listening to people’s problems, offering advice, dispensing wisdom along with pints. As a hero, he’s a crusader for the little guy, diving headfirst into the first problem he comes across on his patrols, and equally as willing to thrash a drug dealer’s operation as get a kitten from a tree. The problem being that his visage can often cause people to see him as a bad guy, which has resulted in more than a few unnecessary delays as he explains his status, or distrust from people he’s actually trying to help. He feels a great deal of responsibility towards the Fifth Street Family, viewing them as equal parts his own family and a support network for helping even more people. He knows full well that if one of them got in danger, he’d drop everything to get them out of trouble, and worries constantly that some bad guy might take advantage of that, too.

Power Descriptions: Doug’s abilities have all stemmed from the same source, the strange otherworldly energy that warped his being in anticipation of becoming a proper vessel for an eldritch abomination. Luckily, he escaped before it truly affected his mind, leaving himself only partly warped, and his physical abilities increased nearly tenfold; incredible resilience, whipcord muscles on lengthened arms, fingers that can almost double as claws when he wishes them to, a remarkably sensitive nose that can scent the strangest things, from the natural to the supernatural, and the ability to shrug off even the most debilitating illness or disease.

Powers & Tactics: Doug’s new powers didn’t exactly make him a huge bruiser or powerhouse like the kind he’d seen fighting in the City proper, or in the comics. In fact, all the mutations granted him were the ability to take a bit more abuse, move a bit faster, and dish out a lot more damage. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t use them, and he chose to adapt these augmented skills to what he already knew best. Chain Gang’s fighting style is heavily reminiscent of what you’d see in a bar brawl, unsurprisingly. Fast moving, hard strikes, meant to put an opponent down as fast as possible and move on to the next. He’s a solid grappler if he can get a good hold, and against large numbers of thugs he’s hell on wheels, charging in with fists pumping. Still, sometimes he can get a little crazy (most of the Family suspects this is due to whatever eldritch nasty caused his transformation), and he does sometimes demonstrate a somewhat disconcerting joy when diving into the fray, far more than he used to just ejecting rowdies from the Kegs.


Fearsome Visage – Douglas may be one of the sweetest guys you’d ever meet, but the fact that he’s built like a Jager crossed with a linebacker can result in problems if people don’t know he’s actually trying to help.

Doug’s Place – Three Olde Kegs is his home and business, and he loves that old building dearly; if it comes in danger, or, heaven forbid, be destroyed, it’d hurt the poor guy horribly.

Fifth Street Family – A great deal of Doug’s resources are tied up with the Family, and they’re spread all over Freedom City; he feels a lot of responsibility towards them since they help him so much, and would drop everything in a heartbeat if one of them is in trouble or needs help.

Big Sweetheart – For all of his mass and looks, Doug really is a big softie, and while that’s often endearing, it can also be troublesome; he tends to believe the better of people, even if it opens him up to a sucker punch, and a villain who takes advantage of that…

Eldrich Mutations – Chain Gang’s power comes from a strange and otherworldly force that has infused his very being, and it can sometimes affect him in very strange and unexpected ways, and at the oddest times.

Abilities: 8 + 10 + 12 + 0 + 4 + 0 = 34 pp

STR 26/18 (+8/+4)

DEX 20 (+5)

CON 22 (+6)

INT 10 (+0)

WIS 14 (+2)

CHA 10 (+0)

Combat: 12 + 12 = 24 pp

ATK: +6 (+8 melee)

DEF: +8 (+6, +2 Dodge Focus) (+3 flat-footed)

Grapple: +15

Initiative: +9

Saves: 2 + 2 + 2 = 6 pp

TOU +8 (+6 Con, +2 Density) (2/0 Impervious)

FORT +8 (+6 Con, +2)

REF +7 (+5 Dex, +2)

WILL +4 (+2 Wis, +2)

Skills: 48 r=12 pp

Intimidate 12 (+12)

Notice 8 (+10)

Sense Motive 8 (+10)

Diplomacy 10 (+10)

Gather Information 10 (+10)

Feats: 18 pp

All-Out Attack,

Attack Focus: Melee 2

Dodge Focus 2,



Evasion 2,


Improved Initiative,


Move-By Action,

Power Attack,


Takedown Attack 2,

Uncanny Dodge (olfactory)

Powers: 26 pp

Density 4 (Extra: Duration (Permanent) [+0]) (PFs: Buoyant, Innate) [14 pp]

Immunity 3 (aging, disease, poison) [3 pp]

Penetrating Unarmed Damage 4 [4 pp]

Speed 1 (10 MPH) [1 pp]

Super-Senses 4 (Acute Accurate Tracking Olfactory) [4 pp]


abilities 34 + combat 24 + saves 6 + skills 12/48+ feats 18 + powers 26 = 120/120 pts

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"Yea verily, though I charge through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for I am driving a house-sized mass of “screw youâ€!"

Player’s Name: Quinn

Name: Foehammer

Power Level: 10 (150/150)

Tradeoffs: -5 Attack, +5 Damage; +5 Toughness, -5 Defense

In Brief: A quiet, friendly engineer with a heavily armored battlesuit, The Foundry after his head, and a snarky AI.

Alternate Identities: Axel Sinclair.

Abilities: 8 + 6 + 8 + 10 + 4 + 0 =36 pp

STR 40/30/18 (+15/+10/+4)

DEX 16 (+3)

CON 24/18 (+7/+4)

INT 20 (+5)

WIS 14 (+2)

CHA 10 (+0)

Combat: 10 + 10 = 20 pp

ATK: +5

DEF: +5 (+5 w/Growth/+2 flat-footed)

Init: +3

Grapple: +27 max

Saves: 2 + 2 + 6 = 10 pp

TOU +15/+4 (+7/+4 Con, +8 Protection) (Impervious 10/0)

FORT +9/+6 (+7/+4 Con, +2)

REF +5 (+3 Dex, +2)

WILL +8 (+2 Wis, +6)

Skills: 13 pp=52 r

Computers 5 (+10)

Craft: Electronic 10 (+15)

Craft: Mechanical 10 (+15)

Knowledge: Technology 10 (+15)

Profession: Engineer 5 (+10)

Notice 6 (+8)

Sense Motive 6 (+8)

Feats: 23 pp

All-Out Attack

Equipment 3

Eidetic Memory

Improvised Tools



Jack of All Trades

Power Attack

Sidekick 12 (AI – Odysseus)

Uncanny Dodge (Auditory)

Equipment: 15/15 EP

“Echoâ€, Axel’s Van: [13EP]

Size: Huge [2EP]

Strength: 35 [1EP]

Speed: 5 [5EP]

Toughness: 10 [1EP]

Defense: 8 [0EP]

Features: Alarm, Remote Control, Smokescreen, Workshop [4EP]

Laptop – 1 EP

Commlink – 1 EP

Powers: 56 pp

Device 14 (Hard to Lose) (Foehammer Battlesuit MK 1) [55 pp]

-Enhanced STR 10 and Super-Strength 3 {16 pp}

-Flight 2 (25 MPH) {4}

-Growth 6 (Extra: Duration (Permanent) [+0]) (PF: Innate) {19}

-Immunity 9 (Life Support) {9}

-Impervious Toughness 10 {10}

-Protection 8 {8}

-Buys Off One-Armed Drawback [4]

Drawbacks: -8 pp

Normal ID (uncommon, major) [full round action; must put suit on] (-4 pp)

One Arm (very common, moderate) (-4 pp)

DC Block

Attack                     Range             Save                                     Effect

Unarmed (No Suit) Touch            DC 24 Toughness (staged)   Damage

Unarmed (Suit)      Touch             DC 30 Toughness (staged)   Damage

Totals: abilities 36 + combat 20 + saves 10 + skills 13/52 + feats 23 + powers 56 - drawback 8 = 150/150 pts


“A house-sized mass of “screw you†with more broken parts than a junkyard, sir?â€


Name: Odysseus

PL: 10 (60/60 pts)

In Brief: A snarky, somewhat vindictive AI who can’t stand his pilot.

Abilities: -10 – 10 – 10 + 10 + 6 + 0 = -14

STR --

DEX --

CON --

INT 30 (+10)

WIS 16 (+3)

CHA 10 (+0)

Combat: (0 + 0 = 0pp)

Attack: +1 (+1 for size)

Grapple: +0

Defense: 11 (+1 for size)

Knockback: +0

Initiative: +5

Saves: (0 + 0 + 0 = 0pp)

Toughness +2

Fort ---

Ref ---

Will +3

Skills: (52r = 13pp)

Computer 5 (+15)

Disable Device 5 (+15)

Search 5 (+15)

Knowledge (Tactics) 5 (+15)

Knowledge (Technology) 5 (+15)

Notice 13 (+15)

Sense Motive 13 (+15)

Feats: (6 pp)

Eidetic Memory

Second Chance (opposed Computer skill rolls)

Speed of Thought

Ultimate Skill (Computer)

Master Plan 2

Powers: 4 + 2 + 30 + 9 + 2 + 3 + 5 = 50 pp

Communication 2 (Radio; Extra: Area; PFs: Selective, Subtle) [4 pp]

Datalink 2 (Radio) [2 pp]

Immunity 30 (Fortitude effects) [30]

Super-Senses 9 (suit sensors; infravision, radar [accurate radius ranged radio sense], radio, time sense, ultra-hearing, ultravision) [9]

Protection 2 [2]

Quickness 6 (x100; Flaw: Limited to Mental only) [3]

Shrinking 4 (Small; Extra: Duration/Continuous; Flaw: Permanent; PF: Innate) [5]

Totals: Abilities -14 + Combat 0 + Saves 0 + Skills 13 (52 ranks) + Feats 8 + Powers 50 + Drawbacks 0 = 60/60 pp

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PL: 10 (150)

Abilities: 14+4+14+4+4=40 pp

STR 24 (+7)

DEX 14 (+2)

CON 24 (+7)

INT 10 (+0)

WIS 14 (+2)

CHA 14 (+2)

Combat: 12+12=24 pp

ATK: +6 (+8 Melee)

DEF: +8 (+3 flat-footed)

Init: +6

Grapple: +15

Saves: 3+4+4=11 pp

TOU +12 (+7 Con, +5 Protection)

FORT +10 (+7 Con, +3)

REF +6 (+2 Dex, +4)

WILL +6 (+2 Wis, +4)

Skills: 18 pp=72 r

Acrobatics 8 (+10)

Bluff 8 (+10)

Climb 8 (+15)

Intimidate 10 (+12)

Languages 2 (French, Spanish) (Base: English)

Notice 8 (+10)

Sense Motive 8 (+10)

Pilot 8 (+10)

Survival 4 (+6)

Swim 4 (+11)

Feats: 26 pp

Acrobatic Bluff

All-Out Attack

Attack Focus: Melee (2)

Dodge Focus (2)

Equipment (11)


Improved Initiative


Luck (2)

Move-By Action

Power Attack


Uncanny Dodge (auditory)

Equipment wrote:

The Untamed Wind (Airship HQ) (6PP/30EP)

-A strange and magnificent airship, taken from the fleet of the Sky Lord himself, manned by a crew of free men.

Size: Huge (3EP) (500-1000 ft.)

Toughness: +20 (3EP)

Features: (24EP)



Defense Systems 2 (Heavy Cannons)

Fire Prevention Systems


Holding Cells (Toughness +30)


Interrogation Chambers




Living Spaces


Power System

Security System 5 (DC40)

Power (Airship Engines – Flight 10)


Heavy Cannons: Attack +14, Blast 14 (Extras: Autofire 2 [increased Interval])

Airship Engines: Flight 10 (1000 MPH)

Air-Skiff (Short-range armored craft) (3 PP/15 EP)

-A small but agile open-top craft, unarmed and one of a small fleet held in the Wind's hangars, used to transport The Captain and other individuals from ship to shore.

Size: Huge (2 EP) (16-32 ft)

Speed: 4 (8 EP)

Defense: 8

Toughness: 10 (5 EP)

Pirate's Belt Array (2PP/10 EP Array, Power Feats: 1 Alternate Power))

-A collection of useful tools assembled by The Captain for adjusting the odds whenever he feels the need.

BE: Blast 2 (boomerangs, Power Feats: Improved Ranged Disarm, Mighty 2) (9 EP)

AP: Obscure 4 (smoke bombs, visual, 50' radius, Extras: Independent) (8 EP)

Powers: 15+16=31 pp

Device 5 (Electro-Cutlass) (easy to lose) [15 pp]

- Paralyze 12 (PF: Extended Reach 1) {25 pp}

- AP: Strike 5 (PF: Improved Critical 2, Mighty, Extended Reach 2; Extras: Penetrating 5) {15 pp}

Device 4 (The Captain’s Hat) (Hard to Lose) [16 pp]

-Immunity 9 (Life Support) {9}

-Impervious TOU 6 {6}

-Protection 5 {5}


abilities 40 + combat 24 + saves 11 + skills 18/72 + feats 26 + powers 31 = 150 pts

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Name: Overclock

Character's Name: Quinn

Power Level: 8 (120/120 PP)

Tradeoffs: N/A

Unspent PP: 0

Progress to Bronze Status: N/A

In Brief: A trained martial artist who can only use his immense speed and strength (the Woosh) when the adrenaline hits.

Alternate Identities: Ezekiel Irons, "Iron Z" (stage name).

Identity: Secret

Birthplace: Freedom City

Occupation: Jazz musician ("Iron Z"), busker.

Affiliations: None

Family: Jacob and Hannah Irons (parents, deceased)

Age: 25

Apparent Age: N/A

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 120 lbs

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Prematurely gray

Description: Zeke's not exactly a man who cares about his appearance, save for trying to maintain a semi-attractive unkempt look that fits his 'tude. Physically, he's very fit, his hair usually done into cornrows, a very neatly trimmed goatee and moustache combination around his mouth, and a fairly decent-looking face that's attracted more than a few female jazz fans who've seen him perform. When not on patrol, he'll amble about in whatever clothes he's thrown together for the day, usually something baggy and soft, with his saxophone case on his back. When on patrol, he wears a specially-made costume; a facemask with wide tinted eye-goggles, combat vest with plenty of pockets for tools, leather gloves and combat boots, with the entire outfit painted in urban camo (grey/brown).

History: Iron Z, aka Ezekiel Irons, had things pretty good. Sure, he wasn't rich, but he had a good gig playing the Secret Bar downtown. On retainer three nights of the week, playing cool jazz with a hot horn and keeping the atmosphere like the years that he loved to read about and hear about. The spy-themed bar got a lot of the nostalgia crowd, for all it's gimmicky ways, and he loved sitting back after a set and listening to the regulars talk about how things were back in their day. Talking about Centurion and the big heroes, about how Freedom City was a shining beacon of light on the East Coast before the Moore Administration, the new types of music and art and books and everything that kept popping up. Zeke was happy hearing about the past, it was one of the reasons he learned how to play the saxophone and got a job as a professional musician. Granted, he wasn't exactly getting a record label or anything, but he was young and hopeful. Who knew, maybe one day the right guy with the right briefcase'd walk in, right? Or maybe he'd win a tournament, bring home a trophy full of money.

Truth be told, it wasn't just the music that Ezekiel loved hearing about; listening about the superheroes of the past generations was entertaining as heck for him too. Sometimes when he was practicing for another gig, he'd let the music and practice carry him to daydreams of heroism; maybe he'd be some kind of music controller, playing like the Pied Piper and leading villains to jail. Maybe he'd be some kind of speedster, like Johnny Rocket, judging by how many times he'd had to bolt across town to reach a job in time and always barely making it under the wire. Maybe he'd be some grim avenger of grim darkness, like the Raven, standing on rooftops and brooding as he looked over his city. He daydreamed, played his music, and made a living from it. Which made it come a bit out of left field when his daydreams came crashing rather unceremoniously right into reality.

Irons had been taking a shortcut through some back alleys to get back to his apartment when he saw them. A pack of what looked like no-goodniks, circling an old man who just leaned on a heavy cane, sighing. One ganger jumped forward with a lead pipe, only to get clouted over the head with the cane and the point of it shoved into his gut, sending him wheezing to the ground. Two more tried to attack from the rear, but the old man whirled and lashed his foot out in a vicious kick, once, twice! And both hit the ground missing teeth, the others backing up. Irons just stood there, rooted to the spot, his mouth slack as he watched the 'victim' deliver the swift and sure blows. Unfortunately, that's when the last four decided that one-at-a-time fighting was a bad idea.

When they drew pistols, that's when Ezekiel's feet moved as if on his own accord. He charged forward, praying he'd make it in time. He could see their fingers contract on the triggers, smell the cordite as the bullets began moving forward in the chambers. Time seemed to stop. And then....Woosh.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; an adrenaline rush so powerful it was almost as if his entire body was on fire. He felt strength flow into his muscles, his feet move faster than he'd ever seen them move before, the thugs frozen as if they were standing still. He lashed out with his hands and feet, hitting the thugs as hard as he could and watching with detached amusement as they fell and tumbled away as in slow motion. When he'd finally struck the last one with a vicious right hook to the jaw, he stopped, breathing heavily, as the rush ended and a punishing exhaustion hit his body. The old man stood and watched as Zeke simply blurred and then reappeared, before falling to the ground unconscious.

When Irons woke up, he heard the sounds of battle and 'kiyi!'s coming from a nearby room, and sat bolt upright. Then promptly regretted it, as his body began complaining most violently. A small old man dressed in a weathered old gi sat nearby, stirring a pot. Zeke sat up, looking at the old man. The old man looked at him. Irons tilted his head to the side. The old man did the same. Finally, Zeke introduced himself; it seemed only polite, and he really had no idea where he was. The old man introduced himself in return; Master Lee. Of Lee's School of Self Defense, Hanover. He even had a flyer to prove it. Zeke raised an eyebrow.

It turned out the old man was the one being mugged in that alleyway. Mugged being the operative term, Irons had heard of Master Lee's School of Self Defense, it'd be hard not to in Freedom City, and those thugs would've been in for a rough time even if he hadn't somehow...wooshed in there like that. Master Lee concurred with Zeke. Although he was still rather impressed. The two sat talking for a while, Lee curious as to how Zeke managed such a feat of speed; after the pain went away the two even went into the now-empty dojo (it was well after midnight by then), and tried to replicate it. Zeke found, to his surprise, he could in fact move faster than before (and he was no slowpoke when a gig was on the line), and his reflexes were better...but he couldn't reach that same insane speed he'd used against the thugs. Lee tilted his head to the side, and shrugged. The two stayed up the whole night talking and experimenting with Zeke's new speed, Lee showing him the basics of the dojo's martial arts. Zeke found himself amazed and fascinated by the skill of the Master, the multitude of styles the old man knew; kung fu, muay thai, aikido, karate...when the sun finally came up and the first students for Lee's morning classes arrived, they found Irons passed out on a pile of mats and Lee sighing; he had a lot of work to do.

Ezekiel Irons returned to that dojo, repeatedly, over multiple years. Master Lee saw in Irons a good heart, and an honest one; Zeke saw in himself, well, mostly burgers and tacos, but he liked that the Master seemed to think he had potential. For two years, he experimented with his new speed, noting that when he was in heated sparring sessions with other students, he could move faster, and faster, and even faster than he'd expected. He could feel the adrenaline flowing and his system working at even greater speeds, his strength, resilience, and manual dexterity accelerating during those brief periods. He asked Lee to teach him these martial arts; seeing in his new ability a chance at those daydreams of heroism he'd always hoped for. Finally, five years to the day after he first woke up in Master Lee's School of Self Defense, Ezekiel Irons was playing the saxophone as a busker in downtown Freedom (gigs weren't his only way of earning cash, after all), when he heard a scream from a nearby alley. A wide smile creased his features, and he picked up a duffel bag he'd began carrying with him.

Overclock was on the job.

Personality and Motivations: Before Zeke found the Woosh, he was a pretty simple guy. He loved his music, he liked his loft in that old repurposed factory, he was fond of his old beaten-up car, he lived his Bohemian lifestyle as best he could. He loved hearing stories of what Freedom City used to be like, and whenever there was some big heroic shindig going on, he always tried his level best to get there and either watch, or help out getting people away from the danger zone. He was a free spirit in his own way, to put it lightly. Then, once Zeke found the Woosh and Master Lee's school, it was like a new lease on life. He had a chance at being a hero, something he'd always dreamed about; and now here was his opportunity. He threw himself into Lee's training, working as hard as he could to master what the school of self-defense had to teach him. He's still the same free spirit and Bohemian he was before, but now he's got a responsibility to his city; one he takes very seriously indeed.

Power Descriptions: Overclock's power is essentially a mutated adrenaline rush without the bodily damage afterward (save a really bad headache or muscle pains); he moves faster, punches harder, can take a lot more abuse than an average person. But what his real power is (so he thinks) is what he dubs the "Woosh", in a fight or when the adrenaline really flows, he can kick his body to absolutely insane speeds, running faster than a speeding bullet or moving so quickly it seems as if the world is in slow motion around him. And on top of all that, he's an expert (not a master, yet) of mixed martial arts, having learned a great deal of many different styles at Master Lee's School of Self Defense.

Powers and Tactics: As stated above, Zeke's power is in his insane speed, heightened strength and resilience, and he takes full advantage of it. When in a fight, he stays at a fairly low speed, gauging his opponent and only using the minimum amount of force neccessary to disable or knock them out, only increasing his speed if the foe displays abilities that merit it. He's more than willing to go max-speed to goonsweep an army of thugs, however; he's not stupid. If he can finish a fight by surprising an opponent with a blindingly-fast punch or kick, he'll do it.


Adrenaline Rush - Zeke can only tap into the full force of the Woosh when in a situation that would merit a huge adrenaline rush; a fight, a building collapsing, chaos all around him. Sometimes he can give it a kick-start, sometimes he can't. (Save for Speed 2 and Quickness 2, full range of powers will only be accessible at GM's discretion.)

Adrenaline Crash - While his body does seem to compensate easily when he comes down from the Woosh, sometimes it doesn't always work properly; there is the rare occasion when the rush doesn't end like it should...

Arrogant Kung Fu Guy - Despite his training and recriminations from Master Lee, Overclock can occasionally get a little uppity in a fight, messing with his opponent when he should really be finishing the job ASAP, or sometimes simpy enjoys the fight way too much to want to end it so soon.

Master Lee's School of Self Defense - Zeke owes a lot to Master Lee and the man's students for teaching him and helping him adapt to his new abilities, and would do a lot to keep that school and the people who attend it safe. Should he also run into any of Master Lee's renegade students, he'd also make a beeline straight for them to teach them the errors of their ways, or they might aim right for him to teach a most violent lesson.

Struggling - Zeke's a jazz musician with a semi-steady gig at the Secret Bar (though he's been getting some flak for disappearing abruptly when crime's in the offing), and works occasionally as a busker around town (good cover for patrols!); unfortunately, sometimes the guy can get a bit strapped for cash.

Abilities: 8 + 8 + 8 + 0 + 4 + 0 = 28 pp

STR 18/26 (+4/+8)

DEX 18/26 (+4/+8)

CON 18/22 (+4/+6)

INT 10 (+0)

WIS 14 (+2)

CHA 10 (+0)

Combat: 8 + 4 = 12 pp

ATK: +4 (+4, +8 Unarmed)

DEF: +8 (+2, +6 Dodge Focus) (+2 flat-footed)

Init: +7

Grapple: +14

Saves: 5 pp

TOU +8/+6 (+6 Enh. Con, +2 Def. Roll) (+4 Con, +2 Def. Roll)

FORT +6/+4 (+6 Enh. Con) (+4 Con)

REF +11/+4 (+8 Enh. Dex, +3 Enh. Ref) (+4 Dex)

WILL +7 (+2 Wis, +5)

Skills: 9 pp=36 r

Acrobatics 5 (+13)

Diplomacy 7 (+7)

Notice 6 (+8)

Search 5 (+5)

Sense Motive 6 (+8)

Perform (Saxophone) 7 (+7)

Feats: 21 pp

Acrobatic Bluff,

All-Out Attack,

Attack Specialization: Unarmed 2,

Defensive Roll,

Dodge Focus 6,

Evasion 2,

Improved Critical,


Move-By Action,

Power Attack,

Quick Change,

Stunning Attack,

Takedown Attack 2,

Uncanny Dodge (auditory)

Powers: 3 + 2 + 8 + 8 + 4 + 3 + 16 = 44 pp

Speed 2 (25mph) PF: Moving Feint [3pp]

Quickness 2 (x5 speed) [2pp]

Enhanced STR 8 [8 pp]

Enhanced DEX 8 [8 pp]

Enhanced CON 4 [4 pp]

Enhanced Reflex Save 3 [3pp]

"Woosh" Power Reserve 8 (16pp reserve; Quickness [up to 18 (x1,000,000 speed)] or Speed [up to 18 (5,000,000MPH or 50,000,000' per round]) [16PP]

DC Block:

ATTACK              RANGE     SAVE                         EFFECT

Unarmed             Touch     DC 19/23 Toughness (Staged)  Damage

Unarmed (Stun)      Touch     DC 14/18 Fortitude           Dazed/Stunned/Unconscious

Abilities 28 + Combat 12 + Saves 5 + Skills 9 + Feats 22 + Powers 44 = 120/120 PP

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PL 10 Crow WIP: (Defense +2 / Toughness - 2; Melee: Attack -2 / Damage +2; Summoning Array: Attack +2 / Damage -2; Talon Barrage and Talon Wire: Attack +4 / Damage -4)

Abilities: 8 + 8 + 8 + 4 + 4 + 2 = 34PP

Strength: 18 (+4)

Dexterity: 18 (+4)

Constitution: 18 (+4)

Intelligence: 14 (+2)

Wisdom: 14 (+2)

Charisma: 12 (+1)

Combat: 12 + 8 = 20PP

Initiative: +8

Attack: +6 Ranged, +8 Melee, +12 Summoning Array, +14 Talon Barrage and Talon Wire

Grapple: +10

Defense: +12, (+4 Base, +8 Dodge Focus) +2 Flat-Footed

Knockback 3, 1 Flat-Footed

(lowered Defense by 2 points, gained 4 PP, bought more Dodge Focus)

Saving Throws: 1 + 3 + 3 = 7PP

Toughness: +8 (+4 Con, +4 Defensive Roll), +4 Flat-Footed

Fortitude: +5 (+4 Con, +1)

Reflex: +7 (+4 Dex, +3)

Will: +5 (+2 Wis, +3)

Skills: 72R = 18PP

Acrobatics 1 (+5)

Bluff 9 (+10)

Craft (Artistic) 8 (+10)

Gather Info 9 (+10) SMy

Intimidate 9 (+10) SMy

Languages 1 (English [Native], Gaelic)

Knowledge (History) 5 (+7)

Knowledge (Arcane Lore) 8 (+10)

Notice 8 (+10) SMy

Sense Motive 8 (+10)

Stealth 6 (+10) SMy

(lowered by 20 ranks, gain 5 PP)

Feats: 30PP

All-Out Attack

Attack Focus (Melee) 2


Beginners Luck

Defensive Attack

Defensive Roll 2 (+4 Toughness)

Dodge Focus 8

Equipment (5EP)

Evasion 2


Improved Initiative


Master Plan

Move-By Action

Power Attack

Skill Mastery (Gather Info, Intimidate, Notice, Stealth)


Takedown Attack 2

Uncanny Dodge (Auditory)

5 EP to Shared HQ (Parkhurst Hotel)

Powers: 17PP + 24 PP = 41 PP

Device 4 (20PP Container, Hard-To-Lose, Indestructible) [17PP] (Runic Coat)

Runes (9PP Array, Feats: Alternate Power 3) [12PP]

  • Base Power: Strike 8 (Feats: Mighty) [9PP] (Rune of Earth)

    Alternate Power: Concealment 4 (All Visual Senses; Feats: Selective) [9PP] (Rune of The Veil)

    Alternate Power: Drain Toughness 8 (Feats: Slow Fade) [9PP] (Rune of Ethereal Drain)

    Alternate Power: Healing 8 (Flaws: Empathic, Feats: Regrowth) [9PP] (Rune of Revival)

Immunity 2 (Cold, Heat) [2PP] (Minor Rune of Protection)

Teleport 4 (400ft per Move Action, Flaws: Limited [short-Range], Feats: Subtle, Turnabout) [6PP] (Rune of Wind Walk)

Device 5 (30 PP available, Hard-To-Lose) (Crow’s Talons) [24 PP]

Summoning Array (26 PP Array, Feats: Accurate 2, Alternate Power 2) [30 PP]

Base Power: Blast 8 [Feats: Precise 2, Ricochet 3, Indirect, Improved Critical 2 (18-20), Subtle] [26PP] (Summoned Crow’s Talons)

Alternate Power: Blast 6 [Extras: Autofire; Feats: Accurate, Precise 2, Ricochet 3, Indirect, Improved Critical 2 (18-20)] [26 PP] (Talon Barrage)

Alternate Power: Snare 5 [Feats: Accurate, Subtle, Tether, Reversible] + Blast 5 [Extras: Alternate Save (Fort)] [26 PP] (Talon Wire and Rune of Lightning)

Drawbacks: -0PP


DC Block:

ATTACK            RANGE    SAVE                       EFFECT

Unarmed           Touch    DC19 Toughness (Staged)    Damage (Physical)

Earth Strike      Touch    DC27 Toughness (Staged)    Damage (Physical)

Ethereal Drain    Touch    DC18 Fortitude (Staged)    Drain Toughness

Talon Knife       Ranged   DC23 Toughness             Damage (Physical)

Talon Barrage     Ranged   DC21+ Toughness            Damage (Physical)

Talon Wire        Ranged   DC15 Reflex                Entangled/Bound

Lightning Strike  Ranged   DC15 Fortitude             Damage (Physical)

Abilities (34) + Combat (20) + Saving Throws (7) + Skills (18) + Feats (30) + Powers (41) - Drawbacks (0) = 150/150 Power Points

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 Player’s Name: Quinn

Character’s Name: Breaker

 Power Level: 10 (150/150 PP)

    Trade-Offs: -0 Attack / +0 Damage, -0 Defense / +0 Toughness

Unspent PP:

Progress towards Silver:  59/60


In Brief: Ex-Liverpudlian Small-Time Crook Turned Ex-DNAscent “Volunteer†Turned Ex-Superpowered Gangster Turned Project Freedom Hero.


Alternate Identities: Frank Flynn, Subject 24.

Identity: Markus Flynt

Birthplace: Liverpool, England.

Occupation: Project Freedom Volunteer

Affiliations: Liverpool Underworld (past), Freedom City Underworld (some contacts), Iron Hands/Knights In Shiny Leather Gang (current), Project Freedom (current)

Family: None living.


Age: 35

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 7’0â€

Weight: 230 lbs.

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Neon Green


Description: A wiseacre in the Iron Hands once described Markus as a ‘walking wall of hair and leather’, which, while earning a pretty fair amount of ribbing, isn’t entirely inaccurate. Standing a solid seven feet tall (seven feet twelve inches including his neon green mohawk), Markus Flynt is a big man in pretty much every sense of the word. Broad shoulders, a bodybuilder’s frame, arms lined with whipcord muscles, stout legs, with the whole kit and caboodle usually stuffed into heavy biker leathers (though nowadays they tend to be less studded and somewhat cleaner – also, the emblem of a heavy steel helm with a knight’s crest has been plastered across the back of the jacket; with the words ‘Knights In Shiny Leather’ stitched below it). His face looks pretty standard for the life he’s lead; chiseled jaw, kinda squashed nose, sloping forehead, and blue eyes that are often (sorta incongruously) given to smiling (and usually these days covered by a domino mask).


History: If you asked Breaker about his history, he’d make no bones about it – he was a bad man. He thought he’d be a bad man from cradle to grave, truth be told; born in one of the worst parts of Liverpool’s dockside to a dad who spent most of his days drinking or hauling contraband for cash, and a mom who up and vanished as soon as she realized just how much of a deadbeat Mr. Flynt was. Truthfully, Markus doesn’t hold it against them or anything like that; it was just the way things were in that area of town. And you had to be tough to survive.


Make no mistake, Markus Flynt was tough. His dad was no slouch in the broad frame department, and the son inherited that with interest – by the time he was fourteen he’d been running with a gang of young troublemakers, knocking over mailboxes and shaking down everyone not them for lunch money; and by the time he hit eighteen he was running the gang, knocking over convenience stores, and shaking down store owners for protection money. To be fair, he worked damn hard with his gang to make sure nobody got seriously hurt, but the rule of the day was always look out for number one. S’what his dad did, his mom did – and it worked out fine for him, even when he got rousted by the law now and again. He never did enough for them to hold him long.


Eventually, he got picked up by one of the larger outfits in the area as a legbreaker and collections agent – more often than not his burly frame and meaty hands causing them to cough it up before he even had to bust out a lead pipe or brass knuckles. He quickly got a rep in the underground for that, too – guy knew just how to squeeze the last bit of cash out of the deadbeats, how to hunch his shoulders just right to scare the living daylights outta people; and when an offshoot of the Circus Maximus came to town, trying for an international rep? Those hulking muscles of his (exercised every day, said his prayers, and ate his vitamins, our boy did) got him not to the top spot, but a respectable place in the semi-finals; before this chica who could turn her fist into a sandy sledgehammer knocked him ass-over-teakettle. He tried asking her out after that; he suspects the chutzpah was what kept her from putting him through a wall. And he also suspects making it to the semi-finals was what got the attention of people who like to play with syringes.


Markus was walking home from the pub one fine January evening – it was bitter cold, he remembers that vividly – when he got blindsided by a pack of thugs jumping out of a nearby van. Hunching up his collar let them blindside him, or so he says; two of them he took out with heavy haymakers, before everything went shocky and fuzzy – the jerks hit him with a taser.


When he woke up, he was...somewhere else. Truth be told, it’s still all one big blur. He remembers a surgeon’s table, strapped down, strange men with masks and syringes hanging over him. Chemical tanks, floating in one, pins and needles all over him, before more pain than he’d ever felt before or again. Voices talking, fancy science words he still doesn’t understand or comprehend. Doors growing too small for him, tanks too small, everything too small. Running obstacle courses in a haze, tunnel vision forced on him by...something. Drugs? Pharmaceuticals? He still doesn’t know – but it made him pliable. Lifting things he could never have lifted before. Throwing things distances he could never have managed before. Jumping, climbing, ploughing through walls and buildings. One memorable time, being jabbed with something that just made him so...so angry – so furious, so full of rage he tore a tank to metal shreds as it desperately tried to evade his berserker fury.


That, coincidentally, was the day he escaped.


The makers of the drug had done their job too well – they’d thought his enhanced physiology required more of the substance, but would burn it off relatively quickly; and they overdosed. So when the guards and their shock batons came in to subdue him, he bowled through them like so many pins – knocking them aside, into walls, across great distances. He tore through that laboratory like a whirlwind, only remembering small snatches afterwards of the chaos, the tumult, the noise – he just wanted it all to stop and the angry to go away.


He doesn’t talk about the escape much, these days.


Ultimately, he broke out – kicking a huge metal door open and fleeing into the wilderness; rapidly losing his way. They tried to surround him with helicopters and such, but one mighty LEAP (he didn’t even know he could do that!) took him higher than he’d ever imagined. As he saw the sun, breaking through the clouds, the rage was already ebbing...and when he tumbled and plummeted back to ground wheeling his arms and yelling like crazy all the way down, impacting and making a small crater in the middle of nowhere, it was pretty much gone. Replaced with a wicked headache.


The rest after that is a bit of a blur; mostly from the concussion and wounds – he remembers hotwiring a pickup truck he’d found somewhere, driving just in random directions hoping to shake off...something...he doesn’t remember. It might’ve been a whole day, it might’ve been a week; either way, he didn’t stop until the truck ran out of gas on the edge of Freedom City limits (it was bright and shiny in the distance, so naturally he drove towards it).


After that, his arrival was fairly stereotypical of those arriving to the City Of Heroes. He ducked into a hostel and took stock of himself; arriving in the superpowered capital of the world, muscles on muscles on muscles, with nothing to his name and no idea how he was going to get home, in an orange jumpsuit, and likely pursued by nasty fellows in black suits with syringes. And like hell he was going to let them take him again.


Yeah. He needed help.  He needed help, he needed manpower, he needed a power base, and he needed money and clothes. Probably not necessarily in that order; but if they came to grab him again, whoever they were, they’d be really damn surprised. And hey, there were a lot of bosses here in Freedom City who’d like some superpowered help, right? Couldn’t be that different from the Liverpool underworld.


Oh, how wrong he was.


From there, his rise through the Freedom City underworld was fairly well established – at least by the FCPD. Started with brawling at a few fight clubs, establishing his credentials as muscle. He worked for a lot of the small-time villains; The Magician, Scrounge, even had a brief stint working for Trawler II (he was awfully helpful carrying the big things out of the water – though after Siren put him through a whirlpool to keep him busy while she was tangling with Trawler, and he came out with eyes spinning and a headache fit to burst, he didn’t do that again!). FCPD files noted, however, that he didn’t stick with any of them. He just kept bouncing from villain to villain. They assumed it was just a case of money-by-job, rather than dedication. And, in part, that was the circumstance. But...


Truthfully, Markus was slightly discontented. Back in the day, he’d run his crew in Liverpool fairly clean – sure, they ran the protection rackets, shook down folks, and generally made themselves nuisances; but they didn’t hurt bystanders or seriously hurt people. These ‘supervillains’ (though privately he wasn’t sure half the people he worked for qualified for ‘super’) weren’t quite so picky. And if he ever voiced discontent, it would usually end up with him legging it after a lot of “YOU DARE?!†speeches


And worse – he’d never get to actually fight the heroes. Granted, that wasn’t a really nice thing to think, but he had superpowers now! He wanted to fight something that would really stretch himself!


Anyway - to put it bluntly, working for real villains sucked. Still, it was a means to an end; even if it was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Ultimately, he got the money and the rep to assemble his own crew; a gimmicky band of thugs called the Iron Hand Gang.  Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he went with that, but it seemed cool. He was a heavy metal fan (hence the mohawk), and cool metal gauntlets really let his mooks stand out. Plus, now he was getting heroes of his own to fight – and that was just awesomeness on toast.


In short, he thought he was on his way. At least until the Southside Incident.


It was the first fight against the rookie Crimson Tiger that it started to hit him that maybe something was just...off. Moreso when he started seeing, really seeing, from the authority figure; the villain level, just what was happening in Freedom City. Before, he’d just been the chief thug – now he was actually seeing the plans and villainy going on, rather than being the last to find out. He’d been there on the ground when the Metaceptors came in, and there on the ground when the Gorgon showed up, and there on the ground when...well, a whole lot of things happening. And he was just a small-time brawler, whose main goals were keeping from being kidnapped, and fighting heroes because they were a damn good scrap.


He started wondering whether, well...he really had it in him to be a villain. If he even wanted to be one. If, in looking for good fights and making himself real comfortable and authoritative, he was distracting people better than him from fighting people worse than him. He started feeling...




Which is a hell of a thing, he’ll tell you. It started real small, at least – just looking at other villains and trying to avoid what they were doing. Then it grew...bigger. Starting to look at heroes, and maybe avoiding causing trouble where they were working. They had more important people to fight, after all. Then looking at both, and maybe now and again sending a bit of info to a hero who wanted to take down someone really bad. He had a lot of contacts in the underworld, after all; folks owing him favors, or just liked him better than jerkass bad guys who preferred intimidation over chatting over beer.


Ultimately, it lead to him just starting to not do anything – which his gang really didn’t like, but hey; at least they weren’t getting beat up by good guys.


It came to a crescendo, finally, when he was witness to the chaos of the Hot Zone incident. Where powers ran rampant, and rather than take advantage, he started helping to contain it; keeping his people who were running wild under control, and keeping his few neighbourhoods in the Fens and Southside clean. He couldn’t attack or loot or whatever when this much of the city was at risk; not after everything he’d already considered.


The same month, he told his gang they were done. He explained his thinking. Told them where he’d came from. Why he was what he was, and why things had changed. Some of them understood. Others just left. But they all agreed – after the Metaceptors, the Gorgon, and the Hot Zone, they just couldn’t keep going. And hell, he’d helped them all out at one time or another, right? Backed them up, unlike a lot of other villains – and he was sure as heck a lot nicer. They told him if he wanted to change, they’d go with him.


He didn’t cry. But he may have hiccupped; just a bit. In the end - they robbed a bank. And got caught. (Insert link here.)


What’s happened since then has been fairly well-documented; at least by those interested. Breaker, AKA Markus Flynt, was a model prisoner at Blackstone. Stayed in his cell, exercised, the works. Spent a good two years before applying for parole – and got given a chance at Project Freedom. The recommendation from a couple of very particular heroes went some distance to that. At the time, he wasn’t sure about if he’d take it, but now...


Still, the nullifier cuffs kind of suck.


Personality & Motivation: In personality, Markus/Breaker is just like his frame – big. He eats big, talks big, laughs big, lives big – and honestly, given his past, can you blame him? Villain or hero, he likes throwing himself into the action whenever he can; whether it’s being the life of a party, telling ribald dockside jokes and boastful stories, or diving headfirst to headbutt a villain’s giant robot (though doing that tends to squash his carefully coiffed hair) before ripping off a metal arm and beating it into scrap metal with it.


Oddly enough, despite his past, Markus also tends to be a fairly...well, good isn’t entirely accurate, but more a nice guy – even when he ran with the Iron Hands or the dockside legbreakers he had a tendency to back up his friends, avoid hurting anyone who didn’t have it coming, or cause a bigger ruckus than the cops could handle (nobody liked it when they had to break out SWAT teams or fire hoses, after all). Admittedly, he’s had his rough patches, but a few good whacks to the head and running into better people have pulled him back into what he used to be like; before All The Badness happened. Time will tell if it’ll stick, or if he’ll fall back into old habits. If asked, he’ll say he’s hoping for the former.


Power Descriptions: Breaker’s powers are all genetic; supercharged bone and muscle that lets him hit like a sledgehammer with a rocket engine strapped to the end. As of yet, he hasn’t manifested any really visible mutations or side effects from the Program, but it’s only been a few years...


Powers & Tactics: Befitting his name, Breaker's powers and combat style are straightforward and uncomplicated. Step one; find the biggest, meanest, toughest, ugliest wanker currently occupying prime Freedom City real estate (read, the pavement under it's feet) during a kerfuffle, and ask it if it wants to go grab a beer and talk this whole thing out. If it does, right on - go grab a drink, talk shop, and persuade the big lug it'd be better to serve some time, get out on good behavior, and change it's ways.


In the quite likely event this does not happen, however...


Even with nullifier cuffs on, Breaker's raw brute strength is considerable - mighty punches that can crack concrete or dent cars are rendered with due diligence onto the obvious foe, with a surprising swiftness and deftness bespeaking Markus's considerable years of street fighting and back alley brawling. This usually continues until it gives up or stops moving, whichever comes first; whereupon he promptly uncorks that gale force bellow onto whatever minions said big jerkface might have nearby. Usually seeing their boss beat down street-style does wonders for persuading mooks to turn themselves in; worked well enough with his old crew. Epic lectures also help a lot - he enjoys giving those.





99 Problems - There's an old saying, the road to heck is paved with good intentions (it should be a different word, but the guy is trying to clean up his act). Fact is, while Breaker is trying to go straight...there are a lot of issues a guy can run into, especially when you used to be a career thug. Not to say he doesn't mean well - he does! It's just that sometimes the wrong thing seems like the right thing, or it gets kinda easy to fall back into an old habit when it comes to intimidation over diplomacy, or maybe he mighta skipped over a chapter or two of the Project Freedom Rulebook, or he accidentally finds something he really shouldn't...being a superhero is hard.


Secrets From The Underground - Beware of people with syringes, for they are inevitably up to no good. Breaker knows this very well, having become intimately acquainted with a no-name group who enjoyed poking him with strange substances and mysterious rays and such odd sciencey procedures that he knows very little about. That isn't to say he doesn't enjoy the result of said processes, but there's a distinct problem constantly lingering in the back of his head - who were those guys? Why did they want him? The fact remains that whoever they were, they're still out there; and given how successful they were...they likely want their property back - and are willing to go to a lot of lengths to get it. This normally doesn't bother him, but sometimes...it does scare the green out of his hair. Smart guy could capitalize on that distraction.


Thunderstruck - Breaker isn't sure if it's the AEGIS quartermaster or some kind of biofeedback problem (whatever those words mean) with his powers, but ever since he turned himself in and joined Project Freedom, he has always had a problem with those ruddy power nullifier cuffs they keep putting on him whenever he goes out in public. Not to say he's complained, mind - price of doing business - but sometimes when he's pushing himself on the job, things can go...awry. Like the time he was having to lift up a whole chinese noodle stand, and the cuffs magnetized - leaving him walking around with a noodle shop on his right arm all day. Or the time a fearsome foe struck at his arm, tapping the cuff, and he was left wondering why he suddenly felt several thousand pounds heavier and weak as a kitten. And then there's the emergency anti-escape shock systems...


We Are The Road Crew - Fact is, Breaker doesn't have a lot of friends. Neither does Markus Flynt. Oh sure, they got a lot of associates - maybe even close acquaintances. But he's never really had a true 'friend' - or people he could trust outside of a working environment. The fact that his crew, the Knights In Shiny Leather (formerly the Iron Hand Gang), chose to stick with him 'cos he did right by them? That really hit home, y'know? Made his heart all mushy. And then these guys, these awesome guys in the Project Freedom program - they gave him a second chance, not just left him to rot in Blackstone like he figured would happen. Fact is, any of these folks, if they were in trouble, he'd go in mohawk-first and take the hits on the chin, even if it was a dumb move. Imagine what he'd do for another hero who'd give him a fair shake.

Youth Gone Wild - Let's face it - for an ex-con, and worse, an ex-superpowered-con, Freedom City ain't the best place in the world to be. The capital of heroism, the center of superpowered justice and light in the world, the bulwark against a thousand thousand foes who might seek to subvert the world to their nefarious ends, the greatest nexus of good in the omniverse. It's a place that might think a guy who originally was sort of maybe against all that isn't quite welcome - and might treat him accordingly. Granted, he doesn't mind overmuch - again, price of doing business - but sometimes it can get a bit wearying. Maybe even get in the way a bit. He wants to go straight, after all. But he can't control how people see him.


   Abilities: 10 + 4 + 10 + 4 + 4 + 8 = 40PP
Strength 30/20 (+10/+5)
Dexterity 14 (+2)
Constitution 30/20 (+10/+5)
Intelligence 14 (+2)
Wisdom 14 (+2)
Charisma 18 (+4)

Combat: 12 + 12 = 24PP
Initiative: +2
Attack: +6, +10 melee
Grapple: +15/+24
Defense: +10 (+6 Base, +4 Dodge Focus), +3 Flat-Footed
Knockback: -5, -10 against physical attacks, -2 w/o powers

Saving Throws: 2 + 3 + 4 = 9PP
Toughness: +5/+10 (+5/+10 Con), Impervious 10 vs physical
Fortitude: +7/+12 (+5/+10 Con, +2)
Reflex: +5 (+2 Dex, +3)
Will: +6 (+2 Wis, +4)

Skills: 44R = 11PP
Diplomacy 6 (+10)
Intimidate 11 (+15, Skill Mastery)
Knowledge (Civics) 3 (+5)
Knowledge (Streetwise) 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)
Notice 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)
Sense Motive 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)

Feats: 20PP
All-out Attack
Attack Focus (melee) 4


Dodge Focus 4
Improved Critical (unarmed) 1
Improved Grapple
Luck 2
Power Attack
Skill Mastery (Intimidate, Knowledge [streetwise], Notice, Sense Motive)
Takedown Attack


Powers: 10 + 10 + 5 + 3 + 10 + 8 = 36PP


Enhanced Strength 10 [10PP]

Enhanced Constitution 10 [10PP]

Impervious Toughness 10 (Flaws: Limited to physical damage [-1]) [5PP]

Leaping 2 (x5 distance [100'/50'/25'], Power Feats: 1 Alternate Power) [3PP]
Alternate Power: Speed 2 (25 MPH) [2PP]

Regeneration 10 (bruised 1/round, injured 3/round, staggered 2/5 minutes, disabled 4/5 minutes) [10PP]

Super-Strength 4 (Heavy load: 12 tons) [8PP]

DC Block:
Unarmed Touch DC 25 Toughness (Staged)

Abilities (40) + Combat (24) + Saving Throws (9) + Skills (11) + Feats (20) + Powers (46) - Drawbacks (0) = 150 Power Points

Edited by Quinn

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Working Crunch - Mark Five

Power Level: 10 (150 PP)


Trade-Offs: None



Abilities: 8 + 4 - 10 + 8 + 4 + 0 = 14 PP


Strength 30/18 (+10/+4)


Dexterity 14 (+2)


Constitution - (-)


Intelligence 30/18 (+10/+4)


Wisdom 14 (+2)


Charisma 10 (+0)



Combat: 12 + 12 = 24 PP


Attack: +6 (+10 Adaptive Systems)


Defense: +10 (+6 Base, +4 Dodge Focus)


Initiative: +2


Grapple: +23/+10


Knockback: -10/-5/-2



Saving Throws: 0 + 5 + 6 = 11 PP


Toughness: +10/+4 (+4 CON, +6 Protection)


Fortitude: -


Reflex: +7 (+2 DEX, +5)


Will: +8 (+2 WIS, +6)



Skills: 52r = 13 PP


Computers 8 (+12/+18)


Gather Information 5 (+5)


Intimidate 5 (+5)


Knowledge (behavioral sciences) 4 (+8/+14)


Knowledge (physical sciences) 4 (+8/+14)


Knowledge (technology) 4 (+8/+14)


Knowledge (life sciences) 4 (+8/+14)


Medicine 2 (+6/+12)


Notice 8 (+10)


Sense Motive 8 (+10)



Feats: 15 PP


Dodge Focus 4


Equipment 4 (Need to make a Spaceship!)


Improved Grab


Luc k


Master Plan


Online Research


Speed Of Thought


Uncanny Dodge (auditory)





Powers: 36 + 30 + 1 + 1 + 6 = 73 PP



Adaptive Systems, 30 PP Array (Power Feats: Accurate 2, Alternate Power 4) [36 PP]


Base: Enhanced Intelligence 12 [12 PP] + Quickness 4 (x25, Flaws: Mental Only) [2 PP] + Comprehend (Electronics) 2 [4 PP] + Datalink 9 (anywhere on planet, Power Feats: Machine Control) [10 PP] + Enhanced Feats 2 (Improvised Tools, Jack-of-All-Trades) [2 PP] (Core Interface System) (Lower the INT, toss the Feats, what to do with the rest?)


Alternate Power: Enhanced Strength 12 [12 PP] + Impervious Toughness 10 [10 PP] + Super-Strength 3 (Effective Lifting Strength 45, Power Feats: Shockwave, Thunderclap) [30 PP] (Physical Augmentation System)


Alternate Power: Blast 10 (Extras: Autofire 1) [30 PP] (Particle Projector System)


Alternate Power: Immunity 30 (Will effects, Extras: Duration [sustained], Flaws: Limited to Half) [15 PP] + Damage 6 (Extras: Alternate Save (Will), Power Feats: Improved Critical 2, Stunning Attack) [15 PP] (Reactive Cyberwarfare System) (Change to Impervious Will + Reflective?)


Alternate Power: Nullify Technology 10 [30 PP] (Electromagnetic Pulse System)



Immunity (Fortitude effects) 30 [30 PP]



Immunity (aging) 1 [1 PP]



Feature 1 (Flashlight) [1 PP]



Protection 6 [6 PP] (Computronium Plating)



Abilities (14) + Combat (24) + Saving Throws (13) + Skills (11) + Feats (15) + Powers (73) - Disadvantages (0) = 150/150 PP

Edited by Quinn

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Working Backstory for Outlaw - pre-edits!



            It’s hard to deny, and Jake really won’t even try, that the young hero’s upbringing was fairly cliché. The Cross family owned a plot of land a few miles outside of Hempstead, Texas; not very large, but good earth. A good retirement for a pair of broken-down old heroes; James Cross, alias The Silver Rider, and Harriet Cross-nee-Prophet, alias Ace High. They used to work the streets of Houston for decades, until the Terminus Invasion – as with many across America, they’d flooded with fist and courage into Freedom City, and watched the Centurion fall. In turn, they’d had their own spirits for the life of justice and freedom broken in turn; years of fighting having wore them down. They found themselves working together during the deconstruction, and eventually struck up an acquaintance – ultimately falling in love and choosing to retire together.

They actually found it funny they’d never really fallen in together back home – maybe it was just the closeness of death that finally kickstarted it? Or maybe just good luck. Either way, they hung up the mask and cowl and settled down to a simpler life. For a while, at least. To a degree, they honestly didn’t expect the world would last as long as it did, after having seen what Entropy wrought. They even prepared a shelter for the inevitable next invasion…but it never came. It took almost five years for it to truly sink in to them that the world had been saved, in truth.

Their neighbours picked up on the change overnight – James found in himself a new zest for improving their home, and began really turning that old house into something special; in turn, Harriet dove headfirst into the mechanics of the machines they used; using her old gadget know-how to turn their old tractor into a force to be reckoned with! The Fieldminator 7000!

And, as in all things heroic, they began to notice each other more and more in…er…different ways; beyond the loving company they simply reveled in over the past five years. Took them another two before Jenny finally had a young boy – on March 16th, 2000, Jacob Cross hit the atmosphere. And on March 20th, 2000, lit it on fire.

The genes were probably from Harriet’s side, they agreed. Her family had had a legacy of heroism stretching back to the founding of the ‘States, and while James had got his power from an incident with a radioactive horse, it wasn’t something likely to pass down in the family line. Still, he was their kid, even if he had a tendency to burp out a flame now and again. And hey, it meant he’d never want for protection when he grew up, right? In hindsight, the fact that the flames were black and red should have been an indication, but they were so happy with having a child to raise that they ignored it.

They did ignore it, too – ignored it as he grew up a happy young boy who would run around chasing the chickens and spooking the horses, ignored it as he went to elementary school in a town a half-hour drive from the farm and showed off the fun smoke signals he could cough out after chugging down a can of Red Bull (and proceed to be hyper as heck the rest of the day), and ignored it right up until the year before he went to high school, and the wrong person heard about the color and shape of those flames.

Honestly, it was nobody’s fault that it wasn’t caught sooner. They lived in a pretty rural area, and it wasn’t like the young man was going about burning down houses or causing mayhem. In fact, outside of some shows for his little friends now and again and the occasional declaration to his parents he’d grow up to be a Big Hero like them, or the famous Pale Ranger, or Adam Prophet (his mom raised him on bedtime stories about her great-great-great-great-great-etc. grandpappy), or Emily Swift (Harriet’s personal hero), or whoever had captured his young imagination at the time – he hadn’t really done much to draw big attention to himself.

Which meant when a group of The Fellowship kicked in the door one August night, wanting to see if the kid was what they thought it was, it came as one hell of a nasty shock.

It was an ugly fight. James and Harriet may have been retired, but they’d been prepared for a Second Terminus Invasion for years – even if they’d fallen off the wagon a few years back. They’d taught their son how to fight, too – how to throw a punch, and how to pack enough firepower into that punch to knock out a thug clean. In turn, this batch of Fellowship agents were damned determined, and they outnumbered the family five to one; sometimes T-babies didn’t want to come quietly, or accept the inevitability of their superiority over the common man. By the end of the mess, the farmhouse was in flames, both Crosses were laid out flat – thankfully alive – and Jake was thrown into the back of an old van, with a slightly singed wild-eyed zealot explaining how he was the new face of the world, how he was blessed by entropy. How they’d seen in that fight that he really was a Terminus-blessed demigod!

Jake…didn’t take it well. In fact, he spat in the man’s face, swearing up and down it wasn’t true. Right up until the man lit up his eyes with the fires of Entropy, grinning.

He really didn’t take that well.

We’ll gloss over the finer details of the situation – the fleatrap motel they hunkered down in, the endless natter about how pleased their superior would be, how awesome it was to find a T-baby this potent, how those two idiots had looked when the door was kicked in; sure, they’d lost half their number to traps, tricks, and good one-two punches, but it was totally worth it. As soon as the teenage T-baby woke up from that catatonic trance, he’d thank them!

See, Jake had also grown up knowing what made his parents quit. He knew full well what Omega was, and what he’d done to the hero of heroes. And that thought just kept going through his head, over and over – that what powered him up, that fun little flame, that he’d played with his friends with, that he’d said he was going to be a hero with, had broke his parents and killed so many people and it was in him it was in him it was in him he couldn’t control that he couldn’t use that to help people it had killed people he would kill people he was a monster.

He didn’t roast them alive when he woke up, but it was a near thing. Something in him cracked when he finally came to that conclusion. His whole self, restraints and all, lit up in a pyroclasm that set the whole motel ablaze with black fire. He managed to seize some control when he heard the screaming, saw the fleeing figures, and tore the fire back into himself – but the damage was done. And when the firefighters arrived and saw him, and the cops arrived and saw him, and the press arrived and saw him, it was all over but the crying.

They returned him home, eventually. After about a day of questioning, suspicion, threats, even a government agent who narrowly ended up having him assigned to some kind of project and a whole lot of supervision – but when his mom came in and hugged him and told him everything was going to be alright, and his dad nearly threw that suited clown out, well…he didn’t quite push them away, but he mutely went with them. Even started to think it wasn’t all bad.

First year high school was all that bad – started to feel like he was on a roller coaster, actually. Huge up, then the plummet, and man did it go downhill fast. The press had had a field day with the ‘Dangerous Terminus Child’ living on the ‘Death Ranch’, how he’d only narrowly escaped arrest and censure because of his ‘age’ and how his parents had ‘refused comment’ on how he was going to be kept safe and away from ‘normal’ people. He didn’t get pushed around, mind – when you have to wear a limiter vest (supplied by his mother, who still had the gift with tech), and can still light things on fire with your mind, that’s something nobody’s likely willing to risk – but a guy can feel pretty lonely when nobody’s wanting to even say word one to you. And teachers, well, they have to help you – that’s in their job description – but them throwing shifty eyes to any doorway or window when you start to back-talk and shuffling sideways like they’re about to run; that can wear a teen down pretty fast too.

Ultimately? He started skipping more often than going. Then he started running with a rougher crowd that liked what he could do. Laughed when he breathed some sparks, or blew smoke outta his nose, making people jump or run. Didn’t last long, though, when they started to flinch when his temper got up and his arms started to light up. And he wasn’t bad enough to go looking for a gang – even with all that’d happened, his parents still raised him right, damnit. He just finally sort of gave up the whole idea of being anything more than a delinquent. Not quite a bad guy, he couldn’t make that leap; but smoking behind the school, sneering when people flinched, slouching in the back of the classroom – he just gave them what he expected to see.

Broke his parents’ hearts to see it, though – least until they got a call from a very concerned citizen in a city they’d been to once or twice…

They packed him up with a costume, a letter, a corned beef sandwich for the trip, and a long explanation – one he didn’t quite buy. A new school. Several states away. They weren’t getting rid of him, but he couldn’t learn and grow here, not as things were. There – things would be better. He could be his own person, instead of what they saw or thought. He had family there, old family, who would help him out – the Prophets still had relatives there who knew and loved him, even without meeting him. He could still be a hero, if he tried. It scared them, more than anything else, what might happen to him; but they knew he needed it. Even if he didn’t think he did.

So Jake, sixteen, gruff, surly, fearful of himself, and entirely too stuffed to the gills with teenage angst, was sent off to Claremont Academy, Freedom City. He kept the costume – even if he chucked the sandwich halfway through the bus trip and bought a burger instead. Didn’t quite take the original name he’d planned for himself, though. If Claremont wanted him to try to be a hero; and he was still hesitant, a T-baby would never make a good Marshal.

But an Outlaw

Edited by Quinn

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