A Second Chance

[dfpiii]

What began with scientific curiosity at the Apache Point observatory in New Mexico at 19:32 hours local time, would end four hours later, in fire and water and a thousand miles away. Or at least it appeared for a time as if it had ended. Some knew different. Some were different. And so was the world.

6:30AM, Monday, April 1, 2013

“Following this amazing story, we join our reporter Alana Foreman live from the site,” proclaimed the smooth and always calm voice of veteran KBC News anchor James Jordash. Jordash - who was usually asleep at this time of day and better suited to the more serious evening news - had found his way onto the morning show and into half the homes in America, including yours. “Alana, now that we have more light on the situation, what do things look like down there”.

Cut to Alana Foreman standing in the dawn’s waxing light. “Good morning James. You can see behind me, beyond that police cordon which was put up just a few hours ago, that the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir in the middle of Central Park is still boiling. There are huge clouds of steam which have been rising from the reservoir all night and which have covered Manhattan in dense fog. If you live in Manhattan then chances are you’ve just woken up to a view of fog out your window. And the reservoir, which is half the size it was last night, shows no signs of cooling. A fireman was apparently sent by a city official to the water just a few minutes ago - I think you should be seeing those pictures now - and he recorded that the temperature at the water’s edge is 104 degrees centigrade”.

“Alana, if I remember my high school physics correctly, it shouldn’t be possible for liquid water to be that hot,” Jordash commented.

“At the moment the city is attributing that reading to faulty instruments and they’re preparing to do another, but… James… yes, I hope you can see this, the Jackie Onassis reservoir has… yes, it has suddenly stopped boiling. In a matter of only a few seconds James it looks like the whole thing has cooled down. This is clearly unexpected, just another of the strange developments in this ongoing story”.

“Alana Foreman, thank you. Let’s recap this story for those joining us. Yesterday evening the Apache Point observatory in New Mexico detected this object in the northern sky. What we now believe to be an entirely new kind of comet - a green comet - seems to have been caught in Earth’s gravity and pulled down. The comet appeared over Long Island, heading west just after midnight. These are shots taken by amateur video and you can see we’ve mapped the course of the comet continuously across the city”.

The New York City night - which was never exactly dark - was bathed in a green light as the comet sped over Flushing Meadows and Jackson Heights and then seemed to turn abruptly south and crossed over the Calvary cemetery. The trajectory of the comet was unbelievable, as the next footage had it crossing the Williamsburg bridge and the corkscrewing up town following Park Avenue. Over this Jordash said, “For what is not the first and will not be the last time, I wish to assure our viewers that this is not an April Fool”.

Several shots the showed the comet taking a nosedive into the reservoir in Central Park, the resulting plume of water was a hundred feet high and after only a moment the entire body began churning and bubbling. Cut back to the studio.

“So far there are no reports of casualties as a result of this, though the comet does appear to have been shedding fragments of debris all along its path. And so far none of this debris has been recovered. Mayor August Mueller has appealed for calm while authorities investigate. For public health reasons the whole of central park has been sealed. We’ll be following this story all day - Comet crashes to New York - I never thought I‘d be saying that. For now, here’s Miles with today’s weather…”

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Midnight till Morning

Hunger. Sharp hunger pangs. His running slowed down as he started gasping for breath. The comet that had quickened his body had apparently also quickened his hunger as well. He felt as though he hadn’t eaten in a week, although the truth was it had only been six hours or so. He walked the rest of the way home feeling completely exhausted, unable to run or even walk at a normal pace.

“I’m home.” Before he had finished closing the door, his wife came running and burst into tears at the sight of him. He stepped back in surprise when she ran to embrace him, sobbing.

He had never been comfortable around emotions, and until his marriage it wasn’t something he had ever had to deal with. In his own family, emotions weren’t something freely expressed, his father being extremely laconic and a strict disciplinarian, he had been taught the importance of keeping one’s emotions under control especially when training in the martial arts. “The first to flinch, is the first to fall”, “You must conquer your own fears, your own pride, your own feelings before you can approach conquering the way of the true martial artist.”, “Loose to yourself, and you have lost the war, notwithstanding victory.”, such advice had been hammered into him since he was a youth, and this made it especially difficult in knowing how to deal with his wife’s tears. He waited patiently as she clung onto him, uncomfortably waiting for the sobbing to pass.

“I… I thought you had died.” She finally said after a few minutes of sobbing. “I heard that there was an explosion in Central Park. I… I…”

He held her gently and looked her in the eyes “Death happens.” he didn’t even finish speaking before more tears welled up in her eyes as she started to sob again. Damn, he hated tears. He hated seeing her sad like this, and there was nothing he could do. He should have known better than to say anything.

He held her there for what seemed an eternity before her tears died down. “I’m sorry, I’m better now. Is there anything you would like me to prepare dear?”

“Do we have any leftovers?”

Dinner was good and oden never failed to satisfy; the longer it cooked the better it got. Damn, his wife was a good cook, he was seriously a lucky man. As he ate he summarized what had happened to him during the explosion, and how he had changed. His wife had a face filled with concern as he explained his desire to use his newfound abilities to fight crime, but she said nothing. He knew of her concern, but he had to do this, not only for himself, but for his wife and the children they would have together.

Together they discussed what needed to be done, not only for him as a fighter of crime, but to keep his and her identity safe as well. The last thing he wanted was a criminal mastermind to target his wife for his actions against them. After making a list of necessary items, she quickly started gathering all the gear together, and even started sewing a new emblem on his Judo Gi before he stopped her to get her to come to bed. It was already late and there would be time enough tomorrow.

Summary: Get home from explosion, and get ready for the coming day. Sleep until morning.

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (No superhero name yet)

James hurt. A lot. He held onto that fact, using the pain as an anchor to bring him back to reailty. Something flashed through his mind - was it a dream, or memory? A glowing green rock streaking through the sky, melting through the window, embedding itself in his flesh...

He looked down at his arm, where he remembered it had hit. There was nothing there, not even the barest hint of a scar or scratch. Perhaps it had been a dream. Then he looked at the window, saw the round, slightly melted hole, and he knew that it was real. He sat up in his bed in shock.

He sat up. He hadn't had the strength to lift his arm in years, and he sat up. It was amazing. Impossible. Inconceivable. But it was true. After three years of torment, three years of unending nightmares, he was whole.

But not quite. He could feel it now, lurking in the background; the disease was still there, but now he was fighting back, and he was on the mend. He was not whole, but he would be, soon. The disease had ruined his life, stripped away his family and friends, and left him alone in unending torment for three long years. Now he would crush it, purge it from his body, and rebuild his life.

He laughed softly, a slight chuckle that only days ago would have broken several of his ribs. Rebuild his life? No, his old life was dead. He would make a new life for himself. He would find a way.

He paused in his musings for a moment, to consider the implications of his miraculous recovery. It must have had something to do with the comet, he was sure of it. The story was playing on the TV in the ceiling, but they had nothing interesting to say. He quickly put the TV on mute. He then looked beside his bed, finding a clean hypodermic needle on a small table to his left. He pulled off the cover and slowly, delicately, pricked his finger with the needle.

For a moment, he saw a drop of blood well up, but then it stopped. He wiped the blood away on his sheet and looked at the finger. The skin was unbroken, as if nothing had happened. He pricked it again, more forcefully this time, but still it healed almost instantly. He tried slash his palms with a pair of scissors, even jabbed the scissors straight through his hand, but as soon as he removed them, the wound healed. No matter how hard he tried, every injury healed within a scant few seconds.

He got out of bed. It was then that he realized how much damage the disease had truly done. This strange new power was fighting it off, but it had been fighting for hours, and still he had difficulty standing, his walking reduced to a slow shuffle. He was putting up a terrific fight, but now he was not so sure that he would win.

He walked out of the room. He kept his head down, and none of the doctors recognized him, though a few nurses glanced back over their shoulders at him before shrugging and moving on. He left the hospital without any trouble and began walking home.

Home. Would his apartment still be there? Would someone else have moved in? He knew that he and his wife had received a substantial pension from the department, but would that have been enough for Margaret to hold onto the apartment? He wasn't sure. When he got there, he would know. It was a simple thing, but it was a task, a goal, something to strive for, and for someone who had been bedridden for three years of their life, it was enough for now.

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Morning till Midday

He awoke instinctively as his wife slid out of their futon. Most days he would not awake at her morning preparations, but this was not like most days. With his heightened senses he could hear her soft footfalls as she started her morning chores. He too had things to take care of today before he could start his new path of fighting the crime. After a spending a few hours doing his morning calisthenics and finishing his morning routine he finally decided that it was time to step down. From here on out he could not act as the master of the dojo, as his power and strength would discourage the students rather than encourage them to greater diligence.

It was exceedingly rare for one as young as him to become the master of such a prestigious dojo, and now with his resignation he would be the youngest to give up this position. He knew the path he had chosen was not an easy one, but it was the only course that he could take and retain his self respect. Just a few hours earlier his greatest ambition had been to be truly worthy of being master, but with a single blast his body and mind had changed such that he far surpassed his old master’s abilities and that without him lifting a single finger. It would be hypocritical of him to urge his students to work for excellence when he himself had gained his strength by fortune.

He decided to call up Iizuka Daigo san to inform him that he would relinquish the position as master to him. He no longer had the right and the only just thing to do would be to turn it over to someone who could strengthen his former students. He knew that Daigo san would put all his energy into the work and he knew of no other worthy of taking his their former master’s place. Iizuka san was quite a bit older than him, and in regular circumstances would have been next in line to become master, but due to the rapidity of his own rise and Iizuka’s san’s car accident and slow recovery Sakamoto found himself promoted instead. It was now time to rectify that mistake.

His call with Daigo san went as expected; his loyalty and fidelity showed as he unquestioningly accepted his new position, with the humble attitude becoming of a Judo Master. Now all was as it should be. He had a peace of mind that he had not felt for years. His place was no longer that of a teacher and master of the way, but a protector and defender of justice. He walked down the stairs to the sounds of cooking and his stomach growled at the smells. Last night he had eaten many times his usual portion and that right before going to sleep, and yet here he was already famished.

He hurried down to the dining room to see that a grand breakfast had just been served. As usual his wife had remembered his greatly increased appetite from before and had prepared a large breakfast to match. Ah, the traditional Japanese breakfast; a bowl of misoshiru, an ochawan of rice with fresh eggs and soy sauce to make bukkake gohan, an assortment of pickled vegetables, a bit of natto, and other various breakfast goodies lined the table along with enough for seconds.

As he finished the last dregs of misoshiru, his wife presented him with the finished product of her morning work, his Judo gi with the kanji for Gi, standing for seigi or justice. He quickly tried it on and found that the sewing was more than satisfactory. The emblazoned kanji didn’t interfere with his movements, yet it stood out in a way that was unmistakable. He quickly put on a suit of casual clothes over his judogi and his wife handed him his day-pack with his lunch and mask. His first day as a champion of justice would now begin.

Summary: Get up, quit job, eat breakfast and leave apartment.
Action: If possible go to an area where he can change, change into his costume and put on half-mask the start patrol. If anything random happens along the way, all the better. :smallbiggrin:

[The_Snark]

... The woman ran through the alleyway, slowing down as the blind panic faded. Oh god, she thought, what was happening? What had happened? She remembered... green. And something—she'd tried to... she couldn't remember, but something had happened to her, and memory had flown away. She couldn't remember anything.

She was absolutely sure she should be able to remember more. What had she been doing? She looked down at herself; white T-shirt, black shorts that went perhaps halfway to her knees. Running shorts, perhaps? She'd been sweating; but in her panicked flight, she would have sweated anyway. Perhaps she could retrace her steps, and—

She slapped at her leg as she realized something. Her name. She couldn't even remember her name, and the shorts had no pockets, which meant that a wallet wouldn't provide an easy solution. A quick examination revealed that she was not the sort of person who wrote her name or initials on the tags of her clothes. She concentrated, trying to remember... something, anything. Had there been... trees?

She could remember lighted streets, but it was blurry; she couldn't remember where the street was, or why she had been there, or when. A large house, with wide windows in nearly every room on the second floor? But she couldn't pin down the color of the paint, or remember what it looked like inside, and she wasn't certain about the size. Nothing definite; in fact, she wasn't at all sure she wasn't inventing the memories, out of a desperate desire to fill the blanks in her mind. She knew this wasn't how things should be; she would have bet that as recently as yesterday, they hadn't been.

Slowly, she raised her hands to her face, feeling it. She couldn't remember what she looked like. A hand grasped a lock of hair, and she pulled that forward to look at it; dark and slightly curly. She wanted a mirror—she should know at least what she looked like.

As luck would have it, a window that had been covered up from the inside with cardboard lay a few steps further into the alley. She stepped over to it and examined herself. Fair skin, dark hair, blue eyes; maybe five foot four, a hundred thirty pounds, she judged. Probably more; she felt instinctively that people usually underestimated their own weight, out of vanity. Not a bad body by any standards; hardly a tall, slender model, but all right. She didn't recognize it, though. Surely, the sight of her own face should have provoked something—

No. She clutched her head, slumping with her side against the wall as she remembered something recent. Green light, and her flesh writhing on her face all over her body as she screamed, while her head felt as if it was splitting into a thousand pieces. With the painful memory came an odd sort of... awareness, as if she could feel the inside of her body more acutely than before.

She straightened and ran a hand through her hair emerging from the alley, looking about. The sign across the street, above a darkened window, proclaimed in red letters that this was Pardee's Bar and Grill; the buildings on either side were what looked like an apartment complex, and a bar, Pete's. She had no idea what the street was, though she thought she remembered coming down it. It looked to be dawn, or a little before it; blue had started creeping through the grey sky, but there was no sunlight on the buildings yet.

Pete's—what a ubiquitious name; she wondered how many bars and restaurants of that name there must be in New York State alone—was apparently an all-night bar, for there were lights in the windows. Oddly, there was some noise coming from within; as she passed by the window, she couldn't help but notice the people, the bartender and a pair of patrons, intently watching a television. The patrons were unusually awake-looking for this time of morning, but it was a shot from the screen that caught her eye. A flash of green, passing through a night sky.

She hurried inside, eyes inexorably drawn to the screen. That color—it was the same shade that permeated her one vividly clear memory, in which she'd felt her mind shatter and slip away. She listened in a sort of daze to the voice speaking.

A comet? That's... it makes as much sense as anything else for what's happened to me, I suppose, if they don't know anything about what it is, and it looks like the city is fairly mystified by it. Don't astronomers watch for meteors and the like on a collision course with Earth? You would think they would notice a new type of comet headed towards us.

"Need a new shirt, hun." The voice startled her; she turned about so rapidly she nearly fell over, backing up as she saw one of the early-morning drinkers almost right next to her with hand outstretched. She stopped before she stumbled into a chair. "What?" she snapped. The question came out too rapidly, almost panicky. She forced herself to calm.

He was raising his hand palm up, clearly surprised by her reaction. "Your shirt. Got a burn mark on the back of it, or something."

She raised a hand to her shoulder, feeling easily over her shoulderblade and glancing back over her shoulder to try to see; it was easier than it should have been. He was right; part of the back of her shirt was rather charred and blackened, and a spot showed through on her right shoulder, revealing healthy skin. Yes—the pain. How could I have forgotten my shirt would be burned too? But... She whipped her head back around to look at the fellow, staring at him in some consternation for a second before turning back to the TV, cursing herself for acting so oddly. She backed up a step, so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye while watching the screen, and so that he couldn't get another look at her back. Don't let anyone notice. I hope he doesn't think it's odd that I was wearing a burned shirt without any injuries. If he does—if he asks—nobody can know what I am until I know who I am. And not even after. She was certain of that; even the thought of people finding out what she did, what she could do, sent shivers of panic through her thoughts.

Taking another step back, she watched the screen, waiting for the reporters to say something new, hoping for the three men to simply ignore her.

[dfpiii]

Sakamoto
(A random encounter from... the first edition DMG)
The judo master has not gone far through the fog before he sees a shadowy figure coming towards him with a trepidatious gait. Emerging a moment later from the swirl and heave is a woman in her late thirties, wearing what would charitably be described as a dress and carrying her shoes in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. She looks like she's coming home from a long night.

She grins a little lopsided as she walks closer, "Looking for a good time, Mr Miagi? I think I've got one more in me".

James
You find the street you live on empty and enveloped in strange fog. It is more like a dream than a real place and your slow pace more like the walk of a dreamer than a man. You find that a key long unused still fits the lock and the door opens, pushing aside mail, onto the place that was your home.

Things remain, by and large, but the apartment, like the street, is empty and your unworn clothes hang alone in the closet built for two. There is no note from your wife, the last sign of her occupation is a towel stuck in the door of the refrigerator, which has been switched off.

Female A
The drinkers continue to drink and watch the screen. The woman is forgotten quickly.

You hear a skittering sound and turn your head just in time to see a sleek brown rat, which had run half the length of the bar top, be crushed by a baseball bat wielded by the eponymous Pete. He sweeps the rat off the counter with the bat and looks at you.

"TV's for customers only," he grunts.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

A nice walk was just the thing when you're 110. His cane tapped lightly on the pathway as he limped along. It also helps stretch out that left leg muscle where the shrapnel tore through the canopy back in '38. That had been an April 1st too... than engagement over... oh, what was the city called... Toledo! The place the Christians's sacked and relearned about the number zero. He stopped for a moment, listening. The park is quiet tonight... almost too quiet. He looked up at the stars which had grown fainter through his life with industrialization and street lighting. What was that lyric... the Englishman, Sumner... oh yes, "It's dark all day and it glows all night... factory smoke and acetyline light." He clucked his tongue and paused again, looking toward the east where the glow of the city was tinged with an unexpected greenness. That's unusual... I've seen the green flash at sunset before... but it's not sunset, and it's growing brighter! With an explosion of brightness a huge mass came hurdling down into the lake. The concussion threw up an enormous wave of water that threw him hard to the soaking grass. He fell into a tunnel of unconciousness... it was a deep, black thing about twenty minutes long.

A nice nap is just the thing when you're 110. He opened his eyes and looked into the mist that surrounded him. He felt cold... and hungry... and absolutely no aches or pains! What the heck is going on? He sat up slowly, but without any effort... the strength in his body flowed as effortlessly as when he was in his twenties and in the best shape of his life. His clothes were soaked, but also tight on his body, as though they had shrunk. I feel better than when I was twenty! He climbed to his feet and shook his head, there was a slight pain and he reached up to touch his forhead... some kind of wound there, his glove came away bloody. His glove was tight on his hand, but the skin of his wrist looked smooth and unwrinkled. He glanced around and saw a still puddle and looked in it. What the bejesus is going on! His reflection looked young in the puddle, and the wound on his forhead seemed to be closing, even as he looked at it. He touched his forehead again with his hand, but the wound, if there had been one was gone. He picked up his hat and saw a hole had burned through the brim, as though a tracer round had been fired through it. He looked at the puddle again... amazed. I look as young as I did when I was playing Boris Karlov, the mad scientist, in The Drums of Jeapordy. He felt a dizzying sensation and a tingling in his skin, and to his amazement, his reflection changed til he saw Boris Karlov in the pool, not as Rudy looked wearing the Karlov makeup, but as Rudy had always imagined the character in his mind. Okay, this is even wierder than when Bill Pratt decided to use Boris Karloff as his stage name! He stood up, feeling his face, and realizing that it had actually changed... not just in his mind. His clothes felt looser again too... Of course, I always thought of Karlov as one of those lean, hungry types. He looked in the puddle again, wondering. First, his features melted back to his younger self... then the changed again, like wax melting and a familiar countenance and age settled on his flesh. There, and my clothes fit again! Still, even though I look as I did, I still feel young and full of energy... speaking of which, holding this face seems to be draining... maybe I had better get home.

Rudy put his fedora on, but between the soaking and the burn-hole, the brim collapsed in his face. He removed it and crammed it into his jacket. He began walking with vigor, and then realized he was falling out of charater. A few moments practice and he was walking with a familiar, sedate limp. The feeling of cold increased as he walked through the mist and saw what looked to be a barricade ahead. Things looked quite busy as he approached the officers cautiously, they mostly seemed concerned about keeping people OUT of the park. He walked up nonchalantly and moved to slip around the young officer who was arguing with an old Jewish lady. "Wait up there, sir! Are you coming from the park?" Rudy turned and bowed, "Of course not officer, I was about to enter for my nightly stroll? What is this hullabaloo all about?" The officer looked confused for a moment, "Are... wait... you came from...?" "Fifty-ninth street officer, just up that way." The policeman nodded, "Well, I'm sorry... but you can't enter tonight, there's been some trouble." Rudy nodded, "Indeed, well... we can't have you disuaded from your post young officer. I shall walk elsewhere, tonight." The officer turned back to the Jewish lady who took up her diatribe exactly where she'd left off while the old man limped off up fifty-ninth street. That was an easy audience... he didn't even comment about my wet clothes. Rudy strolled up the street and felt another distinct shiver... Perhaps someplace a bit warm, and a nightcap? He smiled, seeing a familiar alleyway, and at the far end a ramshackle building with the warmly glowing sign that proclaimed Pete's. That sign is the only thing that glows warmly about Pete, but at least he doesn't water his bourbon. He turned down the alley and slowly limped his way toward the dive. As he pushed the door open, he saw a woman in a burned and torn shirt staring at the TV screen with the other patrons. "Your pardon, my dear." He bowed slightly, touching his forehead just as he remembered he wasn't wearing his fedora.

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Still Morning

Sakamoto blinked. Did this woman just… his heart filled with pain and anger. The thought that anyone would try to tempt him to betray his wife made his blood boil. Did she not see that her actions were undermining the very fabric of society? Did she not see that the path that she was on would only lead to her own misery and the misery of others? While he felt pity for this wretched woman that fallen down so far in society, whether this woman was the product of the failings of society or merely a despicable parasite feeding on the misery of others was not something he could judge. One thing however he could say for certain; he could not allow this to continue.

Just as he was about to put her under citizen’s arrest, he realized that technically she hadn’t actually solicited prostitution, though it was strongly implied. Implications alone however would never stand up in court. There was nothing he could legally do at this point, so he decided not to risk breaking the law and let her off with a warning.

He gave her a cold stare and stated “I’m married. Please desist.” as he showed his wedding band.

Summary: Turn offer down.

[dfpiii]

Rudy & Female A

Pete was the most ill-suited and inept of all New York's social climbers, but he considered it a badge of honour that anyone of note, or anyone who had once been of note, drunk in his bar. He had a small frame on the wall with a picture of Rudy Valentine from the 30s and his 30s, it was next to a picture of the late Heath Ledger - who had come in once to avoid the rain and quickly left. Otherwise the wall was bare.

"G'mornin' Mr Valentine," Pete said as he stowed the baseball bat under the bar again. Pete had a smile that made you wish he didn't. "Early for you, sir. Are you... wet?"

The other patrons paid no more attention to the old man than the young woman. One of them appeared to have fallen asleep.

"This is just amazing," said a vox pop on the TV. Having nothing new to report on the incident, network news was interviewing people and asking them what they thought.


Sakamoto

She snorted, "So you're married. Aint everyone?" Then she seemed to lose interest and ambled by, exhaling smoke into the fog she muttered, "Damn fireballs have ruined my night anyway".

"Peet".

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old thespian nods, "The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as gentle rain from heaven..." He shakes his cape slightly, "Alas, so doth the hydrant, when pressure backfeeds into the main." He smiles, his clothes steaming slightly in the warmer air of the bar. "No doubt it has something to do with the todo at the park." He gets a faraway look in his eye, "I remember when the water main burst back in 1915... quite a sight for a young boy of 12 to see a twenty-foot geyser erupt through 101st street... it all flowed into the park lake..." He shakes his head, "No doubt somthing similar... the young officer wouldn't even let me go in to take my morning constitutional."

[The_Snark]

She started as the bat struck with a dull thud and a cracking noise, flincing away instinctively and eyeing the bat warily. She hadn't seen him take it out—she shouldn't have looked away... no, she'd been watching the television. She couldn't watch everyone, all the time. But the heavy bat made her edgy; she could feel her muscles tensing a little bit.

"Oh," she said, remembering he'd spoken. "Yes. Of course." She didn't have any money on her; there wasn't any way she could buy something. She hesitated, drawing out the silence. She didn't want to simply leave; there was nothing new on the news right now—only the reporters talking to people she didn't recognize and speculating wildly—but at any point, there might be. Besides which, she didn't want to be walking the streets in a shirt with a burn mark on it. People didn't pay much attention this early in the morning, but it still felt foolish to be walking around clearly marked so early in the morning.

The arrival of a spry-looking elderly man, a Mr. Valentine, saved her from having to leave just yet. She turned, wondering what he was apologizing for, before realizing she was standing nearly in the doorway. She stepped hurriedly out of the way of the door, half-turning back to listen as he spoke to the bartender. It sounded poetic, enough so that she almost didn't realize when he began to talk about what was happening at the park. She moved so that her back was facing away from him, as well; no need to let him keep wondering about that. She needed something to cover that up; a new shirt, or at least a sweater or jacket. Not that she had the money to buy it, or knew where she could find one, or that any place that sold clothes was likely to be open just now anyway. Best to stay inside for the time being.

If the bartender would let her. She stayed quiet, hoping this Valentine would distract him enough that he wouldn't bother with her.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man limps over to a table, removing his cape to drape on a convenient hook. He turns to Pete and smiles, "Bourbon, neat... my humble purveyor of spirits, to hopefully warm my spirits dampened by this interminable mist." He glances at the girl, recognizing one caught without means. "Would you care to join me, my dear? Your company would brighten my morning... assuming you wouldn't mind putting up with, 'The old folk. Time's doting chronicles.'" He gestures to himself for this last quote. He touches the back of a chair at his table, ready to pull it out for her if she accepts his invitation. He carefully choses a chair that would put her back toward the corner, away from any other patrons.

[The_Snark]

She glances over, hesitating, then nods. "Not at all. Thank you." It would give her a place to be for the next couple hours, until the streets were a bit more crowded and the shops open. She felt too exposed, somehow, on the empty streets, as if she might be singled out if there weren't enough other people to draw attention away. She hoped the old man was more talkative than he was inquisitive. Perhaps he'd have some money on him, too.

She takes the seat, wondering whether he'd picked that one at random, or if he was sharp enough to tell she was keeping her back to the wall. Standing in front of the door had been a stupid thing to do. "Were you ever an author, or a poet, or something?" she asks. Don't play shy, or he'll try to draw you out. Try to get him talking about himself. "Some of that sounded like a quotation."

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (no superhero name yet)

James staggered into the deserted house, collapsing on a dust-covered couch. Everything he had once loved was gone. He was like a ghost from the past, haunting the places he had walked in life, but detached, cut off, adrift with nothing left to anchor him but his memories. Candlelit dinners; nights curled up on the couch, watching movies; arguements, and apologies; and in the end, nothing.

He couldn't stand to stay there. The memories were too strong, and he couldn't make them stop. He grabbed some of his clothes from the closet; most were ruined, but he found a pair of jeans and a plain shirt that weren't too bad. He changed quickly, then walked back out to the street, searching for a purpose to his aimless life.

Summary: Change clothes, wander aimlessly down the street (random encounter welcome).

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Still Morning

He was about to turn away and leave when what she said caught his attention. “What was that about a fireball?” He asked. Perhaps she had some worthwhile information after all.

Summary: Peet?

[Wiz]

The old man chuckles, "Writer... alas, no. The quotation was of perhaps the greatest master of the English language and the human heart, the Bard of Avon... William Shakespeare." He assists you in seating yourself and then takes his own seat. "It is not within my ability to write the great lines... but it has been my occasional pleasure to recite them for both willing and unwilling audiences." He holds out his hand to you, "Rudy Valentine, Thespian... retired."

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino (no superhero name yet)

The young man sits on the edge of the rubble as if it's a doorstep, lighting a cigarette with slightly shaking hands. He is for the moment unremarkable amidst the many such scenes of chaos throughout the city. Nick shook his head to clear it, bringing flickers of memory (a knife, swinging toward him starry sky a gun clattering to the floor face twisting in anger) back to the forefront of his mind. Another long drag, and things began coming more into focus. He stared at the glowing end of the cigarette, and tried not to remember the hand (foot-long claws) sticking out from under the rubble. So much damn fog, place is like a dream. As he finished the Red, the shaking calmed, and he stood and stretched - it was like moving on greased rails, and the sensation was so curious that it stopped him cold for a moment. With a thoughtful frown, he reached under his jacket and produced a slender knife, flipping it once and catching it with a casual gesture. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he threw it up again, spinning in all three dimensions this time. With unhesitating deftness, he reached up to pluck it out of the air and threw it in the same gesture. The next moment, it stood embedded nearly to the hilt in the rear tire of a car across the street. A slow grin spread across Nick's face. He started across the street, then remembered what he'd been sent here for in the first place. Clambering back over the rubble, he found the hand he remembered, and followed it back to its owner. Face expressionless, he rifled through the man's (monster's) pockets until finding the envelope he was looking for. Extracting the check, he put it in his back pocket, then crossed the street. He pulled the knife from the tire, and turned to his motorcycle, which was parked just behind it. About to put the knife away, he paused (armor?), then tried it on his arm. The first few pokes do nothing - the skin (was like carved obsidian, before) gives a little, like the skin hot chocolate forms if left on the burner too long, but that's all. Encouraged, after a moment he takes the knife to his arm with full force, wincing a little in anticipation of the impact. The skin gives again, and folds nearly around the blade, but does not break. Nick shrugs the jacket sleeve back into place. The armor was gone for now, but it'd be back. He puts the knife away and kickstarts the crotch rocket. He smiles again. Like a dream, eh? Well, guess I should find out if it's a dream come true, or a nightmare. The motorcycle tools lazily down the street for a few blocks, then turns, fading into the mist.

People are people, and people are sure to be taking advantage of this mess to borrow some jewelry and TVs that ain't theirs. Let's see if some of them aren't taking longer with that than they should have. Like Uncle Jackie says, "When life gives you Tommy guns", right?
Figuring there's some petty theft/minor crime/an excuse for a fight happening somewhere around the island. Taking a ride to try and find some (i.e., going on patrol to look for a random encounter) Knowledge (streetwise) check to aid the search: [roll0]

[dfpiii]

Sakamoto

Something catches the Judo Master's eye as his head turns. A shape moving towards the drain by his feet; a long brown rat which stops and looks right at him. It turns its head and makes a small urgent sound - "Peet!" Behind the rat another rat rushes out from under a parked car with a baby clutched in its mouth and together they vanish into the drain.

"Balls," she says and she appears to enjoy the word. "I said fireballs. First that big green one has everybody up all night - watching the news. Then that little red one blows up my corner. Damnedest thing I ever saw".

She regards him shrewdly, having become somewhat of an expert in things that interest men. "For fifty bucks I'll show you".


Nick

Nick has gone no more than a hundred yards on the bike when his phone begins to ring. There is no name on the display, unless the phone were intercepted by the police, but the number is Vincento De Luca's - the capo regime and effective joint second in command of the family. Vincento is the boss of capo Massala, who in turn is Nick's boss, and it's unusual for the capo regime to contact Nick directly.

(Presuming you answer the phone).

"Nicky, I need you to go to the warehouse on Monroe Street, there's been a break-in. Bobby Tucci is on his way, he'll meet you there. Take care of it".

The phone clicked off. The warehouse on Monroe Street was a staging point for moving stolen electrical goods and if there had been a break in then the family was losing thousands of dollars a minute.


Rudy & Female A

Pete brings over two glasses of bourbon which are both clean and unwatered. He also brings over a small towel, that too is clean and dry, though a little frayed with long use.

"Don't want you catchin' a chill," Pete says and excuses himself as the sleeping patron falls off his barstool.


James

James hasn't gone far down his street before he sees - and with a policeman's eye immediately identifies - a streetwalker. And not someone anonymous either. The tall and dishevelled woman, looking much older than the last time James saw her, is Candice Mulbert - a name she pronounces with a hard "t".

"For fifty bucks I'll show you," Candice propositions a rather primly dressed oriental man.

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (no superhero name yet)

James shuffles forward as fast as his weakened legs will carry him, and then calls out, "Hey Candice! Isn't it a little early to be doing your rounds?" As he approaches, though, he finds it hard to believe that this man would be purchasing services from a hooker. He nods to the man, and introduces himself, "Former Lieutenant James Phillips, NYPD." He doesn't have his badge, but his gun, standrad issue for high ranking officers, gives credibility to his story. "Now Candice, unless there's been some rampant inflation since I've been out of it, you don't cost fifty bucks. What's going on here?"

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The actor looks up, "Ah, thank you my good man." He wipes his face on the towel and uses it to dry his hands. Looking at the woman, he smiles, "I hope bourbon is to your liking... if not, please order whatever you fancy, keeping in mind I'm an old man on a fixed income." He finishes drying his right hand and offers it to the woman again. "And you are...?"

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino

"Gotcha, boss (('cause what else can you say to the boss?)). I'm at East 180th, be there soon's I can. Bobby say how long he was gonna be?"
After listening to the answer, Nick nods and flips the phone shut. Well, people are borrowing e-lectronics. Jus' not the ones I was expectin'.

...Excellent. Mentally checking off his possessions, Nick deftly turns the motorcycle and begins heading toward Monroe Street as quickly as he can without capturing the unwanted attentions of a traffic cop. With a little luck, he'd be able to take care of things before Bobby even showed up.
If needed, Drive check to smoothly and swiftly get through traffic to get to Monroe Street faster: [roll0]

So this is what level 3 of Favors Owed looks like... *nod* Okay then.

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Still Morning

Strange, he had never seen rats cooperate in such a fashion before. It seemed almost too intelligent. Perhaps they were effected by the blast also? Of course this was all mere speculation based on a single occurrence, but still it might be worth following up later on. However for the moment more pressing matters were at hand.

Just as he was about to respond a gaunt looking man shuffled up from out of the mist and spoke. … He was a former member of the NYPD? He sighed in relief. It was good to have another witness, for he worried that his wife would be hurt if he were found in the company of a prostitute.

“Greetings officer, I am Ryouma Sakamoto.” He bowed deeply in respect. He held in great esteem all those that had ever fought to uphold the law. “She had offered to show me the site of another explosion, a red comet for fifty dollars. I am somewhat hesitant to be alone with her. If you would escort us I would be willing to take her up on her offer, if there is no objection.”

Summary: Ask for James to accompany them to the blast site with the woman.

[evisiron]

Cryxx (though does not know it yet)

The spider hung loosely in its web, black carapace lost in the gloom of the alleyway. It stayed still, glistening eyes staring into the darkness, awaiting the trembling vibrations that would signify prey landing in its tiny web. No thoughts crossed it’s mind, it was merely repeating what its species had done for countless years. Little had changed over the long night, flashes of light from passing cars illuminating the alley. And then, then was another source of light. A bright flash of green from a rock the size of a penny tossed the shadows across the trash scatted in the small space. It soared through the air before striking the ground, shattering into a thousand shards. One of the shards scythed across the gap, and skewered into the tiny spider. The spider began twitched erratically, and fell from its web.

Time passed. The spider’s tough exterior split and tore as its organs warped and changed, its size increasing and the systems keeping it alive shifting to accommodate. The method of diffusion no longer enough to sustain it, lungs and hearts sprung into existence. Most importantly, its brain altered and warped, taking on an intelligence unseen within an arachnid.

Eventually it raised itself up. Truly its appearance is a horrific sight, being a mix of humanoid and arachnid elements. It still possesses a large abdomen, supported by 6 insect like legs. It’s thorax however is curved upwards, so the upper half of his body is upright in a similar fashion to a centaur. Two arms sprout from the sides of its chest, in a similar way to a human’s arms. Each is slender but has several joints in the shell like armour, allowing for strange movements, and ends in 4 small hook like fingers. The head is most disturbing of all, shaped like an oval resting diagonally on the creatures neck. Two large mandibles with jet black fangs cover the mouth. Above the mouth lie eight human like eyes of various sizes, starting large at the bottom but becoming smaller further from the mouth. Each of the eyes seems to be looking in a different direction. The entire body is covered with black chitinous plates, with only joints exposing a muscle like fiber.

Its eyes scanned the area, slinking into the shadow of a trash dumpster. It stood, acclimatizing itself to this new world. Within a minute, paws could be heard stepping through the alleyway. A stray dog with matted fur padded its way forward, before spotting the figure lurking in the shadow. The spider like creature stared and the furred mammal, mandibles clicking with thought. The dog bared its teeth at the abomination, a low growl emanating from its jaws. With a bark, the canine sprung to attack the creature. The arachnid being sprung back, reflexively spraying a torrent of paralyzing venom at the attacker. The dog caught the fluid in the face, and slipped from consciousness mid leap. It slide as it hit the ground, halting at the arachnids 6 feet. The spider realised its hunger, and knelt down to feed on the mutt, black mandibles draining the life from its flesh.

With silence again, and well fed, the black figure planned its next move. Using its newly acquired protein, it began spinning webbing to store in its abdomen. When complete, it looked out into the world. With exploration in mind, it scuttled outwards to see what else existed in this strange existence. Staying in the shadows of alleyways, it began mentally mapping the area around it, working in expanding circles, as if it were constructing a web.


Summary: Make webbing for later use then explore the surrounding area for as far as possible from street level to rooftop, aiming for about a mile radius by 6.30 starting time. Random encounters welcome after that point.

[The_Snark]

Shakespeare. She recognized the name, and the fact that she could remember anything at all eased a tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying. She hadn't lost everything, not completely. It wasn't futile to try to remember.

"Oh, the bourbon's fine. I'm Penelope," she says as she takes the hand, the lie coming easily to her lips. Was it a lie? Could the first name she pulled from her subconscious be her real one? Probably not. She leaves the glass on the table for now, not really intending to drink much; she was thirsty, but she didn't know how strong it was. "You were... an actor, then, Mr. Valentine?" she probes. "I've never really done anything like that. What sorts of plays did you act in?" It was an inane question, she felt; any retired actor had probably done more plays than they could recount off the top of his head. That was fine, she didn't mind if he thought her a little dim. It might keep him talking more, if her end of the conversation wasn't really worth listening to. Her memory was still eluding her; she knew Shakespeare had been a playwright, for example, but she'd be hard pressed to name three plays he'd written. Macbeth, Twelfth Night... ugh. Hamlet? It didn't matter; what did matter was that her memory of things that ought to be common knowledge was probably hazy and incomplete. The more she had to invent about herself, the better the chance she'd trip herself up.

[Wiz]

The man nods, shaking your hand slightly. "Penelope, wife of Odyssius... a wonderful name, I believe from the Greek pene meaning weaver... for it was said she wove a tapestry by day and unthreaded it by night so as to stave off her suitors who demanded that she declare her husband dead and marry one of them." He smiles, "It has come to also be connected with the loyalty and capability which she showed to her husband. Of course, some do liken it to a woman who weaves tales of deception... but I don't hold with such negative imagery." He smiles, "I think names are important... they show who we are underneath... to some extent."

He releases your hand, his own rather warm to the touch, almost as though he has a slight fever. He picks up his glass and raises it to you, "To Penelope, may all she weave hold strong, and not unravel in the night." He drinks his drink down in one, long, slow pull... "Some say that America has no great inventions compared to the wonders of the old world, but how can we deny bourbon it's place with the Parthenon?" He smiles again, "You are wonderful company, mdear... but let me advise you... never ask an aged thespian to recount his opus... his work. You see, most of us remember very well every play we've been in, if not our social security number, or our address... so you risk an extremely boring recitation."

He looks at your hand, "Now in earlier times or more European locations, I might have chosen to kiss your hand; or even touch it to my brow, since I am always a gentleman. But though we've resorted to the more modern, and quite properly liberated shaking of hands, do allow an old man to convey more with it." He glances around very briefly, "My monologue has no doubt bored away those who might have been trying to listen to us, and since I am a gentleman, is there any service I can do for you, a lady in such obvious destress?" He drops his voice a bit with this, so that nobody is likely to overhear.

[The_Snark]

The woman stares at the actor as he began to dissect the name she gave. Odysseus—yes, she knew that one, and could even recall some of the myths about him. But his words about names showing who one is underneath strike all too close to home; she doesn't know either one of those. Funny coincidence that he should say that; without doing anything so suspicious as eyeballing the old man, the woman resolves to keep a close eye on the old man. Age hadn't dulled his wits much, even if it had loosened his tongue somewhat. "I thought it was a silly question, actually," she says with a small self-deprecating laugh. "I didn't think you'd bother to remember everything you've done. I suppose that tells you about how much I know about theatre."

She finds herself taking a drink before she really realizes it; intention or no, she found she was thirsty. She hadn't had anything to drink all night, she supposed. "Service?" He hadn't really caught her by surprise this time; she'd been expecting some sort of inquiry as to what she was doing without money and wearing a shirt with a blackened burn mark on it. Nevertheless, she grimaces, playing the part. "Is it that obvious? I don't know what you could do anyway. I don't usually like to accept charity from people I don't know, Mr. Valentine..." She trailed off, voice reluctant and clearly hesitant. In fact, she had no difficulties with it; charity would be easier than waiting here until he paid Pete to see where he kept his wallet and then lifting it when she left. If he offered something else, it might be useful too; she'd have to see.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man shakes his head slightly, he looks as though the drink may have hit him a little harder than he expected. He looks at you and blinks, "Well, I can offer a suggestion, and you can accept it, turn it down, or make a counter-proposal, as you see fit." He takes a careful breath or two, but then focuses on you. "My apartment is nearby. At the ripe old age of 110, I can assure the complete safety of your virtue, though not your reputation... since people are always willing to believe the worst of an old man." He chuckles slightly. "There I can offer you a place to rest until you need to go, a hot shower, which is something I definitely desire for myself, and most of all a chance to think for a few hours with no questions if that is your wish." He smiles, "If you are an afficianado of Italian coffee, I can even offer you a cappuchino. It was cheaper to get a real machine of my own rather than paying the ridiculous prices at coffee bars."

[dfpiii]

James & Sakamoto
"Holy hell," Candice says. "I thought you were dead... Looking at you now, I kind of think you were".

Candice allows Sakamoto to explain and adds, "See, I was just offering him a tour of some sites of interest. That's my specialty. Of course if both of you want to come then it's fifty bucks each. Standard rules".

She grins and smokes her cigarette, feeling that tonight isn't going to be a wash out after all.


Nick
Vincento replies in his thick, heavy voice, "What am I? His fu**in' mother? He'll be there as fast as he can or he'll need your help to pull my shoe out of his ass. And watch yourself kid - Santoro's got one of his bad feelin's".

Antonio Santoro was the consigliere of the family and the smooth counterpoint to Vincento's iron fist in an iron glove. Santoro's "bad feelings" were both premonitions and threats, depending on the context. The nicest thing anyone ever said about Santoro was that he would never kill someone by accident.

The ride through the foggy city is easy enough; the resources of the entire police force seem to be concentrated around Central Park following the incident. When Nick arrives in Monroe Street he is waved off the road a block from the warehouse by Bobby.

The usually brash and offensive Bobby "the wise guy" Tucci looks nervous. The bulge in his coat pocket reveals that's packing a gun with a silencer already attached.

"Yo Nicky," Bobby says. "Son of a bitch, there's a freakin' hole in the wall and there's damn Yakuza loadin' up a truck. I counted five of 'em. You ready? Cause this is gonna get bloody".


Cryxx
As the spider consumes the feast of dog it feels a new sensation like a tickling in its head... it is being watched. Glinting in the darkness a dozen pairs of tiny eyes watch the predator, neither advancing nor retreating, displaying neither passion nor fear - even if the spider could recognise such things.

One rat makes a tiny sound as the spider looks towards it. "Peet". There is a pause. Another rat, seemingly in reply, makes a tiny squeak. "Peet". And then they are gone, vanishing down a dozen different secret ways... but somehow the sensation remains.

"Rex," calls a distant voice. "Here boy. Come on Rex, it's freezing. Where are you?"


Rudy & Female A
The tone of the news report on the television changed, slowly, subtlely, then dramatically to include screams of panic and alarm.

A burst of fire shoots across the view of the camera and the screen goes momentarily blank before the feed cuts back to the studio.

"There seems to be some sort of trouble with our camera. We'll have more for you after these messages".

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (no superhero name yet)

James smiles slightly, his gaunt face stretching to adjust to the change. "I was dead," he said. "But I'm better now." For a moment, he seems like a corpse that had been patched back up and thrown back out on the street. As if he had fought death itself, and won.

The moment passes. He says, "Now let me point out the flaws in your suggestion. One, I don't trust you. Two, I don't feel like getting ripped off today. And three, I could call up my old friends at the station and have you arrested for prostitution in five minutes, tops. So you can show us this comet, and we let you walk away, or I can make that call. Your choice."

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Small mammals, chirping in the dimness. And then they were gone.

Cryxx froze in mid movement, limbs tensing to pounce at the sound coming this way. But the noises... they held meaning. The phrase echoed and reverberated around his head, being analysed and dissected.

Cold-ice, location, command and beckoning...

Such concepts make him halt, even as the sound grew nearer. Unsure of what to do, the spider thing slid behind a dumpster, legs neatly sliding together to accommodate the tight space. Hidden from sight, Cryxx waits to see what happens.

Hide check: 30 http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1547267/

[The_Snark]

"I... that's nice of you to offer," she says, deliberating. She could do it, and she was pretty sure she could deflect any questions Valentine did ask. Luckily for her, he didn't seem inclined to pry. She could use the shower, and maybe a bit of sleep eventually, though she still felt too tense to really...

The noise from the television catches her ear, and she turns her head to look at it. "What is that?" she asks rhetorically, a slight involuntary shiver running through her as flames flare across the screen. With a conscious effort, she stops herself from reaching up to rub the shoulder that had been burned last night. She couldn't remember much of it, but she could vaguely remember the pain of the burn as she tried to make it go away. She had; but her efforts had sparked an even more intense pain in her head. "It looks like—what's going on down there, anyway?"

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man turns in his seat to look at the screen just as the broadcast image goes dead and apologies are being mumbled. "Television... I've never expected much from it, and I've never been disappointed." He turns back to Penelope, "Where were they broadcasting from? The park?" He frowns, "Perhaps we'd better be off the streets in case things get even more interesting." He looks up at you, "If you wish to accept of course... no pressure, we could as easily remain here."

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

"No, that's all right. I'll come with you, if you don't mind." She watches the screen, but it doesn't look like there's anything further forthcoming. "They were broadcasting from the reservoir. The Kennedy one. It looked like there was an exposion of some kind." But what is it? Did a gas line spring a leak? In the middle of the reservoir? A comet shouldn't be exploding after it's landed, should it? Whatever she was before, though, it wasn't an astronomer—or, she thinks with an inner sigh, that part of her memory was gone with the rest of it.

She doesn't rise until the old man does, her eyes wandering back to the television every few seconds. That comet had done something to her, and right now it was the only clue she'd get about exactly what. She needed to know every scrap she could find out about what it was.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man nods and rises, quickly moving to assist Penelope with her chair... quite spry for such an old fellow! As she gets up he turns and retrieves his cape. "Thank you, Pete, I'll be by on the fifth for my monthly tab." He escorts the the woman out the door and into the foggy street. "Fair is foul and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air." He mutters under his breath as he throws the still-damp cape over his back. "Come, we should avoid being on the street too long." Doubly strange though, he leads you in a direction toward the park, rather than away... seemingly into danger and into higher rents than this old man should be able to afford. He moves confidently though, limping along with the aid of his cane, til he leads you onto fifty-ninth street and up to an old, but spectacularly upkept brownstone apartment building. He nods to the doorman who opens for the centenarian and the woman, though he gives the latter a brief, strange glance. "Evening, Mr. Valentine... looks like trouble at the park. Hope your walk wasn't interrupted." The old man chuckles, "Alas it was, but perhaps it's for the best considering the activity going on over there, Charles. This is my friend, Penelope Weaver. Do let her in and buzz me if she comes by on her own again." The doorman nods, "Of course, Mr. Valentine." The doorman nods to Penelope, "Ms. Weaver." Valentine leads you to an antiquated, but restored lift and presses the button for the top floor. The door closes and you begin to rise. Valentine turns to you and smiles, "I promised no questions... but you are still allowed."

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

She forestalled a shiver at the actor's words as they stepped out onto the street. Only another quotation. He couldn't know anything. As she followed the old actor through the streets in the direction of the park, she couldn't help but feel a prickling of fear... and an insistent tug of curiousity, as well, urging her closer. She could go and see for herself, rather than having to rely on an incompentent media to relay it to her when they got around to telling everybody else in the world. It didn't matter to most people, but it mattered to her; she needed to know before everyone else. But the memory of the spasping pain that had crossed her mind haunted her even as she thought about going too close. The burns on her back had been insignificant by comparison.

She nods slightly to the doorman as a greeting. Weaver? So I have an assumed last name now. I wonder if I should give him a fake name; he's not asking questions, but he has to be thinking them. Then again, if he tries to look the name up and can't find it... She decides it's worth the risk. "It's Marne, actually," she says once they're in the elevator. "Penelope Marne Sorry. I'm not used to introducing myself with my full name." She forces a small laugh. "I guess I'll have to visit here under an assumed name now." Chat, make small talk, try to convince him I have a perfectly normal reason to be out on the streets without any money. The less noteworthy I am, the better. I need to figure out what to do next—I need a change of clothing, just in case, and then... we'll see.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The centenarian actor chuckles, "Not at all... we'll just tell Charles that you had changed your name since we first met." He smiles, "Or perhaps Weaver was your stage name which was how I met you first. I hope you don't mind my little creation, but when I make a promise, I like to keep it... and doormen tend to be funny about knowing last names." The elevator door opens onto a short hallway. "Now that door will lead you to the roof garden, you might get a better view of the park from there if you want to later. Meanwhile..." He fishes out a key and unlocks the room marked 101. "I apologize for the number if you are of a literary bent, but believe me it doesn't contain the 'worst thing in the world'." He opens the door onto a clean, if somewhat shabby apartment. "Getting threadbare, like its owner, I'm afraid." He leads you inside and closes the door turning the lock.

"Now... those windows face the park, you might want to take a gander there at some point. Through there is the bathroom, you will find some old but clean towels in the cupboard to the right. That smaller bedroom over there is actually my wardrobe... don't mind the mothballs... there should be some of my wife's clothing there and you look to be a close fit. Take what you like, and if you need to you can grab a few extra pieces later and take them back down the alley we came from... about two blocks south of Pete's is a vintage clothing store... the owner is daffy about most of my stuff, so I'm sure you could get a good exchange in case there's nothing in the room that quite suits you." He pauses, thinking... "You might want to lay out some clothes first... and there might even be one of her old robes... to get the scent of the mothballs out before you have to put them on." He glances over at the kitchenette area... "Actually, I'm pretty hungry, so I'm going to get some breakfast started. You get yourself sorted out, and I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Breakfast for two..." His stomach grumbles, "Or actually, the way I'm feeling now, maybe breakfast for four." He smiles. "It does an old man good to get involved in things, this is the most appetite I think I've had in a year, and that always makes the best sauce." He steps into the kitchen area and pulls a carton of eggs, bread, butter, and other sundries from the fridge and cabinets. "Make yourself at home..."

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

"Doctor F! Doctor F!"

"Eh? Mr. Gupta. You're in rather early."

"I saw- there was a meteor or comet or something that hit Central Park! I heard an explosion and I came down to check if you were alright."

"Apart from being unconscious for a few hours, I'm fine."

"What?!"

"This little green rock hit me in the chest."

"That tiny thing? You're more feeble than I thought, old man."

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"Still, I think you should go see a doctor something."

"I'm fine."

"But-"

"Who's the scientist here?"

"You are."

"And who's the lab assistant?"

"I am"

"So, what part of that suggests that you decide whether or not I should go seek medical attention?"

"Fine. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes... well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Something happened when I was out cold."

"What? Like a near death experience?"

"Something like that. I felt like I could feel every mind, every soul, on Earth. I can't remember most of it now, but it was... beautiful."

"More like freaky."

"I suppose. You know what's really "freaky"? I can still feel the connections to other people's minds and... when people are close and I concentrate hard enough... I can hear their thoughts."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oooookay. I really think you should go to the doctor, Doctor F. You need that head of yours checked."

"Don't believe me? Pick a number, any number."

"Seven"

"No, you're supposed to just think of it."

"Alright..."

I don't know why I'm doing this. Probably just a joke anyway. What number? Hmmm... how about pi? That's technically a number right?

"You're thinking of pi."

"What?!"

"Oh, you want it numerically? You're thinking of 3.14159265358979323846264-"

"Alright, alright! Maybe you can read minds. What next, talking through mindlinks and stuff?"

"Well... I haven't actually tried that yet..."

"Uh-huh."

"Let me see..."

Can you hear me now, Akosh?

"Woah! Dude, its like you're voice inside my head!"

I am speaking telepathically, you know.

"Dude... you're a freak."

"Thank you for that. I'm not alone. When I was connected with the minds of the world, I could sense others like me... others with powers beyond those of mortal men."

"Dude... you guys are like the X-Men or something..."

"It might have something to do with this green thing that fell from the sky. Come, pull up a chair. Let's see if we can't figure out what this thing is..."

"Whatever you say, Doctor F."

Summary: Told assistant about powers, began analyzing green rock that gave powers.

[dfpiii]

James & Sakamoto

Candice looks unimpressed by the threat; having had substantial experience of the police and court system over the years she knows this area of the law as well as anyone.

"You can bust my chops, we can go downtown and you can file a complaint which will be just one person's word against another. I think that the police are a little busy right now and I'll walk in a couple of hours - I don't have anything better to do anyway".

She takes a long cool draw on her cigarette.

"You two on the other hand seem mighty excited at what I can tell you and a couple of hours from now - even if I decide to tell you then - you might be too late to find anything out".

"Play nice with me and I'll play nice with you," she says, extending her hand for the money.


Rudy & Penelope

The view from Rudy's penthouse would be something remarkable on any other day, but today it is like a vision of the ninth layer of hell. The only sight that shines through the mist is a pillar of fire that reaches into the New York skyline, spinning, raging and roaring distantly as if buffeted by winds that do not disturb the still fog.

Rudy is reminded of the cinematic interpretation of God from The Ten Commandments and the scene itself is a strange merging of the form described in Exodus 13:22 - "the pillar of cloud by day, and the pillar of fire by night".

Penelope is reminded of... nothing.


Cryxx

A young woman turn the corner into the alley. She rubs her hands against her crossed arms and whistles.

"Rex," she calls again. "Rex, where the hell are you?"

She walks down the alley peering around her and stops. She looks down at her feet and lifts a shoe curiously.

"What the hell is this?" she mutters. "Gross. Rex if you're not here by the count of three you can damn well stay out. One............ two, three".

She turns around and heads back up the alley again. "Damn dog".


Scott

Unfortunately no trace of whatever hit Scott Faraday can be found.

((That one was easy :smallbiggrin: )).

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

Glancing out the window from time to time, as he cooks breakfast, the actor shakes his head, "Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire..." He cuts the heat back on the skillet, turning the scrambled eggs lightly, and very little. He shouts, "It is a question to ask if you want a cappuchino, so just shout 'Cappuchino!' and I'll make you one." He starts the machine up.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx lies lurking in the shadow as the mammal at least the size of him stalks through the alley. Instinctively, he is ready to pounce at the slightest sign that this beast has noticed him. However, the confusing nature of the words keep him from assaulting directly, and eventually the creature left.

Unfurling from his hiding place, Cryxx stares out onto the flat surface lit with orbs of brightness. The background din is interrupted when a huge creature hurtles across the surface in front of where Cryxx stares out at the scene, the 'thing' bellowing a deep grumbling roar. It is many times his size yet seems to be covered in familiar plating. It quickly passes, and Cryxx is reminded of the larger beetles that roamed his previous life, but with the strange glow of fireflies mounted on its head. His eight eyes squint in confusion before turning away.

With caution and staying in the shadows, Cryxx resumes his exploration of the streets and rooftops in this strange world, listening in where he can to the snatches of words wherever he can, trying to make sense of them.

Summary: Hiding until alone, sees passing truck, resuming exploration while listening for conversation

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Still Morning

Up until this point he patiently listened. He would not interfere with a former officer, as he obviously would know what he was doing, and he would bow his head to this man’s superior authority. However when he saw that the woman, who was apparently known as Candice, was not going to cooperate he decided to step in.

“I will pay.” as he handed her $100. As much as he disliked the idea of paying a prostitute, as long as her claim was legitimate he felt he had little choice. However he was grateful that the officer had tried, and felt an obligation towards covering this man’s cost as he had requested the officer's presence.

Summary: Pay her for her services.

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

She stares at the fiery column outside the window, feeling a short violent shudder run through her at the sight of the fire. That's... where I could have been, before I ran. Once again she is drawn to the sight, rather like a moth to a flame; unlike that moth, fear also touches her. That was dangerous.

"Oh—yes, thanks," she calls back, already looking through the wardrobe to find Valentine's wife's old clothing. It seemed to her that there was a surprising amount of clothing in the room. She felt she knew that actors didn't supply all their own costumes—the theater would do that, surely—but she supposed he would probably have ended up with a few old mementoes, and those must have added up. And his wife's clothing was here too, of course. Judging by the dresses, the two of them had indeed been similarly proportioned, but they looked rather... old-fashioned, even to her eyes. Not quite the sort of thing she would want to be wandering the streets in, but it was probably less noteworthy than char marks. She takes one of them down quickly for now, and steps into the bathroom to begin running a shower.

The bathroom was well-used, with all the marks of having been lived in for a long time, and she felt like an utter stranger standing in it. That was natural; she rather hoped she wouldn't feel familiar showering in a strange man's house. But it wasn't odd because it wasn't what she was used to, it was odd because... she wasn't used to anything. A bathroom called up no memories in her, and it should have.

The large, open hallway wasn't crowded, but a steady stream of people walked down it both ways, the tiles opening onto a larger hallway. Seats and desks littered the sides of that larger hall, and the walls there were windows, opening out onto a concrete field barely lit up by an early morning sun. Most of the people there were taller than her, and the door before her—the one she was going to—was a drab black door, with a navy sign above featuring a white stick-woman with a triangular dress—the universally recognized symbol for a woman's restroom.

The memory was a fragmented instant, but she clung to it. An airport, she thought—she thought she could remember airplanes out on the field. And the people had been tall, so maybe she had been young. A real memory, not one she could have invented; she couldn't remember anything else about the airport (or airports in general), and if she was making the whole thing up, she felt she would have invented more. Where had she been flying to? Had her parents been with her? That drew a blank.

She got into the shower feeling a depressing sense of nostalgia and loss, as though the loss of the rest of that airport stay had been terribly important. It probably hadn't; it was stupid to think she'd been attached to a place she never spent more than a day in. But she could remember that one view of that one place, where she couldn't even remember her own home...

She'd intended to scrub herself off quickly, to get rid of most of the sweat and then get moving again, but she found herself taking slightly longer than she'd planned, even rinsing her hair, and it was almost ten minutes later that she got out to begin drying herself off—on one of Valentine's towels, she supposed. Trying on the dress, she found it was just a little too loose in places, and that reminded her of that eerie sense that had been with her ever since... ever since she'd started remembering clearly again, actually. As if she knew her body inside and out, and could do what she liked with it.

She could.

Slowly, carefully, she let herself change ever so slightly, letting the dress fit more easily. His wife had apparently been a little taller than she, and she rose upwards just an inch or so, feeling her spine lengthen itself accordingly. No pain came, no mind-shattering agony.

She made herself slightly shorter again; it wouldn't do for the old man to notice she was taller with her shoes off and begin to wonder, and she could manage without tripping over the hem. She raised her hand slightly, turning it about, and with a slight thought watched it loose color, turning grey. She turned it back, watching herself in the mirror as she did so. A slightly different thought, and she watched her face change, the skin crawling about until her eyes gazed out of the mirror from a mockery of flesh; with slow, precise control, she shaped it until it resembled a normal face once more. A different one, with rounder cheeks and a smaller, more upturned nose; she wondered for an instant if Valentine's wife had looked like that when she wore this dress. Like clay. Why had she thought that? Clay was a rough, stubborn material, not... flowing, like her; the color in her hand grew this time into a ruddy reddish-brown, looking like it had just been taken from the bottom of a river, before she returned it to its normal shade and texture again. Because it was sculpted, that was why. Who was it that was supposedly made out of clay? Prometheus? Or did he make people from clay? No—Proteus? He could change himself; was he made of clay, and did he resculpt himself whenever he wanted to change?

She felt very Protean, standing there watching her body reshape itself in the mirror; she could make her muscles rearrange itself about her bones. She could make her very bones crawl into new shapes, flow into new structures. Experimentally, she raised a finger, drawing back skin and muscle both to reveal a bone fingertip, and tapped the sink just below the mirror. She couldn't feel the cool ceramic at all, but it did send a vibration through her finger.

Very strange. She allowed the skin to flow back over her finger, and changed her face back, the memory of how it had felt as the other face coming to her easily.

Maybe, if she ever remembered just what she had looked like before, it would be that easy to look like it again. But her memory wouldn't be so easy to reclaim.

She stepped out of the bathroom dressed again, if barefoot, wondering if he'd be done cooking yet. She hadn't had anything to eat since... before she could remember, which might only mean last night, but it felt as if it had been longer. She felt ravenous.

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (no superhero name yet)

James nodded appreciatively at the oriental gentleman, then said to Candice, "Alright, we'll play along. But if this is a scam, we'll see if an ex-cop's word trumps that of a prostitute. I know where my money's going on that bet." He still didn't trust here, but he acknowledged the possibility that she was being truthful. Besides, he still had some pull at the station. He could probably get her taken in and get the man's money back to boot. But for the time being, he'd let it play out.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man is busy around the table, setting plates, silverware, and bringing in hot pads for a large skillets: one of fluffy scrambled eggs, the other of fried potatoes. He also brings out a large plate of toast and two large cups of cappuchino. This somewhat domestic scene is backlit by the gaping maw of hell, once known as central park. He looks up, seeing the woman in the hall, and smiles, "I hope you feel better." He moves to hold a chair for you, "If you're ready, the food is." He gestures to the scene outside, "Dinner and a show." Somewhat lower he quotes, "That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion."

[harmonictempest]

Nick

It's just a little weird, y'know? Life ain't exactly peaches 'n cream when you're born into the family business. 'Snot like most guys have to shoot a guy when they turn eighteen or get disowned. Then again, most guys don't have a BMW and crotch rocket of their own in the garage, so I guess it works out. You just, you don't think about it too hard, 'cause it ain't something you control. You're a Gambino, and you got work to do. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, and felt a slight tingling in his fingertips. Better not let that happen again, for now. Besides, most of the time it's not much of a problem. Don't have to worry about making your own way - drive a guy here, make a pickup there, put in some time at the warehouse, fill in as a ringer on a Saturday night, and the family takes care of you. 'Sides, it's more fun than straight-lacers'd wancha ta think, after a while. But...what if I wanted to make my own way? This happened, randomly I guess, 'less the gov'n'mint's really been holding out on us. And now what? A glowing gob on a brick wall flickers across his memory, and he shudders at the thought of what had happened to his armor when he touched it. What am I? I could do- well, not anything I wanted, but I'd sure get a lot more respect in the family like this. Or...would they just work me way harder, or hate me?

He comes back to attention toward his surroundings, and makes the turn onto Monroe Street. Man, I dunno what's up with me today - thinkin' way too hard. Trying the new Nick out on this job oughta be fun, 'specially if--aw, shoot
"Yo Nicky," Bobby says. "Son of a bitch, there's a freakin' hole in the wall and there's damn Yakuza loadin' up a truck. I counted five of 'em. You ready? Cause this is gonna get bloody".

"Yeah, (it's gonna get real bloody, Bobby) I'm ready." Nick pulls his pair of handguns from their shoulder holsters, and kicks out the kickstand on the motorcycle as he parks it. I wish you hadn't been here. "Let's roll."


Summary: Bad job of typing in an accent - higher mental stats cause mooks to question their role in this big wide world - gettin' ready to kick (Yakuza) butt and take (Yakuza) names.

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

"It's quite the show." She didn't bother to wonder aloud what it was. They were both thinking it, and neither one knew the answer.

She sits, loading scrambled eggs onto her plate. Did I use to like these, I wonder? I can't remember. Taking a bite doesn't help; the taste brings nothing back. It does serve to remind her of how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten all night, and it had been an exhausting, panic-filled night, too.

The silence—interrupted only by the sounds of eating and the distant roar of the inferno through the fog—suits her at first, but she's had enough time to think just for the moment. Curiousity is starting to overcome her, and in between bites she glances unobstrusively around at the apartment's sparse furnishings. Looking at them is like a tantalizing glimpse through a window that's a little too reflective—she could see only traces of what was beneath. She should be able to see what the photograph in the hallway meant; the silverware or the saltshaker or one of the chairs might hold memories for the old man. He could tell simply by looking, but only because he already knew. To her, they were opaque.

"How long have you lived here, Mr Valentine?" she asks, setting down her fork for a moment and wishing she knew what to ask to open those windows. She didn't have memories like that, the sort that didn't have to be thought about but lurked comfortably just out of thought in familiar places. Nostalgia, familiarity—she lacked both, but she knew other people had them, in the same sense that a man who'd lost his arm would feel what he was missing. She could feel what wasn't there anymore. "Here in this apartment, I mean. Was it just since you retired, or did you act here?"

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man looks thoughtful. "Well, I put down the down payment for this apartment back in... oh, 1961. The price was quite a lot less back then, and it was sort of for my retirement. The years have passed, and these brownstones and apartments facing central park have become the most expensive real estate in the world, but what would I do, sell it and move into an old-folks home?" He shakes his head. "The interesting thing for me is that this is sort of full-circle for me. My career began in Vaudville... and my serious acting career was at its peak here on Broadway in the late twenties. Nowadays, I do little acting - for money anyway, some voice overs, commercials, and such, but most agents and most theatregoers have forgotten me. He chuckles, "It's sort of comfortable... I don't have to please anyone but myself any more." He smiles across the table at you, "I hope you like the food... my wife taught me to cook, for which I bless her memory." He nods at you, and you realize it must be the dress you are wearing, "I think she bought that dress to go to the PTA in Chicago." There's a ghost of a tear in one eye, but a quick blink and its gone. "You really should take a few of the clothes over to that shop I mentioned... I'm sure you'll find something quite a bit more modern." For an old man, he seems to have quite an appetite and is attacking the breakfast with almost as much gusto as you.

[dfpiii]

ALL - Eventually
The following will run on TV news on repeat for the rest of the day and will later be reported in newspapers, radio and online. So Cryxx, Scott, Rudy and Penelope might learn about it immediately, while everyone else will learn about it when it's convenient for them to do so.

A camera feed returns to Central Park and within minutes it is being broadcast live over every station that runs news in the entire world. As history looked back on the event with the benefit of years it would recall as interesting trivia the fact that Bob Holland, the camera man, received a total of $412.08 in royalties for recording the images that would define the 21st century. "A Real Bob Holland" would become a popular expression for being well and truly shafted.

The pillar of fire was cylinder perhaps 10 feet in diameter, but maybe 150 feet high. From a distance it seemed as calm as a candle flame, but with close up footage two things became obvious - that the fire was a raging violence from which jets of flame erupted at street level. Two dozen lay dead in the street, still smoking, still burning, and nearby buildings and cars had been set on fire.

And the second thing - the fire was alive.

A face cast in flame peered out from the cyclinder; shapes that served for eyes and a mouth were twisted in anger and agony. The fire... The Towering Inferno... lashed out at everything it could with devastating effect. Policemen fired shots into the Towering Inferno without effect.

A child, that had been restrained by a policeman - both of whom had been trapped in a shop doorway - broke free and ran into the street to the side of a woman destroyed by the fire. Her mother? Her older sister? It wasn't possible to tell.

A tendril of fire lashed out towards the little girl, who shut her eyes and screamed. The scream lasted until her lungs were empty of air... but she was not hurt. A shimmering barrier hung in the air around her, accompanied by the sound of singing.

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around
Nothing's gonna harm you. No sir, not while I'm around
Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays
I'll send 'em howling, I don't care; I've got ways"

The woman who steps into camera view is wearing an odd assortment of costumes including, perhaps most strikingly, the mask from Phantom of the Opera. She steps in front of the girl and a second blast of flame terminates directly in front of her again. She regards the Towering inferno with disdain.

She clicks her fingers.

"Boy, boy, crazy boy," she sings. "Get cool, boy!
Got a rocket in your pocket, Keep coolly cool, boy!"

A bubble of force forms around the base of the fire and like a candle being snuffed out, so the flame dies. Inside there is smoke, but it's also possible to see a man, scrapping at the inside of his bubble prison and clutching at his throat.

"Don't get hot, 'cause man, you got some high times ahead.
Take it slow and Daddy-O, you can live it up and die in bed!"

After a minute the man falls onto the side of the bubble and stops moving and a minute later the bubble vanishes, allowing him to drop, with a face-first messy thud onto the blackened asphalt. Some tiny movements indicate that he is alive, but not conscious.

The costumed woman steps towards the camera, stepping over a dead body at one point, and speaks to the lens.

"I am the Spirit of Broadway," and her smile is dazling. "Welcome to my city". The dazling nature of her smile spreads and, amid fairy lights and flash bulbs, she vanishes. The feed also cuts as the camera battery runs out.

***

At KBC News, Jordash is still retaining a remarkable cool.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not sure how to describe the events that have just taken place. A man, seemingly capable of producing endless quantities of fire from his own body, went on a rampage killing or wounding - latest figures put it at - 32 people. This Towering Inferno - strangely that seems to be what everyone is calling him and that in itself is peculiar - has been stopped, seemingly snuffed out by a woman calling herself The Spirit of Broadway. I'm joined by a panel of expert scientists," Jordash turns in his seat. "Did we just see, for want of a better phrase, a super villain and a super hero?"

"Yes," says a white haired gentleman, speaking over the demuring of his fellows.

"Dr Gilbert, you're the director of the SETI institute and it was an astronomer working for you that first detected last night's comet".

"Yes," Gilbert confirms and launches into a rapid-fire announcement of facts. "And we've had a chance to analyze the light produced by the comet and I've conferred with my colleagues on the subject. We're looking at the effect of a previously undiscovered, but theorised element. We have photos which show that the comet entered our atmosphere with a diameter of some fifty feet - a massive object, but what crashed into the park was barely more than three feet across".

"I'm sorry Doctor, you're going to have to take this back a step".

He takes a deep breath and plunges on at a rambling, fast pace, almost as if he was desperate to speak; excited and giddy. "The comet did not burn up, when it was within the atmosphere of the planet it's size was 50 feet - we believe that this element - which we're calling Green - is unstable in contact with any other element. We have reports that a ship which was at sea was pelted by a rain of gold. Gold! Falling from the sky. The comet reacted with elements common at high altitudes and mtransformed them into gold dust. What they're not telling you down at the reservoir is that it isn't water any more - it's been changed by the comet into something else. I don't know what, but those readings taken earlier that showed the 104 degrees were right, they just weren't measuring the temperature of water anymore. You've just seen the effect of the comet on organic material. Superheroes! There's no telling at this point how much has been effected. How many! But we can be sure of a few things. The comet can't continue to exist in our atmosphere - Green is only stable in a vacuum. So whatever has happened has happened, it's not still happening. Though of course we don't know what that is yet".

His stop was sudden and caught out Jordash and Gilbert's fellow scientists, who doubtless had questions of their own but couldn't quite phrase them.

"Super heroes are real and they live in New York," Jordash said, turning to camera. "KBC news, we'll be back after these messages".


Nick

Bobby's description was apt. The corner of the brick-built warehouse has been shattered to leave an unsafe looking hole in the wall about four feet wide. Most likely someone got in this way, but the front door is now open and a white truck is being loaded with boxed goods in some hurry. Men move from the building and to the back of the truck - the back is facing away form you so you can see the driver cabin is empty.

While the action is frantic, nobody appears to be standing guard and you are effectively unnoticed.

((If you choose combat you can act in a surprise round. At best only two men are visible at any one time as they walk to and from the building, others being in the warehouse or the truck. Nick's wisdom check is successful and he determines those walking to the truck will be encumbered and suffer an AC penalty as well as being caught flat-footed)).


James & Sakamoto

Candice pockets the money - figuratively speaking, since she shoves it in her bra. "Boys," she says. "This is your lucky day".

She puts two fingers in her mouth and issues an ear-splitting whistle. Candice, James remembers, has a lifetime ban from Yankee Stadium after actually bursting eardrums with that whistle. A few moments later a yellow cab pulls through the fog and stops.

"Your legs look worse than mine sweetheart, I figure we'll take a taxi," she says to James. To Sakamoto she adds, "Your legs look great though honey, I bet you work out".

They get into the cab, with Candice at the left hand door.

"Monroe Street," she says to the driver. "And if you get there in ten minutes my friend here wil give you a big tip".

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

While eating, the old man glances behind him at the park as there are some faint words, carried on the breeze... but indistinguishable. Then the fire just seems to collapse into itself and go out. "Interesting..." He frowns, "I suppose it's best to know what's going on." He looks back at his guest, "Excuse me... I have to go collect the infernal device." He stands up from the table and goes into the next room, and comes out, rolling an old black-and white television on a rolling cart. It looks quite dusty and unused... and antique. He plugs it in, turns it on and waits while a tiny dot on the screen slowly expands to a fuzzy blur of snow. Fiddling with the dials and antennae, he eventually coaxes out a very fuzzy picture of the news story of the happenings in the park. Both of you watch the story in silence, and as the news report ends, you see him staring at the picture with a mixture of amazement and... you're not quite sure what else. Under his breath you hear him whisper, "The great white way."

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

"Uh, Doctor F?"

Scott pulls his eyes away from the rock and looks at his assistant.

"Yes, Akosh?"

"That's a pebble."

"Yes, a pebble that broke off from this "comet" of yours and hit me."

"Um... sorry to break it to ya, Doctor F, but I don't think that's a piece of the comet."

"Oh?"

"I heard the comet was green and that thing isn't. I think that's just a rock."

"Oh."

Scott sighed and shook his head.

"In my excitement, I must have picked up this rock and thought it was what sruck me. Damn. Akosh, turn on the tv. Let's see if we can get any news on what exactly is going on."

At the doctor's command, Akosh walks over to the small television that they kept in the lab for watching certain sporting events. Flipping it on, Scott and Akosh are immediately hit by the news coverage of the incident.

Scott watches the broadcast intently and quietly, silently analyzing the the information presented to him. Akosh's reaction is anything but silent. As he watches, Akosh makes several short remarks that range from the simple "dude" to bursts of profanity.

After the broadcast repeats itself twice, Scott shuts of the television.

"Well, that's interesting."

"Interesting?! Did you see that?! Holy motherfu-"

"Language!"

"Dude! Flaming mass murderers? Some insane chick who sings? There is something thats seriously out of whack going down here."

"Indeed. It is clear what we have to do."

"Get the hell away from these place?"

"Actually, no. I was thinking we go take a stroll in the park."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"Completely. These things happen for a reason, Akosh. I saw something beautiful and terrible when I was out. There's a lot of potential for good here. A lot of potential for evil too. There's a reason fate chose me to be gifted with telepathy. Since I can't change the world through science, maybe I can through my powers."

Akosh sits there, silently, shocked. Scott stares at him for a moment, then begins to get up.

"Besides, there's something fishy about this. A new type of comet and we only detected it yesterday? NASA spends millions tracking NEOs that have a slight possibility impacting in decades. The idea that an object like this would only be detected a day before impacting is either preposterous or very frightening."

Scott, now standing fully erect looks grimly at Akosh.

"I need to find out what's happening and perhaps take a sample at the site. Look, just because I'm risking my life doesn't mean you have to. Stay here and call me if anything happens."

"Good bye, Doctor F. Good luck."

"See you later, Akosh."

Scott heads out the door, down the stairs, and out into the streets.

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino

Nick's stomach tightens - here's where it would begin. His eyes passed lightly over the ragged hole, wondering only briefly what might have made it. His pulse raced, and for perhaps the first time, he eagerly anticipated pulling the trigger. But Bobby?
"Hey Bobby, looks like they left the cab open. We'll take the two we can see in the first volley, then you run for the truck and see if they left the keys in it. If not, you come back and lend a hand with whoever I found to deal with. Sound good?"
Nick then straightens and prepares for the altercation, hoping that whatever left a hole in that wall was a proper matchup for his newfound power.

If Bobby agrees, we'll both shoot in the surprise round, then Nick will stay in combat and cover him while he goes for the cab in the confusion. If he doesn't agree, we'll still both shoot in the surprise round, then close toward combat together.
Attack 1: 1d20+9 = 23, Damage: 3d8+8 = 23
Attack 2: 1d20+9 = 17, Damage: 3d8+8 = 28
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1564552/
Initiative: 1d20+7 = 17
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1564560/

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

She watches the television broadcast in silence, almost afraid to speak or move—as if she might suddenly break into song or spout fire from her lips if she opened them. A single thought rings through her mind.

Not alone, not alone, not alone...

It wasn't a comforting thought. Frightening, rather. Not all of them would stand out so much on the streets—she was proof of that herself. Anybody else could be something other than human. Anybody at all.

She looks sideways at the old man as he whispers, her daze broken by the faint sound. "What?" she asks aloud a little too fast, the word already out of her mouth before she realized whatever he was referring to might be common knowledge. Broadway had brought with it the vague knowledge that it was a rather famous entertainment name—in New York?—but nothing more, and nothing else in the discussion had rung a bell. If he knew something, she needed to find out. Especially if it was something everybody would know.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man turns to look at you, "What... oh... the great white way. It's an old name for Broadway, back when it was in its heydey. It seems that some people have been given unusual abilities by this... event. And that it has manifested some interesting mental states." He gestures at the television, "The fiery man seemed out of control, unable to stop burning people, and the lady who protected the child calls herself the Spirit of Broadway... singing bits from various musicals." He shakes his head, "We truly do live in interesting times." He looks at you, "If you want to keep watching, please do so. I'm going to take a shower... I've been in damp clothes most of the night and I'd rather not catch my death." He points to the back room, "Feel free to use my bedroom if you need some rest. You're lucky, I changed the sheets today. I'll sleep on the couch if I feel the need." He unfastens his coat and hangs it on a coatrack near the door, tossing a mangled hat into a nearby trashcan. Then he limps back toward the bathroom. "Get another cappuchino if you want it, but don't worry about the dishes, I'll get them shortly." He smiles and steps into the bathroom, closing the door. In a short while you hear the water turn on in the shower.

In the shower Rudy turns the hot water way up, letting the heat soak into his skin... he was starting to feel positively icy. Almost as if the hot water were melting him, his wrinkles slowly dissapear as he relaxes into his apparently natural state of being in his twenties. I suppose it affected me as well... I wonder if I'll start acting crazy. I certainly know that I don't feel like myself... but I suppose only time will tell who I am now.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx scurried across the walls and rooftops, glancing through the transparent sheets that separated those housed in the rock towers from the outside world. As he explored, he saw more and more of the strange bipedal creatures that resembled the one in the alleyway which had struck a part of his brain that had previously not existed with its vocalizations. Of course, they were not identical. There was variation in size and colour, some dark to blend with the shadows and other brightly lit, presumably to warn of the poison their form contained. And they were everywhere. Every part of this world was infested with these odd beasts. Of course there were other creatures, such as the tiny fury squeaks and the hulking armoured growlers, but none attacked these two legged things.

As Cryxx pondered, his mind did something he did not know it could do. It recalled a memory. A lifetime ago, he had seem a mob of six legged creatures exploring the area. An image showing them in one of the chambers had used the word ‘ants’ at the time. One had stuck his web and he moved to kill and devour it, assuming the fellow insects would move to avoid the same fate. Instead, these tiny figures banded together, using fang and sting to fight him off. He had to retreat in his web to escape injury.

If these creatures where the same… if they could band together to fight him… he would have to retreat once more.

Once again he moved across the ground lurking in the shadows, and heard a noise as a piece of material swung open from the rock tower and a figure in white stepped forth. He was alone, and did not seem to be armed with natural or artificial weapons. Instinct demanded that food be captured for later while the opportunity presented itself, and the same instinct made him tense internal muscles to spray a blob of paralyzing venom at the creature.

*Edit* Two to hit rolls: 17, 32
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1569017/

I rolled a 2 for the first one, d'oh. I tried to look up your sheet to see where the 18 came from, but no luck. Roll time

Damage 17 then 32:
35 and 42 non lethal damage

*Edit - got mods wrong, they are under by one, so 18 and 33 to hit.*

Either would drop the good doctor, so I shall merrily continue with my post :smallbiggrin:

And for the next bit:
Use 'rope' : 22 Ugh, wrong modifier, should be +19 for 24 with the roll of 6
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1569020/

At least one of the sprays catches the creature in the back, and it can barely react before its muscles **** down and it drops to the ground. Scuttling over quickly, the spider creature picks up its prey and returns to the shadows. When safely concealed in darkness once again, it slowly spins the biped in a cocoon of stretchy webbing. Secure in the knowledge that the prey would not escape any time soon, Cryxx slowly drags him back to his initial lair.

Time passes, and they finally arrive back at where the spiders life changed so dramatically. With a heave, the biped is stuck to the wall. Cryxx turns and busies himself setting webbing tripwires to alert him of trespassers, unaware that behind him the humans eyes are opening...

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

Darkness.

Scott awoke to the sight of darkness. This in itself, did not frighten him. In fact, darkness fascinated him. Pure darkness is such a rarity in his life in New York that any form of darkness was interesting.

After a moment of fascination, he realized his condition. Someone, or something, had attacked him without warning. He was bound tightly by... something sticky. Incredibly sticky. It felt soft yet as he wriggled a bit, Scott found it was strong as any rope.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw his surroundings. Webs covered the area. Presumably what bound him was also a web, though no normal spider could create so much. When Scott saw the source, his eyes widened, partially from horror but mostly from amazement.

What stood before him was a creature that looked like the bastard child of a man and a spider. A centaur-like figure, with its an abdomen like an insect with six legs and a vaguely humanoid torso with two pairs of slender arms. The head, like a humanoid spider head, with eight eyes that vaguely glinted with intelligence The entire thing was covered in some sort of chitin.

Either this was a man in a very good rubber suit or this was another creation of the "comet". But, was this a spider-man or a man-spider?

Scott tried to speak, but his body was still weary. Though he was not heavily bruised, something made him weak, as if some sort of venom knocked him out.

Without the strength to talk, Scott relied on his new-found powers, attempting to connect his mind to this creature's. If it was intelligent, his telepathy should work.

You... what are you?

OOC: Spending 1 pp to open conversation.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx's head shot bolt upright. His mind was already crowded with the warring voices of base instinct and logical thought, but a new voice had appeared, cutting clearly through the din.

Starting around, there appeared to be nothing new in the alleyway. Unsure how to speak clearly in thought, Cryxx vibrates several chitinous plates while letting air escape through them, mimicking the sounds he had heard before as communication. It took a focused effort, not only to regulate his 'voice' but also to keep the thought clear in his mind.

"Myssssssself. What yoooeeeww?"

Even if the Doc cannot make out the strange speech, Cryxx is thinking it 'loudly' enough to use the telepathy link.

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Still Morning till Midday

He gritted his teeth in grim silence as the prostitute went on in her usual fashion. He truly disliked this parasite of society who continued to insult him, but for now he had no choice but to bear it. As he stepped into the cab he contemplated the possibility that she was also affected by the comet fragment and wondered what on earth such a woman would do with such abilities. He shuddered and decided to end that train of thought. He continued to ponder on what the nature of this secondary red comet was. Was it a splinter from the main comet, and if so why was it red? Or was this red comet something entirely different from the blast that had altered him? Unlikely, but it was also another possibility that he had to consider. What exactly was he planning on finding there anyways; he was neither a detective nor any kind of scientist, so any real analysis was far beyond him. However for some reason he felt strongly compelled to seek for an answer. Perhaps the possibility of finding a clue as to why and how he changed compelled him so. In any case there was a distinct possibility that being shown the location of this red blast was not worth the money he had spent. He would find out soon enough. As these thoughts tumbled in his mind the taxi slowed down to a stop.

Summary: Get in taxi and think to himself.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The regenerated octogenerian relaxes, letting the hot water sheet across his body. Mmmmmmm... this is good. I think I'll let the water heater run out, I can always do the dishes later. He opens his eyes, looking down at himself. His body is well-formed, only slightly more muscular development than he remembered having in his twenties, but he felt stronger than he'd ever felt, and healthier, and... smarter, if that is possible. He pauses in his washing, a flash going through his head, The Spirit of Broadway... she must have the ability to project... oh, what were they called... force fields, like that movie character played by Jessica Alba. He nodded thoughtfully to himself, I wonder if the abilities various people have have a single sort of 'defining' hook... my own abilities seem to be physically oriented.

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

Cryxx's head shot bolt upright. His mind was already crowded with the warring voices of base instinct and logical thought, but a new voice had appeared, cutting clearly through the din.

Starting around, there appeared to be nothing new in the alleyway. Unsure how to speak clearly in thought, Cryxx vibrates several chitinous plates while letting air escape through them, mimicking the sounds he had heard before as communication. It took a focused effort, not only to regulate his 'voice' but also to keep the thought clear in his mind.

"Myssssssself. What yoooeeeww?"

Even if the Doc cannot make out the strange speech, Cryxx is thinking it 'loudly' enough to use the telepathy link.

Scott Faraday

Despite his dire situation, Scott makes a quiet chuckle. Myself indeed!

This creature... it had clear thoughts, though they were alien. The sounds it made were clear attempts to speak as well. However, it was certainly not human.

I am myself as well, but I am of a species, a type of beast, called human. Why have you stuck me to this wall? Are you going to... eat me?

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx stood almost motionless in the shadows, yet his mind was working faster than it ever had before. As he and this 'human' exchanged thoughts, the telepathy was working with his brain to form a common platform on which they could communicate. Faster than he thought possible, Cryxx was learning of words, sentence structure, meaning. He had heard English all his life, but only now did he understand it.
But there was still much to learn.
With a shake of his head, Cryxx 'spoke' again.

"Noooo... I am myssself. You are not zame as myssself if you are human.
Azzzz for the wall... you wooood be prey, but prey cannot zzzpeak..."

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

As the hot water becomes lukewarm, the actor reluctantly turns off the shower and steps out, drying himself with a much-washed towel. He cleans off the mirror with a swipe of the towel and looks at himself, raising one brow. He concentrates and his face and body change til he looks like Rudolph Valentino. Interesting... He concentrates again and his body shifts til he looks like Douglas Fairbanks. I think I make him look more dashing... He ponders, remembering a 1950's production of Julius Ceasar that he got a minor part in by using an alternate name. He shifts, not to himself, but to Charleton Heston in the role of Marc Antony. Draping the towel across his chest like a toga he smiles. Friends, Romans, Countrymen... lend me your faces... He shakes his head, reminiscing about the other Chicago actors in the film then gets a thoughtful look and concentrates on the mirror. His body shifts and flows again til he is Mary Sefton Darr from the same production. Letting the towel fall to his feet he admires her ressurected form greatly. Talk about your one man show... Marc Antony AND Portia... I suppose I could do a one man show, but if I played Julius Ceasar and Brutus, I'd have to stab myself in the back. He shrugs, shifting back into 'old' Rudy Valentine. "Oh well." He mutters to himself. "It wouldn't be the first time."

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

Cryxx stood almost motionless in the shadows, yet his mind was working faster than it ever had before. As he and this 'human' exchanged thoughts, the telepathy was working with his brain to form a common platform on which they could communicate. Faster than he thought possible, Cryxx was learning of words, sentence structure, meaning. He had heard English all his life, but only now did he understand it.
But there was still much to learn.
With a shake of his head, Cryxx 'spoke' again.

"Noooo... I am myssself. You are not zame as myssself if you are human.
Azzzz for the wall... you wooood be prey, but prey cannot zzzpeak..."

Scott Faraday

This would be... tricky. The creature's ability to form coherent thoughts was improving and it clearly was intelligent. It still seemed... inexperienced however. It was if a fully mature man had been created an hour ago, only now learning of the world.

Scott could try to manipulate the creature's mind to let him go, but it would be more exciting to reason with the beast than use the psychic equivalent of brute force.

<Well, if I speak and prey does not speak, then I am not prey. If I am not prey, let me go>

OOC: Inspired by a book series I read when I was younger, I'll be putting telepathic statements in brackets or whatever those things are called

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

She nodded, still tense. It made sense for an old actor to refer to it that way, but her muscles simply wouldn't relax. Isn't it strange? To run into an old man who used to be an actor, on the same morning that woman appears? It's an odd coincidence... Coincidence?

It feels like they're all around me. Even if Valentine doesn't know it—he's linked to this Broadway woman, isn't he? Trapping me. They'd be on both sides, then. She wasn't making any sense. Of course there were hundreds, thousands of actors who didn't know one another. There wasn't any reason to think these two might be linked. Strange, though... what kind of man invites a vagabond woman into his home, feeds her, and offers her shelter? What is he looking for The thoughts that drift up at that speculation were unpleasant. She could handle anything normal, if it were just a lone old man. If. The obvious speculations were far less worrying than the stranger, half-shaped ones, the ones she couldn't rationalize but couldn't dismiss.

No, that doesn't make sense again. He can't know anything. Nothing would have given me away. This is paranoia! She still can't shake the ideas. It was a set of odd coincidences, but she couldn't think of anything that would link them together, aside from a set of vague yet annoyingly tenacious fears. And yet... she doesn't trust coincidence.

She stands, and finds herself walking about the small apartment, nervous energy burning through her muscles. How was she supposed to relax, knowing what had happened to her—and a hundred other people, for all she knew? She had to take her mind off it.

She finds herself looking up at a portrait on the wall, and takes it down, turning it over to see if there was anything on the back and then looking at the front again. An old sepia photo in real glass; it was a man and a woman, dressed up and smiling. Valentine, probably, and his wife. The woman wearing Valentine's wife's clothes stares down at the last woman to wear them. How long ago had the photo been taken? She didn't know how old the photograph looked; Valentine was a lot younger—almost unrecognizable—but she couldn't tell how much younger. Had it been fifty years? Forty? Sixty? When had she died?

Whenever she'd died, she knew more than the next one to wear her clothes. Valentine's wife had known her own name. (What had Valentine's wife's name been? Something to ask later. She found herself curious about the other woman.

She replaced the portrait on the wall, the feeling of being hounded by something invisible ebbing. It left a sort of longing for normality in its place, and for a few seconds she was struck by a sudden desire to have been that woman, even if it meant she'd be dead now. At least she would have known who she was. She prowled into the bedroom; calmer in mind she might be, but her muscles were still agitated. The bedroom is yet another look into someone else's life, a still moment in time. It was like looking at a reflection in rippling water; there was an image there, but it was frustratingly incomplete. There was a feel for what had happened, but nothing was clear... She moved on to the wardrobe.

The musty mothballed smell was a little soothing; it told her that nothing had happened here for a long time, and nothing would happen for a long time. She finally managed to lose herself in looking through the clothing: old dresses that had belonged to his unknown wife, suits that had been carefully folded. One had a tear right down the shoulder, and was neatly pressed despite it; she fingered the rip, wondering why it was still here. Did Valentine keep that one out of sentimentality, or had it been part of a costume for some play? There were more fantastic costumes as well as the occasional mask, or a sweeping cape.

It was only the sound of the water tap ceasing that brought her ought of her reverie. He'd be out soon. Quietly, she slipped out of the wardrobe room and back into the apartment's main room. The urge to run—that was what the nervous energy had been, she realized; her subconscious wanting to abandon the frightening situation she had been put in since this morning, wanting to flee anything that might be danger and try anew in a far away place—had subsided, but she didn't feel like sleeping, either. She had a lot to do, and even more to decide on.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man finished drying himself off and then changed into new blue flannel pajamas, a clean, but very worn indigo bathrobe, and pink fuzzy bunny slippers. It was his usual attire for sleep, though he felt no tiredness in him. He opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hall, walking toward the dining area. He sees his guest there, "Good morning, I wasn't sure if you'd be asleep or gone." He smiles, "I hope the shower got you feeling much better." He walks forward, smiling, but then frowns, "I would ask if everything was all right, as you seem troubled... but then again, I suppose it must be strange. Why is this old man helping me?" He shrugs, "Don't forget, I'm old... so I'm old fashioned... we old codgers usually have more of a sense of honor and chivalry than most." He smiles, "I like that song, 'An Englishman in New York...' I'm not English, but there's a line... 'If manners make the man than he's the hero of the day.'" He chuckles, "I like to think I haven't outlived my manners and a certain genteel charm that demands nothing in return for courtesy and gallantry to the fairer sex."

[dfpiii]

Rudy, Penelope, Scott and Cryxx

((I'm happy to be leaving you all alone for the moment - but if you want me to get involved, just wave something))


Nick

Nick and Bobby make short work of the two oblivious asians carrying stolen, stolen goods. One of Nick's shots turns the head of the goon inside out and his friend has just enough time to look blood-stained and startled before two shots thud into his chest and he topples backwards.

init Bobby[roll0]
init mook1[roll1]
init mook2[roll2]
init mook3[roll3]

((Nick gets to act first in round 1 of combat))


James & Sakamoto

((You might have guessed that you're heading for the warehouse where the shootout is currently happening. You'll hit the street in round [roll4]))

Candice pops a stick of gum out of her purse and offers some around the cab.

"Tell me officer," she says while chewing. "Where you been all this time?"

[Tar Palantir]

James Phillips (No superhero name yet)

James paused for a moment at her question, then answered, "I've been sick. Crippled. As close to dead as you can get and still have a pulse. But I'm on the mend, though I can't explain how. Just one of life's little miracles, eh?" He could still feel the struggle within him, but he wasn't worried about it anymore. He was dead before the comet had miraculously given him his regenerative powers. He was running on borrowed time, and he didn't mean to waste one second of it wallowing in self pity. They used to say that life was for the living, but they were wrong. Only a dying man truly knows how to live.

[harmonictempest]

Nick, round 1

I'll try to be speedier with my replies, since a) this is combat, and b) there's people forced to just sit and RP till I manage to get to round 6 of combat

Moving swiftly and crouched low toward the open door, Nick turns the corner at best possible speed and fires at the first form he sees, shouting to Bobby "Get to the cab of the truck and see if you can turn it on." He then appraises the situation as best he can.

Getting partial cover from the corner, firing at first person in view.
Move action to door, standard action to fire, free action to speak.
[roll0]
[roll1]
+1 to attack and damage if the target is within 30 feet.
Looking for number and position of people he can see to plan tactics.

[evisiron]

Scott Faraday

This would be... tricky. The creature's ability to form coherent thoughts was improving and it clearly was intelligent. It still seemed... inexperienced however. It was if a fully mature man had been created an hour ago, only now learning of the world.

Scott could try to manipulate the creature's mind to let him go, but it would be more exciting to reason with the beast than use the psychic equivalent of brute force.

<Well, if I speak and prey does not speak, then I am not prey. If I am not prey, let me go>

OOC: Inspired by a book series I read when I was younger, I'll be putting telepathic statements in brackets or whatever those things are called

Cryxx

Cryxx buzzed as he tried to vocalise what could only be a 'hmm' of deep thought. Surely if he had a goatee he would stroke it.
As it was, his thinking was creeping from angles which were new to him, and so had to be considered carefully. This situation had never come up before.

"Not-prey... bigger than prey. Not-prey try to make me prey. If they fail, I can zzztill eat not-prey. I could zztill eat you. But you... you were not..."

His mind searches for the correct word amongst his increasing vocabulary.

"You were not hunting me.
So, if not prey, and not hunter... what arrrrre you? And why... should I 'Let you go'?"


OOC: By any chance is that book series the Animorphs? Because in my younger days I read essentially the entire series. :smallbiggrin:
Though reply to this OOC bit in the OOC thread.

[The_Snark]

"Penelope"

She almost wanted to reach up to feel her face, in order to make sure it wasn't broadcasting her surprise. When you've a mask for a face, how do you know what that mask looks like? Had she really been that obvious? Obvious enough that he felt the need to reassure her about that? That wasn't reassuring at all. She didn't even know if it was true that older people tended to be more chivalrous. Of course, for him to be lying that blatantly, he would have had to know she couldn't remember anything...

That wasn't getting her anywhere. She shakes her head, even managing to smile a bit. "No. Thank you, really. It's just an odd day, that's all. I'm supposed to be meeting friends," she invents, "but I don't know if they have a place for me to stay, or where I'm supposed to be meeting them anymore, what with... that." She gestures to the window looking out over the park. Spinning a story was dangerous, if he pried too much, but he hadn't pried much so far, even if he looked like he might have wanted to. Besides, pretending to be lost and directionless was very easy. It was perfectly true.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man nods, but frowns slightly thinking to himself. I'm speaking to what I thought would be any woman's natural concerns... to reassure her, but somehow I don't feel it's helping. Her situation must be very unusual. If she was hit by one of those comet fragments, as that burn on her dress might indicate, she may be suffering from other effects. I wonder if it was wise to be as gallant and open as I have been. Still, I think it's important to hold on to myself as much as possible; look how those others have been affected in their minds by this change, the pyromaniac and the Spirit of Broadway. He looks at you, "Well, if your friends have no place for you, you would be welcome to stay with me til you find preferable accomodations, as you are welcome to remain until such time as you meet with your friends." He points again, "If you wish to use my bedroom, there is also a phone in there if you wish privacy calling your friends, or if you wish to rest until it is a more propitious hour." He walks over to a small bookcase near the entrance and pulls out a folio which he opens. He takes out four fifty-dollar bills from between the pages and returns the folio and then walks over to you. "This is my emergency fund, but with the 5th of the month so close, I can't imagine I'll have need of it before my check comes in from the government." He places the money in your hand, "I hope this can help you until you get in touch with your friends." He shrugs, "I know that we should, 'neither a borrower nor a lender be,' but then again, we must also 'to thy own self be true,' and this is who I am. Call it a gift, or a loan, or whatever it takes for you to call it yours... for your needs." He smiles, and walks back toward the kitchen, "I'm for another cappuchino... I don't think I'll be sleeping for a while after that mess out there."

[The_Snark]

”Penelope”

That’s right—coffee keeps you awake, doesn’t it? She’d been wondering why she didn’t feel more tired. Most of the night was a blur of darkened streets and alleys, after that first memory of the green flash (the comet passing overhead, she supposed), but going by what the reporter had said, she might have been awake all night. "I—thank you," she said, taking the bills and wondering what was supposed to be wrong with accepting money. Still, the old man clearly expected her to be reluctant, so she played along. "I do need it, I suppose."

"And thank you for the offer to stay… I don’t know if any of my friends will be able to put me up, but I should check with them first," she goes on, "if I can find them." The idea of staying with the old actor made her uneasy—Can an actor tell an act when he sees one?—but she would need to sleep eventually, and it was best to keep all her options open. "I feel like going out for a while first, though. Maybe buying some clothes—these are nice…" she picks at the shoulder of the dress… "but it would look a little odd around town." Did it say something about who she’d been that she had kept a vague sense of fashion? She hoped not; it painted a rather shallow picture of her former life. For the first time, the thought occurs to her that if she ever found out who she had been, she might be disappointed. That was depressing—she might feel that forgetting who she’d been had been the best thing ever to happen to her.

She hoped not, and put the thought aside for now. Quite possibly, she was just going by the clothing she had seen on the way here. None of it had been much like the dress. And she really did need clothing that she hadn’t borrowed. With a change of clothes, she could be a completely different person if she needed to; without one, she was limited. "Do you know where I could get some of my own? Not too expensive?"

[dfpiii]

Nick

Nick puts himself into the doorway of the building and instinct takes over. One of the Yakuza, still carrying a pile of BLU-Ray players, takes a fatal shot to the belly and screams, dropping the items and clutching at the wound as he falls.

Nick can see the interior of the warehouse clearly. Whatever smashed through the corner of the building left a clear track a crater in almost the exact centre of the room, destroying tens of thousands of dollars of stock - and what remains the Yakuza have done an excellent job of pilfering.

Strangely, the crater itself is empty save for electrical parts, leaving no obvious clue to what happened here.

However, Nick does not have the chance to consider this as he dodges a bullet fired from the back of the warehouse. A young man, operting a shoot and duck policy, then ducks behind crated items out of sight.

The last Yakuza Nick can see appears more like a Bond villain archetype than a real person. He has a flamboyant and otherworldly style of dress that marks him as being more of Tokyo than New York, and a scar runs through his left eye which is milky white. A thin black cigarette hangs from his mouth.

He says something, which Nick presumes is both Japanese and insulting, and then sprays the whole of the building with wailing bullets from his MP5 machine gun.

(Take [roll0] less any damage reduction)

He takes a smoke on his cigarette and slips behind a pillar. Nick hears the grumble of the truck engine which indicates that Bobby has been successful.

(round 2)


James & Sakamoto

"Well I'd drink to that if you were buyin," Candice says to James. To Sakamoto she says, "So, you're what, a karate instructor? My kid takes karate".

The fog is, you can see, finally beginning to lift. But there's no sign of increased traffic on the road. You get the distinct impression that something is keeping people in their homes today and a million sick calls are being made to empty offices.


And from here on it's Snark in charge.

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man steps out of the kitchen, cup in hand. He pauses for a moment, looking at you for the first time as if he isn't sure you are all right. I told her about the clothing store before... is she that confused mentally or am I just getting to verbose that nobody listens. "Store... oh, yes... there's a vintage clothing store about two blocks south of Pete's. I say vintage, but I'm sure you could come up with a more modern ensamble there. If you wish, take some of the extra clothing from the wardrobe and you can exchange it if you like. That would save you some cash." He pauses, "You might want to rest first though. It's been a long morning." He gestures at an easy chair, "Personally, I plan to sit here a while and read this morning's paper... it will be interesting to see what they add to the late afternoon edition."

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

Waking up was like remembering a dream; like climbing out of a dark pit on a ladder made of smoke. Reality seemed impossible and sharp and he struggled against himself to become conscious.

“That’s it, open your eyes. You’ve had a bit of a bump on the head. Thought we might’ve lost you for a while there”.

The room extended beyond his ability to focus for a moment. The face of… Dr Hartford hung above him, a kindly smile underneath a mess of white hair. He looked like a mad professor on a good day: like God the Father, beaming benevolence and good will.

“What?” he managed eventually.

“It’s my understanding that the graduates of West Point should know to say excuse me or pardon,” the doctor said and then shone a light right into his eye. He winced. “Name, rank and number, sailor”.

The instruction kicked in something hardwired; the soldier’s reboot command. “James Elliot Arwell, Captain-” he stopped. “J. Elliot Arwell, former Captain United States Marines. And for the record former Lieutenant First Class George Hartford, marines are not called sailors and when waking up a superior officer, if you didn’t bring coffee then something better be on fire”.

Dr Hartford threw back his head and laughed. “My boy, my boy, you’re safe and whole. Let’s get you sitting up”. The doctor propped him up on huge soft pillows and he looked around the room, his bedroom with its carved wooden bed a hundred years old, with its clean gentle scents of floor polish and money, part of an apartment with million dollar views from every room.

He was not a marine captain, that had been a dream.

“How do you feel?”

“Like someone hit me on the head with their car. And I’m so hungry. Was I in a coma?”

“No, just a little concussion. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Some old guy shining a light in my eyes”.

“And before that handsome gentleman performed that necessary test, what do you remember?”

“Mother was having one of her parties… and you were there and all I kept saying was I want to go home… and I had these great shoes, but people kept telling me they didn’t match my tux”.

“I remember when you were four-”

“I’m not four anymore? Jeepers doc, what year is it?” He lifted up his bed sheet, peered under it and said, “Wow-e, I sure done growed-up”.

“I remember when you were four,” Dr Hartford continued with the tone of one who was used to continuing in adversity. “And you had the measles. Your mother was convinced you were going to die. You were covered in big red spots from head to toe and running a fierce fever, we had to put ice packs on you to cool you down and mittens on your hands to stop you scratching yourself to bits. Anyway, one day I came in to see you and you had your bed sheet pulled right up over your head. I sat down on the bed and pulled it back and you opened your eyes, real slow, and you said, ‘So, you spotted me’. I said, ‘I found you, but the spots are nothing to do with me’ and you said-”

“Let’s see what the judge says”.

“That, my boy, is when I knew you were going to be fine”.

Dr Hartman was the family physician and had been for thirty years. He had made enough money to retire twenty years ago, but he had a certain affection for the family; a family that was difficult to like once you got to know them. And almost impossible to get to know.

The Arwells were New York royalty, with a name that turned heads as quickly as Morgan, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt.

J. Elliot Arwell was grandson to billionaire Charles Arwell, the 71-year-old CEO of Arwell Enterprises. Elliot enjoyed telling people about the world shaking importance of the company by mentioning that it was ranked 374 in the Forbes Fortune 500, right behind Bed, Bath & Beyond. Charles Arwell was himself the great-grandson of Republican Senator Edward Wallace Arwell who helped build Central Park and was elected for three terms on the back of that accomplishment and not much else. The Senator’s father was Robert Elliot Arwell, a partner of Francis Cabot Lowell, who built the American textile industry, and Robert was one of the few honest men who actually made money from building railroads. And the first Arwell of note went back even further than that.

“I need to take a piss,” Elliot said and levered himself up out of bed. “I take it I can walk?”

“We’ll soon find out,” Dr Hartman replied.

“You went to a real medical school, right?”

“It’s so long ago, who can remember? Let me give you a hand up”.

Elliot shooed the doctor away. All his muscles felt like lead; like they hadn’t moved in weeks, but he wasn’t about to carried to the toilet by anyone. It took him almost a minute to reach the en suite, and even given the size of the room that was pretty slow going.

“Can I ask your medical opinion on something?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said the doctor from the next room.

“Is my urine supposed to bubble?” There was no response. “Dr Hartford?”

“I heard you,” he replied. “Take a shower, it’ll clear your head. We’ll talk about it when you’re done”.

Elliot remembered when he was shot. Three years ago as a lieutenant he’d been leading troops down back streets in some nothing place he couldn’t even remember the name of. A fire fight broke out and one stray bullet, completely at random - they weren‘t even sure if it was an enemy bullet or a ricochet, caught him in the leg. It clipped an artery and he lost a lot of blood. In the chopper the medic had tried anything to keep his mind off the injury. “Sing a song,” the medic had said. And though Elliot reached for “Glory, Glory, Halleluiah”, somehow what came out was Irving Berlin. And, at the medic’s desperate urging, the rest of the chopper sang along.

A whole chopper full of marines, all singing, “I'm putting on my top hat, tying up my white tie, brushing off my tails. I'm duding up my shirt front, putting in shirt studs, polishing my nails”. That part of the incident never made it into the official report, but if he ever wrote an autobiography that was the story he’d tell on chat shows.

Strangely, what Elliot remembered most wasn’t the blood and the pain, it was the forced calm in the medic’s voice.

He showered and dressed and found Dr Hartford sitting on a gold coloured couch, in the day room that looked out onto Central Park.

“Is this something I need to sit down for?” Elliot asked, taking in the bizarre activity he could see from his window.

“If only because it might take a while. It started when a comet hit New York,” he began, and immediately held up his hand to forestall any interruptions. “Listen to the full story. Then ask questions”.

***

“And everyone thinks… what?”

“That you fell down the stairs and banged your head. Nobody saw you get hit by the fragment except me. I’ve been in touch with my medical colleagues and I’ve been watching the news. It seems like people who were struck by fragments have been affected. I thought it would be best not to say anything until we knew more”.

“You’ve been keeping our secrets a long time, Doc”.

“One more or less makes no difference”.

Elliot smiled and so did the doctor.

“This isn’t quite the same thing as my cousin Patrice’s abortion or Sean’s overdose. I could have transformed into something bizarre; I could be a vampire... or a democrat. And did it have to be falling down the stairs? It’s not exactly fitting with my pre-existing super hero persona. Couldn’t you say I was attacked by a bear?”

“You were quite drunk, you were not quite picnicking in ANWR. All I had to do was spill my drink on the step and suddenly it was an accident waiting to happen. Nobody thinks any the less of you. After last night I don’t think anyone is thinking about you at all right now - and maybe that’s for the best. The key point is - do you feel any different?”

“No. I feel exactly the same, if not worse. And where are the staff? Shouldn’t there be people bringing me toast? Well, a person bringing me toast, or a bagel. Or fruit - actually I don‘t feel like fruit. But cereal, ah, cereal”.

“I sent them home for the day. I didn’t know if you were going to shoot lasers all round the place when you woke up”.

“Ok, well, that’s sensible, but this place was mothballed while I was on active service - is there any food in?”

“John has gone out to get you some things, he arrived just after you were injured actually,” Dr Hartford said and Elliot failed to disguise how he felt about that. “He was sorry he missed the party - apparently his flight from Washington was delayed. He was quite worried about you”.

“Good,” Elliot said.

“About which part? That he came to see you or that he was worried about you?”

“Mostly that he’s gone to get food, but the other two things are also fine”.

John should have arrived back right then, but missed his cue to enter dramatically. Elliot would never have missed such a cue. Dr Hartford talked through a range of tests he’d want Elliot to take in a couple of days; precautionary tests. Even if Elliot seemed fine now, there was literally no telling what might have happened to him in ways he didn’t know about. Elliot agreed, but his mind was elsewhere.

Both men heard the apartment door open - some distance away - and Elliot stood up. Dr Hartford remained seated. A moment later John was standing in the doorway clutching two brown bags close to overflowing.

John Robert Granger IV was a graduate of Princeton and Harvard Law School and worked for the third biggest law firm in the US where, if rumours were true, he was on track to be made a partner in less than three years. He was taller than Elliot by a couple of inches. He was funny, too, when he wasn’t being extremely serious in the way of people who actually earned their millions of dollars. He had light brown hair and beautiful green eyes.

He began, “Hey, you’re awa-” but was interrupted when Elliot kissed him. John had a great smell, cedar wood and soap, he always smelt clean and masculine. Elliot held John’s face in his hands and looked at him.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I can’t believe you came back”.

There was a moment where it might not have happened. It’s difficult even for good people and time to remove old wounds. But they’d both learned just how rarely second chances come along. “I love you,” John replied and a jar of tomato sauce burst through the bottom of the overloaded paper bag and headed for the carpet.

Elliot moved his hand from John’s face to catch the jar before it hit the floor.

“Nice reflexes, marine,” John said, taking the jar back. “I’ll just put these in the kitchen. If I can find the kitchen”. He left with a smile.

Elliot and Dr Hartford looked at each other in an impossibly long silence the doctor broke.

“So, how do you feel now?”

“I feel… good”.

“Good?”

“Good”.

“Good”.

“Good,” said John, who’d come back with a ham salad sandwich. Ham salad sandwiches were John’s speciality by virtue of the fact that everything else he made tasted like cardboard, rather than because the sandwiches themselves were objectively good. “I’m glad to hear it”. Elliot took two large bites out of the sandwich.

“I’ll set up those tests we talked about. Just a precaution. You can never be too careful when bumps on the head are concerned. You’ll come by today?”

Elliot said something like yes.

“John, where did you put my coat?”

“I’ll get it, hang on,” he said and left again.

“Today, I mean it. And take it easy”.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Doc”.

“Son, you’ve been on a nine month tour of duty and if the rest of you works as fast as your hands you’ll be done before I reach the elevator”.

“Maybe,” Elliot replied with an arched eyebrow. “But something tells me I’ll recover quickly”.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

“J. Elliot Arwell,” John smiled at him from across a pillow. “I never thought I’d see you again. I never expected you’d send me a letter - how classy was that, you actually sent me a letter - I was touched, but that was slightly creepy that you knew my address”. He sighed. “It’s been five and a half years”.

“I can’t believe you waited for me,” Elliot said.

“Elliot, it’s been five and a half years, I can’t believe you think I waited for you. I got married; I have two daughters and a divorce and all three are wonderful”.

“You old switch-hitter, you. The wife didn’t catch you with the yard boy, did she?”

“I’ve always been faithful. No, it was nothing exciting; it was just slow and sad. Work. We drifted apart. I came home one night and I think we both realised we didn’t know each other anymore. It was like we were both strangers living in someone else’s house. So we sold the house and she moved back to be with her mother - they live not far from here”.

“Oh?”

“In Brooklyn”.

“Ah. And you?”

“The firm have agreed to transfer me from DC to New York permanently. I’m going to be doing some work with your company, funnily enough. But… you already know all this. I can tell you’re just listening to me speak”. John punched him playfully.

“Hey,” Elliot laughed. “I could kick your ass; I’m a decorated war hero”.

“Tinsel and baubles?”

“Purple Heart, Silver Star and, uh, The Medal of Honour”.

“Yeah, what did you win that for?”

“Needlepoint,” Elliot quipped. “Though it didn’t hurt that I was always polite and never late for war”.

“I saw you on the news when the President gave it to you”.

“How was my hair?”

“Elliot. Seriously. I was so proud of you. They said you were ambushed… they said a lot men had been…” John tailed off. “They said it looked hopeless but you still kept fighting. And I thought - that’s exactly the kind of dumb ass thing he’d do”.

Elliot smiled, but it looked fake. “I was ambushed three times in five years, but they only shot me once. Well, they shot me or Private Langlands shot me - we were never sure. You know there are no specific medals for not getting shot. And you’d think that’s the thing we should be encouraging”.

“Did you… did you kill a lot of… am I allowed to ask you that?”

“Yes,” he replied and the smile vanished altogether. “And not again”.

“Sorry, I should have known”.

“Why? Those who speak don’t know, and those who know don’t speak. When our grandfathers - well, not my grandfather - fought in WWII, they were liberating Europe from oppression. There was bloody fighting, but it was interspersed with randy French farm girls and USO shows. My job wasn’t to create peace or secure peace; it was to kill people. Peace was the next guy’s job. And in most of the places I‘ve been the next guy hasn’t arrived yet”.

“So, the British, do they all shout ‘Tally ho’ and ‘Pip, pip’ when they charge the enemy?”

“You understand that I didn’t go to war in the 1800s, right? You’ve met British people, none of them really say ‘Tally ho’. And very little charging goes on anymore”.

“Then war really is hell,” John said sombrely. Elliot laughed.

“Okay, enough. I need to get dressed - again - and I’ve got things to do today”.

“My flight back to DC is this afternoon, but I’m back and forth all the time just now while I finish off work and look for an apartment in the city”.

“Cool, then you’ll move in here with me,” Elliot said, pulling on a pair of jeans.

John punctuated the conversation with mute surprise. “I don’t know, that’s… I mean it’s generous, but…”

“No it isn’t. I love you, I want to bang you like a Salvation Army drum, it makes sense to have you here”.

“My firm doesn’t know that I’m…” John trailed off. He wasn’t technically anything specific.

“I swear to god, John, I know you people bill by the hour but if you could cut down on the long pauses in your conversation, that would be swell. Is Oliver Day still head of the New York office?”

“Yes”.

“Oliver knows”.

“Oliver knows?” John said, sitting up in the bed. “How does Oliver know?”

“I told him,” Elliot replied as he slipped his feat into a pair of loafers. “We - the Arwells - have done a lot of work with Oliver Day and he was intrigued to find out that we had a previous relationship. Which is why he was so eager to approve your transfer; he thinks you’ll be a great asset in dealing with my family”.

“What? Wait. What?”

“I’m an evil genius John, a tactical wizard. I put together a plan to get you back and I executed that plan. Your ex-mother-in-law only moved to Brooklyn 18 months ago; just after you filed for divorce. She works for one of our subsidiary companies. And your twin daughters, Haley and Elliot - by the way I was touched, but that’s slightly creepy - both have places at Dalton in the fall term. They can call me uncle”.

John’s mouth hung slightly open and Elliot kissed it.

“You’re welcome,” Elliot said. “I’ll call you later, after your fury has subsided and you’ve regained the power of speech but before you find out that I‘ve got a moving company on standby to bring your stuff here from DC - oh, wait, damn. Never mind”.

***

The Arwells did not hear the word no. J Elliot Arwell was, in that respect, no different from any other member of his family. They used money like a key; it opened doors. They rarely stopped to consider whether the door wished to be open or closed. They had the kind of preternatural charm found only in the eternally youthful - like vampires - and the eternally rich: it was a not necessarily pleasant thing, but it was bewitching and beguiling nevertheless.

The first Arwell time records was a furniture maker of some small skill. Only a single shipping ledger, dealing with the movement of and payment for goods, exists to prove that he ever lived at all. His name was Gustav Arwell and he lived in what is now the Hamptons. He was dead by 1761, but he might have died as early as 1755.

Gustav’s son was the notoriously named “Black” Jack Arwell and about him there is more information but no more certainty. Jack was born 1743 and died in the winter of 1788 after contracting influenza. The intervening 45 years of his life saw him marked as a rogue, a traitor, a businessman and a patriot - which of those titles he preferred is open to debate.

Jack was a skilled gunsmith, though it’s a mystery where he learned the trade. During the Revolutionary War he supplied weapons to Washington’s army and probably supplied weapons to the British too. A contemporary account claims Jack didn’t so much have changing political allegiances during the conflict so much as he discovered more convenient customers depending on where armies were stationed.

Jack finished the war on the winning side after a tavern brawl left a British Colonel dead and he fled to avoid prosecution. After that “Black” Jack was a figure of local myth often recounted as conducting daring raids against the British with General Washington or even alone. Most of these accounts, historians agree, are fanciful if not flat-out contradictory. But Jack was definitely at the Battle of Bennington and was also at Saratoga where he rallied and commanded two hundred local militia.

Ever the opportunist, Jack used the many contacts he made amongst officers in both armies to smuggle goods up and down the East coast until his death. And the death of Black Jack was the birth of the Arwell fortune. By the turn of the nineteenth century the Arwells had used those contacts and reputation to develop legitimate interests in trading, warehousing and insurance.

Within another century those interests included textiles, steel, timber, oil, copper, silver, Canadian diamonds, cement, munitions and the railroads that carried them. When Senator Arwell died in 1870 his fortune was worth almost 30 million dollars. Perhaps Charles Arwell, reigning patriarch, knew what the entire family fortune was worth now, but nobody else did. Elliot, one of Charles’s eleven grandchildren had a personal fortune of 300 million dollars, only half of which was tied up in his shares of Arwell Enterprises.

From an early age the boy Elliot had been marked for greatness. He attended Collegiate School then West Point Military Academy, in both cases he graduated first in his class. He was an incredible sportsman whose crowning achievement came during the summer of 2008 when he won gold in the modern pentathlon at the Beijing Olympics, being the first American ever to win the event. He went on to win the World Championship in 2010 (active duty prevented him from competing in the 2009 and 2011 championships) and then became the first person to retain his Olympic Gold since 1956, when he won again at the London games in 2012.

For Elliot, everything was possible.

It was in fact his remarkable potential which made his decision following his West Point graduation all the more surprising. It was expected that Elliot would take the place at Yale Law which had been offered to him, serve his time in the Judge Advocate General’s office, or some other area where there was no chance of his blue blood being spilled, before returning to New York for a life in business and politics. And, though it was generally discouraged by the family, some small charitable activities might be permitted.

Arwells were an elite. They did not go to war. If they served at all it was - at worst - aboard heavily armoured battleships or air craft carriers. They never saw the enemy eye-to-eye. They were twenty miles away from the ramifications of their actions at all times.

But that was not the way Elliot worked.

Elliot signed up for five years with the marines.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

Arwell Enterprises found it convenient to own the entire building which sat on East 75th Street opposite the Whitney Museum and towered above its neighbours. The top nine floors were all homes for the family and each apartment in and of itself was a sprawling series of mansions. Charles Arwell, who lived and worked in the glorious two-storey penthouse, had a swimming pool 400 feet in the air - which he did not use - and a helicopter pad - which he used more than the elevator. The remainder of the building was office space except for the layers of sub-basement which were used for parking. A pair of mechanics maintained the Arwell’s fleet of cars and had paid special attention to Elliot’s Aston Martin DBS. The car shone sleekly; aerodynamically - like a black rubber condom - and its interior was the same deep, rich black.

If he were stopped by a police officer and asked to explain why he had taken his brace of hand crafted firearms, his rapier and an old Zorro costume (left over from several Halloweens ago and complete with whip) with him when he left his apartment he would have been left mute. Sometimes things just felt right. Elliot went with it. His instincts almost never let him down.

He slipped the car into third after making the turn onto East 75th and enjoyed the thrum of the engine as the lights turned green in front of him.

“Call - Mac,” he said to the car’s onboard computer.

“Calling Mac,” the car replied in the voice of Angela Lansbury. Elliot had wanted a car that would engage with him in witty repartee and help fight crime (mostly witty repartee), but it seemed that such a car was still fantasy rather than reality. The best it could do was make calls and tell him where the nearest Starbucks was in a selection of voices including Murder She Wrote, Woody Allen and Mr T. A car is like a shark, it needs to keep moving forward at the next junction or it dies. I pity the fool who doesn’t turn left. And so on.

Apparently the navigation system was so sophisticated that it would not take you to Queens.

“Hello,” said a voice that was not Angela Lansbury’s.

“Hey Mac,” Elliot said.

“Hey Chief,” said Mac, sounding immediately more positive. “Are you back in town?”

“I am indeed. My commission is finished and I am officially a free man”.

“A free man, Captain? I thought you were in for life - gunnin’ for top brass”.

“Mmm,” Elliot replied. It was a sound that managed to convey absolutely no information. “Dinner?”

“Sure, I’ve always got time for you”.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven”.

Mac hesitated, “You want to go out?”

“See you at seven,” Elliot replied and hung up.

“That call lasted 32 seconds,” Angela informed him. Elliot was never sure what to do with that information. “Turn right up ahead, then go straight on”.

((Unless unexpected events are encountered, head over to doctor's for tests))

[blennus]

Sakamoto Ryouma (No superhero name yet)
Time: Morning

He was about to exit the taxi when it continued on again. Apparently it had only slowed down due to traffic. He wondered how much longer the ride was going to last when the woman started talking.


"So, you're what, a karate instructor? My kid takes karate".

He wondered why it was that so many Americans assumed that he taught or practiced martial arts, simply because of his Asian countenance. He had never before said or implied anything of the sort, and his special judo-gi that he was wearing under his clothes were not visible. However the fact that her son took karate might be good for him. Especially having such a tramp as a mother, it might do him good to learn discipline and self mastery. “I have taught judo in the past and have experience in various martial arts. However I no longer teach.”

Summary: Just some small talk.

[The_Snark]

Elliot

The unnecessarily luxurious car pulls into the hospital's parking garage, which looks rather less crowded than a parking area in the middle of the city usually was. That might be surprising, given the morning's recent events, except that the people who desperately needed a hospital rarely drove themselves.

The hospital waiting room contains several rows of cushioned seats (the cost of cusions being a pittance, compared with more space for parking in New York), occupied by a few scattered people reading magazines or watching the large TV fixed in a ceiling corner. The screen features a reporter rather animatedly discussing the morning's events with somebody the scrolling text at the bottom declared to be a Dr. Alan Greene, presumably an interviewee—though the reporter is doing most of the talking. The doctor seems stiff and unused to being on television, and judging by what little Elliot hears him say, doesn't want to make wild speculations, whereas the reporter is quite willing to do so.

The closest receptionist of three, a brown-haired man somewhere between "young" and "gracefully middle-aged", glances up, asking simply, "Appointment?"

James and Sakamoto

"Retired, huh? Guess it's a young man's game," Candice says, pocketing the packet of gum. The cab driver takes a sharp turn at a rather deserted intersection; one without a traffic light, which ordinarily would have been hellishly crowded.

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino

A few of the bullets plow furrows through Nick's skin, but many more simply slide off. He laughs, long and low, then, looking to make sure Bobby can't see him, straightens up. In the space of a moment, black specks appear all over his skin, and expand rapidly until they meet and connect, forming a glossy black, scaled armor covering the entirety of Nick's body. He chuckles as the last two scales slide across his eyes like sunglasses, all of his worries disappearing in the adrenaline rush. He is recognizable now only by his clothing, and he strides confidently across the warehouse, ignoring the possibility of other goons in the shadows, to the pillar the Tokyo joke had been hiding behind. Facing him Nick glowers menacingly, "This was the wrong warehouse to pick, buddy." Reaching for the man's gun, he suggests "Why don't you call off this little assault, eh?"

Free action - activate armor
Move action - cross warehouse
Standard action - touch attack on his machine gun: [roll0] On a successful attack, the gun takes [roll1] acid damage.
Free action - speak to him.
Intimidate check*: [roll2]

Questionable rules legality: By RAW, Intimidate checks have listed action lengths for them. By common sense, though, I don't see how what Nick's doing could possibly *not* have the effect of an Intimidate check. If you rule that Nick doesn't have the action to do this, just let me know.

Also, apologies to Tar and blennus for the slow response. I will make responding in this combat a top priority from here until you guys arrive, as I sense you're slowly running out of RP. Snark, if you want to respond just to me to make the combat move fast enough for them to arrive, I'm okay with that, too. :smallwink:

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

The old man sits back in the quiet of his brownstone condominium, staring absently at the window. At first, the inactive television screen is as black and reflective as the windows, then as the sun comes up over the park, the trees are brushed with green and gold, and the gleaming spires of the city shine, the brownstones and apartment buildings lined up like silent guardians bordering the park. He sips his coffee and glances at the bedroom where his guest retired a short while before. I hope she'll be all right... I hope we all will. He turns back to the park, looking over the rectangular swath. The Spirit of Broadway... an interesting character, and one I would like to meet. How to arrange such a thing is a bit more difficult I imagine than the wanting of it, I doubt she has a booking agent. He sips his coffee, pondering. She seemed to be using her powers as one who helped others... perhaps if I took up a similar vein of activity we might have a chance to meet. A glimmer off of one of the tall spires seemed to shine like an omen as he watched the park slowly creeping back to life, though rather than the usual activities, it mostly seemed to be officials assessing the damage and keeping bystanders at bay. Even in the best of times, the park is plagued with drugs, gang activity, and assorted misdemeanors, perhaps I'll take the park as my regular patrol and eventually I might meet the lady in question... but what nom de guerre to use? He chuckles to himself. I imagine we'll be seeing our share of Big Apples, Major Manhattans, and other New York associated heroes and fools. He stops his rumination and smiles. Fools... perhaps an April Fool? It's always been significant for me. He sets his coffee down, and goes over to the spare bedroom, moving quietly so as not to wake his guest.

Going through the wardrobe, carefully, he pulls out his white tie and tails, top hat, opera cape, cane and a plain white mask for over the eyes. He ponders his selection, then sets out some gold cufflinks in the pattern of the Greek comedy/tragedy masks. He ponders his selection, "Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent."

[The_Snark]

Nick

Nick's black-coated hands grasp the barrel for a second. He tries to jerk it away, sneering with his one good eye widened in surprise that anybody would try to pull a stunt like that. His surprise turns to astonishment as only part of the gun comes away with him; the barrel has been eaten clean through. Nick is treated to another short burst of angry and startled Japanese profanity as the Yakuza starts backing away, then he says something louder, dropping the hissing remains of the gun.

As if to finally acknowledge your offer in a way an average American can actually understand, he nods, glowering.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

"Elliot Arwell," he said. The name was like a fire engine, people stopped to look at it and wonder where it was going. If Elliot remembered rightly, the Arwells had built a wing of this hospital in order to avoid paying tax on their earnings from the sale of gas fields in Khazakstan during an unexpected price hike in 2006 when the Russians were threatening to stop supplying the Ukraine.

Elliot, who had enjoyed the benefits of a classical education and had been well-schooled in thinking clearly while being shot at, was seldom surprised. But he'd boggled at the loopholes the company accountants had jumped through in order to turn a $90m tax liability into a $3m tax deduction using a $40m donation to a foreign hospital. Similarly surprised was the Khazak government, who launched a legal challenge (which they lost), closed the loopholes and sacked their deputy finance minister.

"Ha!" Charles Arwell had remarked at the time.

"Doctor Hartford is expecting me".

"Of course, sir," replied the receptionist. "Doctor Hartford has prepared everything for your insurance physical. If you follow me I'll get you some clothes to change into".

My insurance physical. The sly old dog. It made sense of course; now that he wasn't in a war zone he would officially fall under the broad category of "corporate officer" as he was a non-executive director of Arwell Enterprises. The company would have estimated his value in terms of PR and expertise (mostly PR) and insured itself in the unlikely event of his death.

He put on a pair of hospital issue sweats and a t-shirt and was met in the fitness suite by Dr Hartford.

"Going all out, are we?" Elliot asked, looking over the plethora of machines which had been prepared.

"Better safe than-"

"Positive. I know".

Dr Hartford frowned disapprovingly. "Get on the damn treadmill. We'll start with basic tests of stamina, lung capacity, strength, flexibility... reflexes. Then I have you scheduled for an MRI, a CT and full blood work. I'll be the only one who sees any of the results".

"Can I have a Kitkat?"

"Are you pregnant?"

"It's just I see that there's a Kitkat lying over there by your clipboard and I'm hungry".

"So what you mean is - can you have my Kitkat?"

"If I stop halfway through an exercise to go to the vending machine down the hall to buy a Kitkat, will that in any way change the results?"

Dr Hartford tossed him the Kitkat.

"Thanks. Besides, I don't have any change in these pants. It was an empty threat. An empty threat!" Elliot bites in and gives a muffled evil laugh. "Mwahahaha".

"Have you noticed an increased appetite," Dr Hartford asked and quickly added. "For food". Elliot nodded. "That could be significant. Until we know a bit more about what's happened to you I'd recommend you keep food with you at all times. And I'd also recommend it wasn't candy".

"You're suggesting I bring a bag lunch? You think the comet fragment may have made me uncool?"

"For the time being I want to ensure you're getting all the nutrients your body needs. Try to monitor how much you're eating and exercising," he said and made a note on his clipboard. "Now, put that tube in your mouth and... stop sniggering... and we'll start these tests".

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino, round 3

Well, at least he didn't run or shout. Nick raises his gun without warning and fires into the man's face from a foot away. You'd think a guy with his apparent smarts would realize fast that I couldn't have let him live to begin with, let alone after he saw this. Nick pans the room quickly once, looking for remaining Yakuza other than the one he's seen and cocking an ear to make sure Bobby's still in the truck (would be unfortunate if he saw this, too). Then, gun in hand, he stalks across the room toward the goon he'd seen duck behind some crates.

For visual purposes: His armor covers all his body, not just exposed skin. Aside from the "sunglasses" covering his eyes, there's small holes for nostrils and mouth. There's really nothing to identify him by except his general height (though his build is somewhat difficult to make out now), and whatever clothes he happens to be wearing.

Nick is listening this entire time for Bobby. If at any point he hears the truck stop (though I presume it's pulling away), he'll want to take action.

As for firing the gun, d20 rules don't seem to provide bonuses for firing at point-blank range, though intuition dictates that there should be substantial ones. Also, I realize that my post completely assumes that I'll take him down in one shot - I didn't really see a way around that at the moment, so I'll just edit if need be.

Edit: Okay, that damage is iffy, so: if Nick doesn't take him down...well, he doesn't have another attack (as he forgot to declare either of the feats that would give him them at the beginning of the round), so I guess he'll just walk up to the guy, menacingly of course.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Wiz]

Rudy Valentine

Rudy looks through his things til he has basically three of the same or similar outfits and by chance pulls out a joke gift someone gave him during an earlier time. He fans out a tarot deck... 76 cards, all of which are The Fool. Appropriate, as a calling card. He packs everything into an empty trunk that he pulls out from under the bed, he locks it and pushes it back. He then wanders out into the living area and sits down, watching out the window for a while til he falls asleep.

Rudy wakes with a start. Evening is coming on and activity has dropped to nil in the park. Police tape still cordons off the entranceways, but they are no longer manned with police. He rises, stretching, then goes to his bedroom and taps gently on the door. There is no answer, and when he opens it a crack he can see the bed is empty. He looks around the apartment, but there is no sign of his guest. I suppose she went to meet her friends. I hope she is all right. He looks at his hands and feels his face. Interesting. I apparently revert to my base form when I sleep... I wonder if my guest noticed anything before she left? He goes to his wardrobe, unlocks the chest and lays out his outfit. Then he goes to the kitchen and prepares another large meal which he finishes with some relish, then takes another shower and dries off, thinking about tonight. I suppose we shall see what we shall see, it will be interesting to see what happens. He dresses up in his complete outfit and then looks in the mirror, adjusting his face to Clark Gable. He puts the white mask over his eyes... Just in case someone might recognize me! He chuckles to himself. He pockets a few of the cards, adjusts his cufflinks and takes stock of the overall effect. The Gentleman Adventurer... surely a hero from a bygone age! He checks the hallway to make sure it is empty and moves out and up onto the roof of his brownstone leaving the apartment locked behind him. With a quick leap he jumps quietly to the adjacent building, and lands even farther than he planned. He smiles to himself and begins leaping from building to building til he comes about halfway around the park. The street is relatively deserted below, so he descends on the fire escape and exits the alley to cross the street and enter Central Park. As he strolls down one of the pathways of the park he smiles to himself, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.."

[The_Snark]

Nick

As Nick brings his gun up, the fellow bolts, moving surprisingly quickly to dart behind a row of crates piled higher than a man's head. Nick manages to get his shot off anyway, and he's pretty sure he managed to hit somewhere in the shoulder or the arm. Footsteps tell him the Yak hasn't stopped yet. If the other one's poked his head out from behind his wall of electronic goods, Nick missed it.

(In short, he had a readied action. Given Nick's reflexes and the point-blank range, I gave you a Dex check to get the shot in, but it didn't take him down. Both enemies are currently out of sight, but Nick could get around to see where he last saw either with his remaining move action.)

Rudy

The sidewalk is eerily uncrowded for late afternoon in New York, and nobody is really within seeing distance; one or two cars pass, but nobody stops. The gentleman hero quickly determines that the Inferno took place on the north edge of the park; the rest of it is untouched, and quite empty. Some of the flowerbushes are blooming, and the morning's mist has entirely vanished, leaving the sun to hang low in a clear sky over the park. It's quite nice out, and the park might be mistaken for virgin soil, if of course it weren't for the background buildings and city noise, the paved walkways, the benches, and the crumpled soda can Rudy notices lying on the grass next to the path.

Perhaps not so pristine, then. But the pre-sunset light still pervades the trees, making for a nice walk. Nice enough, in fact, that it takes Rudy a moment to realize that the row of bushes he is looking at are not casting the right shadow; they have the odd sort of shadow found in sports stadiums, and other places where two bright lights shine from different directions. Something is illuminating the bushes—and the nearby trees as well—from the south.

[Wiz]

April Fool (Rudy Valentine)

Looking like Clark Gable dressed in white tie and tails, the gentleman adventurer tips his top hat to his doubled shadow and then looks south from whence the second sunset paints the world in twins. "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?" With a flourish of his opera cape, and gripping his cane in one white-gloved hand, he runs off the path and through the trees toward the illumination. Moving effortlessly, he relishes the feeling of his body moving with athletic prowess, not merely forgotten, but never before known; his kinesthetic senses scream with hyper awareness of movement and balance. As he approaches the source of the lights he slows down, moving quietly through the trees and keeping to the shadows.


Hide in Shadows: [roll0]
Move Silently: [roll1]

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino, round 3 continued

This is officially dragging on too long. Nick runs after the man. Eyeballing the crates as he gets closer, he notes that the'yre home entertainment systems. That should be heavy enough, he thinks as he tucks the gun into his belt for a moment. With both hands free, he runs on all fours up the side of the wall of crates, pulling the gun back out of his belt as he reaches the top. Good luck running, he sneers.

I'm glad you guys get here soon - I'll finally get to RP with another PC in one of these games!! (and how weird is it that it's Tar_Palantir I run into in both games, at close to the same time?)

[The_Snark]

Nick

The man is framed in an open doorway, caught in the process of drawing a pistol from his belt. As Nick rounds the corner, the Yakuza ducks so that he's partway behind the doorframe, and opens fire with the pistol. He shoots well, but the bullet that strikes home glances off Nick's thick black skin-sheath without penetrating it.

((Note- This was his action before Nick climbs up; post OOC to say if you want to change Nick's action, but don't take your next round just yet.))

[The_Snark]

Nick

The one-eyed fellow continues to fire, working the pistol in short bursts. The ceiling behind Nick is probably riddled with a few bullets, but not all of them missed.

((Take [roll0] damage, Reflex DC 15 for half.))

Rudy

Slipping silently through the trees, it's easy to follow the source of the light. Some twent yards away from Rudy, a figure perches in a tree, glowing the same shade of light as the low-hanging sun. In fact, the figure looks almost ethereal, as if carved completely from golden-white light made solid. It (the light and the distance make it hard to tell the figure's gender) is holding loosely to a branch with one hand with both feet wedged between a lower branch and the tree's trunk, leaning out and looking west at the sun.

[Wiz]

April Fool (Rudy Valentine)

Seeing the figure, and not sensing any immediate hostility from it, he steps from behind his tree and forward into the clearing where he doffs his hat and bows. "Good evening, sir or madam of the highly illuminated nature."

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

"Well," Dr Hartford said. "The good news is that you're in excellent shape. You've got those Arwell genes; if you eat right and exercise regularly then you'll live to be a hundred".

"Then what are we paying you for?" Elliot asked. He had changed back from the various hospital clothes back into his own and they were now sitting in Dr Hartford's office.

"The other good news," Dr Hartford continued. "Is that there's nothing which I would expect to show up on any medical test as unsual. Your bones, your skin, your major organs are all perfectly normal and your blood is the same as it always was. The key difference is that your nervous system looks like it has been completely rewired. Signals travel through normal nerve tissue as fast as 100 meters per second - in the average person. You were significantly above normal already, but we're now looking at something that performs perhaps faster than fibre optics".

"Which explains why I'm wicked fast - to say nothing of handsome".

"But your reactions still need to be processed by your brain and performed by your muscles, which is why you can't run faster than a horse. This new nervous system seems to demand a lot more energy. If you don't eat - or if anything gets in the way of it working, then you'll find your strength and cognitive function will retard rapidly".

Elliot considered this.

"That has to be one of the most boring super powers I've ever heard of. I mean, it's better than having a really good sense of smell, but that's not saying much".

"I want to see you again the day after tomorrow and I want you to call me right away if you feel any different. Stay out of trouble".

It was the afternoon by the time the tests were finished and Elliot was back in his car. He had a few hours to kill before he was due to see Mac. It felt good to back in his city again and he let the car find its own way.

[The_Snark]

April Fool

The figure turns its head slightly to look down at Rudy. Close to, it's still impossible to make out gender; if it had any hair or clothing, it isn't apparent above the glow. "Hello." Its voice is high, either a boy whose voice hadn't deepened yet or a girl.

It looks at him for a few seconds, curiously, then remarks, "You're wearing a mask."

Nick

((Your shots from round 4 hit the doorframe; his action remains the same. Your turn, now on round 5.))

Elliot

The afternoon streets are pretty quiet for a weekday in the city as Elliot drives about, although it isn't rush hour just yet. There is a sense that people in the city are cautiously starting to go about their business again, now that several hours have passed and nothing has been blown up since the morning hours. The lack of responsibility is particularly pleasant—Elliot's family would not be disrupting his plans for the evening with dinner invitations, not so soon after a potential injury. Presumably Dr. Hartford would inform them he was fine, but until then he was probably safe.

The car coasts to a stop behind another couple at a street light. A distinguished older-looking gentleman is sitting on a bench on the sidewalk, reading a newspaper; he glances up, and meets Elliot's eyes with an affable nod, tipping his hat. The man's weathered face, nearly-white mustache, and the old-fashioned brown cap ring a bell in Elliot's mind: one John Ferriman, a businessman and one of the primary stockholders of Arwell Enterprises satellite corp Jersey Shipping. Among other things; Elliot wasn't older than fifteen the last time they met, but he recalls Ferriman had been reasonably well-off in business for some time. He was a family acquaintance as well as a business associate, albeit not a close one; nevertheless, an acquaintance of the Arwells was a step up on the social ladder from a simple stockholder.

[Wiz]

April Fool (Rudy Valentine)

Clark Gable rises from his bow and puts on his top hat, "You are correct in that... 'Truth is truth, to the end of reckoning.'" He gestures around the park with his cane, "From far, from eve and morning and yon twelve-winded sky, the stuff of life to knit me blew hither; here am I." He smiles, "You may call me April Fool, if you like; by what name would you like me to call your brightness?"

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

Elliot drew the car to a halt a little up the street. New York, like every metropolis of millions, had the illusion of being very small, of consisting of cities within a city. It's various citizens passed by each other like ghosts until they saw the one face in a hundred that made them feel they knew everyone. Villages did not work that way; everyone did actually know everyone.

The DBS beeped and locked itself as he walked away from it. "Mister Ferriman, isn't it?" Elliot said, extending his hand. "We've met - I'm Elliot Arwell".

Elliot sits down on the bench. "How are you, sir?"

[The_Snark]

April Fool

The figure tilts its head, drifting sideways slightly; and with that motion, it is possible to tell that the figure is using the tree more as an anchor than a climbing perch. "A... name? Huh." It contemplates this for a few moments, and then adds thoughtfully, "I don't really know. What do you want to call me?"

Elliot

"Elliot?" He peers up at you as you sit down, then chuckles. "By God, that is you. Haven't seen you in a while. I'm well, quite well. I just finished moving in here, in fact. Picked quite a time to do it." The paper is now lying flat on Ferriman's lap, ignored, but Elliot can see at least two headlines detailing the comet and one discussing the damage done to Central Park. With the TV stations scrambling to cover every event as it happened, the newspapers had no doubt decided to try to provide more detail, even when it wasn't really available. "Heard you'd joined the army, Elliot. Are you on leave, or are you out of that now?"

[Wiz]

April Fool (Rudy Valentine)

The masked fool smiles and bows, removing his hat again as he recites. "Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he, that frights the maidens of the villagery; skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, and bootless make the breathless housewife churn; and sometime make the drink to bear no barm; mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck, you do their work, and they shall have good luck: are not you he?" He looks up at the glowing faerie-like form quizically.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

"A five year officer's commission," Elliot explains. "It's part of the conditions of attending West Point". West Point had a set of very stringent requirements for admission, and while Elliot was exceptional even by the academy's definition, it was probably the personal letter of recommendation from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Defence Staff that had assured his place.

"My commission technically had another month to run, but because of an extended period of active duty I was going to be on leave from now until July, so my CO agreed to bring it forward".

"And you, sir? Are you still in the same line of business?"

A thought occurred to Elliot as his eye scanned the newspaper for only the briefest of moments. He knew how traumatic a killing field like the one caused by this Towering Inferno could be; he'd seen... he made himself stop and count them, for he was not a passive witness to horror who had the luxury of forgetting details... seven such scenes. But whether he liked it or not - and he didn't - experience inevitably made it easier to compartmentalise, rationalise, delimit, explain, understand and ignore any situation.

As a result, it was the damage to Central Park that fired his synapses. He wondered if his grandfather had already had that same thought.

[The_Snark]

April Fool

“All right," it says after a second, sounding confused by the actor's dive into dramatic discourse. “Puck, then, or Robin.” Its gaze wanders back to the western sky. "I feel," it adds thoughtfully, "like I ought to be chasing it. It's going to go away if I don't, isn't it?"

Elliot

"Yes... for now at least. I've been in the business for a long time, and recently I've started to consider retiring. Maybe find myself a hobby. I've got enough stashed by the wayside to keep me going for a while." He leans back. "West Point, eh? So you're finally done with school and all the little technicalities they slip into the admission form. Do you know where you're going next?"

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

That was the $64,000 question. Elliot was no more prepared to answer it now than he was 10 years ago; in truth he doubted that he'd ever be able to satisfy anyone, let alone himself, with an answer.

"Well I'm obviously still involved with the company. But there's really nowhere to go. The old man's the biggest shareholder and he'll stay in post until I'm old and grey. Even if I wanted to run the thing, which I don't, I'm not going to hang around 20 or 30 years waiting for my grandfather to die".

"My mother - you know Catherine Arwell, right? - she threw a welcome home party and invited everyone in New York politics. I think she'd like me to stand for congress as my first step towards world domination. She's been very Manchurian Candidate since my father died".

Elliot shrugged. He was, by default, honest.

"Truth is, I don't have any plans. Though I can still give the piano a fair lick; I figure if nothing else turns up then I could be a fairly mediocre lounge act".

[harmonictempest]

Nick

Damn it, this is friggin' enough. Bullets whiz around Nick, and a volley that would have killed a normal man barely scratches his armor as he dodges and weaves through the fusillade. Heah's hopin' this fight doesn't draw too much attention on a day like today. He leaps off the crates, replacing his pistol for a significantly larger one, and rounding the door frame, unloading another bullet into the overdressed Yakuza's face.

Successful Reflex save reduces damage to 8, DR reduces it to 3.

Move action to close with the Yakuza while exchanging guns (he has two shoulder holsters, so there's a place for each), standard action to fire.
Attack: [roll0]
Damage:[roll1]

Because Bobby's been gone a while, he'll use a free action to "un-armor" if he drops the Yakuza (then will go look for the last guy next round).

I believe the taxi pulls up in front of the building at the end of the next round.

[Wiz]

April Fool

The masked figure looks up at the setting sun, "It will go away if you chase it, or not, but worry not, it will be back in twelve hours... give or take." He points to the sun with his cane, "One generation passes away, and another generation comes; but the earth abides forever. The sun also rises, and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it arose. The wind goes toward the south, and turns around to the north; the wind whirls about continually, and comes again on its circuit. All the rivers run into the sea, Yet the sea is not full; to the place from which the rivers come, there they return again."

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

Cryxx buzzed as he tried to vocalise what could only be a 'hmm' of deep thought. Surely if he had a goatee he would stroke it.
As it was, his thinking was creeping from angles which were new to him, and so had to be considered carefully. This situation had never come up before.

"Not-prey... bigger than prey. Not-prey try to make me prey. If they fail, I can zzztill eat not-prey. I could zztill eat you. But you... you were not..."

His mind searches for the correct word amongst his increasing vocabulary.

"You were not hunting me.
So, if not prey, and not hunter... what arrrrre you? And why... should I 'Let you go'?"



OOC: I... return!

Scott Faraday

Whatever Scott was expecting when he left his lab, having to explain basic ideas to an overgrown spider was not one of them. The good doctor considers simply mentally coercing the spider to let him go, but decides against it.

Again, the challenge is too good to pass up.

<I am simply neither predator nor prey. I am neither your enemy nor your ally... at least until you attempt to make one of either. As for why you should let me go... more of my kind... more humans... live in this city than you can imagine. There are people who would miss me if I dissappeared and if they found you... then you would become prey and my kind would hunt you. For you own safety, let me go.>

[The_Snark]

April Fool

It continues to stare, leaning out precariously. Very precariously, in fact; the glowing Puck's hands are only loosely holding to the tree's branches. "But it's going now. I don't want it to go."

Elliot

"Mmm hmmm." Ferriman makes an affirmative noise, staring out across the street. The lights change, and a single car accelerates past. "Spent a good bit of my life the same way. I think a lot of people do." He falls silent, looking as if he's musing on old memories.

Nick

Nick can see the man's startlement as he leans around the corner to come nearly face-to-face with the ebon-sheathed mobster. The Yakuza is already turning to run as Nick pulls the trigger, and he takes Nick's bullets somewhere in the back, staggering but not falling down just yet.

He's surprisingly fast for a guy who's just been shot, managing to avoid Nick's followup shot and get out of the alleyway onto the street.

You're in a smallish alleyway that opens onto the street fifteen or twenty feet away. Street is still looking pretty empty, and the guy was holding his side when he started running. You currently aren't in sight of the front door, where Bobby (and possibly others) might be; the back door is hidden from the front by the same crates you just climbed over.

Sakamoto/James

The cab rounds a corner and swerves to an abrupt halt, just behind a truck parked almost on the curb (James's keen policeman senses tell him the truck's parking job is definitely ticketworthy). "Right, you're there. Get." There's a box of something lying on the sidewalk, and just under and beside it what looks like a body, which is probably the reason the driver wants you out.

Candice is already getting out on the street side.

Listen checks at DC 15 will give you the sound of silenced gunfire, which either of them could identify if familiar with it, and footsteps inside the building. Any sort of inspection will show you the hole in the wall near the far corner, but given the two people dead of bulletwounds in the doorway, you may not get that far.

[evisiron]

OOC: I... return!

Scott Faraday

Whatever Scott was expecting when he left his lab, having to explain basic ideas to an overgrown spider was not one of them. The good doctor considers simply mentally coercing the spider to let him go, but decides against it.

Again, the challenge is too good to pass up.

<I am simply neither predator nor prey. I am neither your enemy nor your ally... at least until you attempt to make one of either. As for why you should let me go... more of my kind... more humans... live in this city than you can imagine. There are people who would miss me if I dissappeared and if they found you... then you would become prey and my kind would hunt you. For you own safety, let me go.>


Cryxx

Cryxx's mind was working hard. This creatures words held truth, but did that mean co-operation was a good idea? As for the hunting, creatures from his past life could leave trails for others to follow. Perhaps these things could do something similar.

Even if this was not the case, Cryxx was already in one of their colonies, and did not know how to get out.

Lifting a claw like hand, Cryxx rakes through his webbing piece by piece, eating it to re-absorb the spent proteins and crafting replacement webbing in his abdomen.


"I will llllet you gooo. But I muzt know morrrrre of thiz world. Tell me morre. What is thiz place?"

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

((spot check [roll0]))

"My grandfather would never understand that, nor would his, come to think of it," Elliot says. "That's the thing about being the twelfth documented generation of a family. I know the names of every dead relative who would disapprove of me, but none of the guys who would understand".

He chuckles at that.

[harmonictempest]

Nick

The goon who just wouldn't die, huh? Well, I can't let him get away now that he's seen my new duds. Nick's armor fades the same way it appeared as he steps out into the alleyway. Feeling more vulnerable but no less sure of success, he runs after the Yakuza for a few moments before pausing to bring up the gun once more, taking an extra second to steady his aim rather than loosing an extra bullet.

If one move action down to the end of the alley way is enough to bring the Yakuza in sight, he'll fire. Otherwise...um, let me know, and I'll adjust. :-)

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[Wiz]

April Fool

He watches the glowing figure, preparing to spring forward should gravity seem to reassert it's hold on Puck. "Have you the power and the speed to follow it? Is it's light vital to your existence... as it is now?"

[The_Snark]

April Fool

"What?" it says, sounding perplexed. "I just want to get to it." It springs into the air.

Although any scriptwriter who noted such a thing down as springing would need to scribble the word out a moment later, and maybe replace it with drift. Puck appears to be close to weightless, but hasn't bothered to push off with very much force; he or she tumbles very slowly upward and in a vaguely western direction.

Elliot

There are a couple more cars passing them on the street, and a few people on the sidewalks, as well; a middle-aged woman walking a calm-looking dog on the other side of the street, a group of three young men just passing the bench, and a young woman approaching very slowly from the opposite direction, using a hand to steady herself against the wall.

Ferriman chuckles. "You had to memorize the family tree, eh? Well. Your family aside, I think there's a lot of people who know what you're talking about. My advice, go find something you like to do. Play the piano at minimum wages, or something. Your mother'll love that."

Nick

The street fortunately is still empty on this side as Nick leans out of the alleyway to take his shot. He hits the fleeing Yak pretty solidly in the back, sending him down in a heap on the sidewalk.

[Wiz]

April Fool

The tuxedo-clad hero bounds after the drifting Puck, shouting "You can't get to it... it's a million times bigger than the whole Earth and over 36 million central parks away!" As he runs, unwinded, the fool chants, "I try to please the day by telling him how bright you are—so bright that you take the sun's place when clouds cover the sky."

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

"Well," Elliot says, rising from the bench. "It was nice to see you again, sir. Have a good day".

Elliot checks for traffic and crosses the street.

From some distance away from the woman clutching the wall he asks, "Miss, are you alright?" Because, yeah, super - but still - Hep C and... cooties.

[harmonictempest]

Nick, round 6

Better. Keeping gun at the ready, Nick turns back into the warehouse, looking for that last punk who had ducked out of sight. Hope Bobby gets back soon...

Hmm...I thought I replied already. Apparently, I merely composed the answer in my head.

Spending both move actions this round to look for that last punk who ducked out of sight earlier. I'm...pretty sure he did so before I turned the armor on, but I can't remember. Any case, the armor's off now.

[The_Snark]

April Fool

Puck makes no reply, continuing to drift slowly west while spinning gently head over heels. He or she twists in midair, trying to face the sun, and from what the Fool can make out of its face, it looks piqued at its inability to go any faster.

Puck is about fifteen feet up at the moment, should Rudy wish to try and catch it.

Elliot

Ferriman tips his hat and settles back to reading the paper.

The woman eyes him warily as he approaches, coming to a stop. Not that she was moving very fast to begin with, keeping her eyes on her feet and putting each one down very slowly. If Elliot had to place her ethnicity, he might have said Asian; he might also have said mongrel, like so many Americans. In any event, her black hair does not look particularly well combed, her shirt and jeans are both less-than-spotless, and she's giving Elliot the same sort of look one might have expected her to give a door-to-door salesman persistently trying to push a patently false gold wristwatch.

"Yeah, sure," she says after a few seconds, still eyeing him suspiciously. Her stomach grumbles audibly, and she grimaces, giving herself the lie. "Just fine."

Nick

The last Yak is crouched behind one of the cleaned-out shelves, gun in hand but facing away from Nick. Bobby is nowhere to be seen, but about half the warehouse is still blocked by shelves and crates.

[harmonictempest]

Nick

Just one more... He frowns as he carefully takes aim and lets off a volley of shots at the unsuspecting figure. Messy stuff, and a lot of bodies for one day, but when the boss asks you to clear out the place...well, you do. Besides, after showin' off that armor, you couldn't afford to let there be witnesses walking around after. Just as he pulls the trigger, a small voice in the back of his head asks what the guy was looking at...

Attack 1:
Attack 2: [roll1]
Attack 3: [roll2]

Damage 1: [roll3]
Damage 2: [roll4]
Damage 3: [roll5]

Rapid Shot and TWF each grant one extra attack, at cumulative -2 penalties.

Two action point rollsNot using them. I'll decide after the post if I need either of them. They're in a spoiler so that I can decide whether I'm using them before I see them. [roll6] [roll1d6

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

"Your mouth says yes, but your body says no. It's almost always the other way round".

"Seriously, you look like (I hope) you've seen better days. Anything I can do?"

Soldiers - regular infantry - got a lot of this. They handed out food while trying to avoid getting shot. Elliot had supervised the process once and it gave him a different perspective on silver service, dessert after a play and breakfast at Elaine's.

He'd rather get shot first thing in the morning than have to give starving people food. Physical danger was easy - nobody wanted or expected introspection under fire.

[Wiz]

April Fool

The man makes a running leap to grab at the floating faerie form. "Though it has been said that, 'The love of heaven makes one heavenly.' I'd not have you prove in by visiting heaven in person."


Jump [roll0]
Touch Attack (Grab) [roll1]

[The_Snark]

April Fool

The Fool's hands wrap about the floating figure's ankles with ease. It is much like grabbing onto a balloon: both of them immediately come crashing down. Puck is all but weightless.

"Ow!" she or he complains from the ground, sounding more annoyed than hurt. "What was that for? What are you talking about, anyway?"

Elliot

She continues eyeballing him, like she's not sure what to make of Elliot. "Probably not," she says at first, then abruptly adds, "What do you care, anyway?" Evidently, she has decided to err on the side of hostility.

Nick

The fellow is riddled with bullets, immediately slumping unmoving against the shelving.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

There it was again. Why did people keep demanding reasons from him? Wasn't it enough that he just could? This woman had nothing Elliot could possibly want - of course you tell someone that and they're bound to get offended.

"You know, I'm not seeing the line of people waiting to assist you with what looks to be crippling pain of some kind. I mean if there's a guy behind me I don't see who looks more trustworthy, then by all means, let me step aside and let that knight in shining armour do his stuff".

Elliot looks over his shoulder and then peers down the street behind the woman. He turns his attention back to her.

"It would seem not. So is it my damn help, or no damn help?"

Patience was, Elliot considered, a theoretical virtue. It was almost always better to do something than to just wait for something to happen.

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

Cryxx's mind was working hard. This creatures words held truth, but did that mean co-operation was a good idea? As for the hunting, creatures from his past life could leave trails for others to follow. Perhaps these things could do something similar.

Even if this was not the case, Cryxx was already in one of their colonies, and did not know how to get out.

Lifting a claw like hand, Cryxx rakes through his webbing piece by piece, eating it to re-absorb the spent proteins and crafting replacement webbing in his abdomen.


"I will llllet you gooo. But I muzt know morrrrre of thiz world. Tell me morre. What is thiz place?"

Scott Faraday

Scott drops down from the torn webbing and staggers a little as he tries to regain his footing.

<This place is called... New York City. It is home to around twenty million humans. It is one of the largest human cities, colonies if you will, but there are colonies everywhere you go>

Scott looks at the creature in front of him and makes a slight friendly smile.

<Before I answer any more questions, spider-man, allow me to make one request from you. May I have a name? Something to call you unique to yourself?>

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx stodd still for several moments. A 'name'? The meaning of the word was known to him, but the concept was difficult to grasp. What the use use of a name when all there was in the way of interaction was eat, be eaten or flee?
But this encounter had shown that there was greater potential. 'Communication' was possible.

After another moment, a sound bubbled to the surface of his thoughts, and he realised it was this sound that would mark his existence.

"Cryxx. Call me Cryxx."

[Wiz]

April Fool

Clark Gable smiles, and continues to hold onto Puck (as long as there is no smoking or burning from his gloves), and will look closer at the figure (assuming it's brightness is not excessive). "What I mean is that the sun is far away in space, and separated from us by a gulf of vaccuum that would suck the life out of any Puck; and if you managed to get there, it's coolest temperature is roughly equivalent to a lightening bolt - about 6000 degrees Kelvin." He smiles looking at the little figure, "So I don't want you to asphixiate, vaccuum freze, or boil yourself alive. Is that plain enough talk to you?"

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

Cryxx stodd still for several moments. A 'name'? The meaning of the word was known to him, but the concept was difficult to grasp. What the use use of a name when all there was in the way of interaction was eat, be eaten or flee?
But this encounter had shown that there was greater potential. 'Communication' was possible.

After another moment, a sound bubbled to the surface of his thoughts, and he realised it was this sound that would mark his existence.

"Cryxx. Call me Cryxx."

Scott Faraday

Scott stood there for a moment, looking into Cryxx's eyes. It was a bit difficult. Hideous spider-men tend to a bit difficult to look directly at.

There was something profound about the way Cryxx thought that. Understanding what a name was and gaining one convinced Scott that this was no monster, but a truly sentient, if strange, soul.

Now finding the strength to speak, Scott decided to drop his telepathic link.

"Well then, Cryxx, what now? Where will you go? What will you do? Its a brave new world out there, for we humans as well as for you."

[evisiron]

Cryxx

"What now?". The question was deeper than could have been intended. A spiders purpose reached only as far as survival and reproduction.
Things did not seem so simple now.

Well, there was one constant that provided immediate motivation.

"I ssstill must feeeeeed."

"Can all huuumans zpeak? What zhould I eat?"

[The_Snark]

April Fool

Puck stays quiet for a little while, and then says, "Oh. I just wanted to follow the light, really." It sits up, dusting itself off; the Fool's gloves are absent of any sort of charring or scorching. The light emanating from Puck still makes it very hard to perceive details, but it's not hard to look at any more; it seems to Rudy that the light might be a little softer now that they are down on the ground.

Elliot

"Some doctor you are, huh? I'm not in pain. No sleep for a day or so, check. No food since yesterday, check. No drink since yesterday, check. Nosy guy on the street deciding to play shining knight, check." Her mouth twitches upwards as if to smile despite herself. "Boredom, frustration, check. It's driving me f***ing crazy. But pain, not so much. Trust me, if I thought you could help I'd take it."

[Wiz]

April Fool

The masked fool nods, "Light seeking light doth light of light beguile." He smiles, "I think you will find that even should the light of day go, the city has it's own style of lighting which you may enjoy. Now, if I let go, will you float away without control?"

[harmonictempest]

Nick.

The young man sauntered over to a stack of crates and hopped on top. Sitting casually with his legs crossed at the ankles, he lit a cigarette and waited for Bobby to return.

Kickin' my heels until tar and blennus get here (which is FINE, 'cause I just bit off a few more applications than I can chew for the next couple of days)

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

"What now?". The question was deeper than could have been intended. A spiders purpose reached only as far as survival and reproduction.
Things did not seem so simple now.

Well, there was one constant that provided immediate motivation.

"I ssstill must feeeeeed."

"Can all huuumans zpeak? What zhould I eat?"

Scott Faraday

There was something a bit frightening about the way Cryxx asked his question. Some sort of primal hunger that could devour him if Scott didn't pacify the spider-man.

"Not all humans can speak. Some are too young, some are too stupid, and some are physically incapable.

As for food... if you can hold off your hunger, I can provide you with a meal at my apartment... my... nest."

Though, it will be rather difficult to sneak a creature like this into my apartment. Think, Scott, think.

"If we encounter any humans on the way to my apartment, you will keep quiet and act like a human. Not all humans are as accepting as I am. Now, follow me."

Scott looked around to gain his bearings and began a brisk walk to his apartment. Calling a cab or hopping the bus would bring Cryxx too close to curious people.

As Scott walks, he pulls out his cell phone and calls Akosh.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Akosh. Its me, Doctor F."

"Oh my god! Doctor F! You've been gone for hours! I was so worried!"

"Listen, I've got a... guest. Go to my apartment and look under the mat. There should a spare key. Go into the kitchen, open the fridge, and get one of my steak. Blend it into a smoothie."

"What? Why?"

"Let's just say my guest is used to liquid meat."

"...this is so weird. Alright, I'm on my way there."

"Alright, I'll meet you there, Akosh"

"Whatever"

*click*

[The_Snark]

April Fool

"I don't think so." Pick gives a soft push on the ground, and rises slightly off it before gripping the grass with both hands and pulling itself back down. "No, probably not," she or he decides, sitting and staying on the ground.

"Who did you say you were again?"

[Wiz]

April Fool

The masked figure of Clark Gable rises, flaring out his opera cape and bows, tipping his top hat. "I am but a simple fool, likening myself to a personification of the day, and seeking to do good where I can." He pulls out a tarot card of The Fool and holds it out to Puck. "My card." He points to the 0 at the top of the card, "I specialize in Zero Sum games... where hopefully everybody wins!"

[The_Snark]

April Fool

"Huh." The shining golden face looks perplexed as it gets up to look at the card. Puck comments no further, glancing vaguely about at the park; the sunlight is starting to dwindle as the sun slips below the smog layer.

"Am I supposed to keep it?" it says eventually, gaze wandering back to the card and its Fool.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

As the Doctor started to walk, Cryxx scuttled along beside him, moving from shadow to shadow on the walls and rooftops. He did not sound sure of Human pacifism and there was still a screaming sense of self preservation in Cryxx's head.

Cryxx was curious as the Doctor pulled a small object and started speaking to it as if it were alive. To much surprise, it seemed to respond and eventually the figure slipped it into a fold in its fur like layers.

"I heeeard you zpeaking to yyyoour parazite. You have animal flesssh in your nezzzt? I am confuzzzed... You killlll and eat prey too...but I zhould not?"

[Wiz]

April Fool

The fool chuckles, "You needn't unless you want to... it doesn't look like you're well equipped with pockets large enough anyway." He stands, leaving the card on the ground. "Take care, little one... let me know if I can help you in some way."

[Wiz]

Nightfall

Wherever you are in the city as the sun is disappearing, a low, grating vibration starts and begins to build. Those nearest the bridges feel the vibration first, but as the army vehicles rumble across the bridges, it slowly begins to invade to the heart of Manhattan. The people who drive to the bridges start building up the beginning of a large, stranded parking lot where the Army is turning them back and away. Some of vehicles begin playing a recorded message.

"Attention, Attention. People of Manhattan. Martial law has been declared on the Island of Manhattan. A quarantine is in effect. Noone will be allowed on or off the island until further notice. Please remain in your homes. A public message will be broadcast shortly, keep your television tuned to local station five. Remain peaceable. The army has been authorized to keep order for the duration of this emergency. If troops are attacked with deadly force, they will respond with the same."

The message repeats...

One large group of vehicles along with a huge flatbed and crane come across the bridge and break away from the main group, heading for central park. This group is broadcasting no message, and moves as quietly through the streets as it can.

[kpenguin]

Cryxx

As the Doctor started to walk, Cryxx scuttled along beside him, moving from shadow to shadow on the walls and rooftops. He did not sound sure of Human pacifism and there was still a screaming sense of self preservation in Cryxx's head.

Cryxx was curious as the Doctor pulled a small object and started speaking to it as if it were alive. To much surprise, it seemed to respond and eventually the figure slipped it into a fold in its fur like layers.

"I heeeard you zpeaking to yyyoour parazite. You have animal flesssh in your nezzzt? I am confuzzzed... You killlll and eat prey too...but I zhould not?"

OOC: I assume that Cryxx and Faraday are still in the morning?

Scott Faraday

Scott cringes. How to explain human morality when it comes to animals to a spider?

"Not all animals are prey. Can you honestly tell me that you ate every animal you saw, Cryxx?"

[evisiron]

OOC: No idea time wise. Though since we moved at the Speed Of Plot I guess we are where ever it is convenient in the timeline.

Cryxx

"Yezzz...anyzing zhat I could kill... Flee from anyzing stronger zhan me.
You are zhe firrrrst that haz been caught but not devoured."

Cryxx clicked his mandibles in frustration at the dodged question. Subtleties of discussion where still a mystery, and Cryxx was finding it hard to keep up and still get the information he would need to survive in this world.

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino

The shaking in his hands eased by the second cigarrette. 'At's better. 'Ey, Bobby, I 'uz startin' ta think you weren't gonna show up. You get that truck away safe? Bobby just stands and stares at the quiet warehouse with blood on the floor. What? Weren't no big thing - they were too worried about their truck driving off ta see me comin'. Now, you better call da boss - this crater sure wasn't left by no Yaks-- thinking back on the news footage he's seen already --or maybe it was. Eider way, he's gunna wanna know, a'ight? Now scram, and bring that truck back 'fore ya go - I'll keep an eye out here until the usual crew arrives.

Another cigarrette later, the normal work crew of the 'house shows up for the morning shift. Their surprise is greeted sarcastically by Nick, and they get to work cleaning up the mess in the place. They unload the truck and mop the floor, and the usual thugs turn up to "recycle" the bodies and return the now-empty truck to a frequented Yak spot, sitting on the curb with its tires slashed to send a message of the futility of the latest operation. Nick pitches in with the workers, and after a few hours the 'house is more or less back in order: goods replaced, inventory taken of what was ruined, sheets of plywood across the hole left by the meteor, and an open spot left around the crater for the boss to have a look at when he arrives.

Nick was restless as can be after working most of the day at completely menial labor that felt pointless after he'd gained these new powers, like freakin' Einstein havin' to flip freakin' burgers. With a little bamboozling, he convinces the 'house chief to let him off for the evening, counting the day's labor against the night shift he'd been scheduled for later that day.

Kicking off the crotch rocket, he zipped through the always-crowded midafternoon streets with abandon - what copper's gonna catch ya when they can't even get through traffic? He arrived home, tossed the keys onto the side table, tossed his mum a quick hello and peck on the cheek, and helped her put together a moderate dinner with much more civility than he'd shown the rest of the day. Poor Mum - if I could get her free of those "family" creeps, I'd do it in a heartbeat. As they're eating dinner, the news is slowly drowned out by noise outside. Poking his head out a window, he listened to the message with excitement and apprehension. Gotta run, mom - boss's gunna need me ASAP. Not waiting for a response, he sprints up to his room and locks the door, calling up the armor latent under his skin to the surface again.

Man, this stuff is sweet. Talk about full coverage - this suit's even got sunglasses! Wait... he unzips his pants and looks down. Huh...built-in cup incuded too, I guess. He takes his pants and the rest of his clothes off. While the armor certainly fulfills all concerns of modesty and most of fashion, it wouldn't do to get stuck out somewhere having to drop the armor and walk around naked. Rummaging in the closet, he gets out his nicest pair of jeans and nicer leather jacket - which is to say, his least-used clothing. Disdaining shoes and other clothing, he exits the window and runs lightly across the wall, between floors of the apartment building. Mum'll just figure I went down the fire escape - that's close enough. Keeping to the growing shadows, Nick heads for Central Park - having no idea where the Army actually is, he figures on heading toward the scene of the impact.

Hey, if exiting out the window's good enough for Peter Parker, it's good enough for me.

Hide/Move Silently = 23 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1623636/), for whatever it's first needed for.

[dfpiii]

J Elliot Arwell

Elliot hears the extremely familiar rumble of military machinery in the distance - or maybe he feels it first, through the soles of his feet.

"Okay, well, bye," Elliot says to the woman, and without a backward glance he runs to his car. "Martial law," he mutters. "I picked the wrong week to stop being a CO".

The mighty DBS roars and smoke clouds around the tires as they grip the road, then fire the car back towards his apartment; launched down the street like a bullet out of a gun.

"Redial last," Elliot orders the car, which obliges instantly. Elliot speaks as soon as the ringing stops - "Rain check, call you tomorrow" - and then ends the call just as the car pulls into the underground garage of his building.

He takes two deep breaths.

Was he really about to do this?

Really?

**** it.

Why not?

***

The suit fits like a rubber, which doesn't exactly make it easy to change into. He ties the bandana around his eyes and tops it with the black velvet hat. He pats himself down and his hand finds something in a pocket of the halloween costume.

Mascara?

Ah! Moustache!

***

As the sun sets he leaves through one the Arwell Building's many other exits and emerges onto a deserted street. He keeps to the shadows and sets off at a brisk jog for Central Park. Whatever the hell was going on, was going on there.

[Wiz]

James & Sakomoto

As the trio are making their cabride, both James & Sakomoto seem to feel at first, uneasy, then progressively nauseous and weaker. The cabbie seems to be fine, as does Candice, though she does complain that it's awfully hot. All three debark at the location of a building, obviously hit by a meteor. James steps forward as Candice leads the way, putting a hand on her arm, and abruptly stiffens, choking and falling to the pavement. Candice shrieks and leaps away from him. As Sakomoto looks at the ex cop, he seems to have fallen into a coma, his body wasting quickly away as if some degenerative disease was progressing through his body at a rapid pace. Before Sakomoto can do anything, James convulses and dies. The girl recovers her wits and steps forward toward the body. "I thought he said he had gotten better..." As she gets closer to Sakomoto he notices her eyes have taken on a reddish glow, and he suddenly feels weak, as though all the benefits the meteor had granted him were being sucked away. He falls to the ground and scrambles away from the prostitute. "Hey, what's wrong?" Sakomoto has no breath for anything, he flees the scene as quickly as possible, eventually making his way home, though walking so far takes a long time because he feels totally enervated. By the time he gets there, his powers seem to be recovering, and he hears the first approach of the military through the city.

[evisiron]

Cryxx (summary post)

Cryxx sat on the wooden construct covered in altered animal hide. The humans referred to it as a 'couch'. Cryxx and 'Scott' had made their way through the streets without incident, with Cryxx sticking to the shadows and the Doctor using his own abilities to alter the perceptions of other humans when there was no dark passageway. The fact that the Doctor was deceiving his own kind to grant him access to the colony helped set Cryxx at ease. Upon arriving at the apartment Cryxx was given large pieces of freshly slaughtered flesh, which he proceeded to spray with acidic juices and guzzle down.

After feeding, Cryxx became more docile, and devoted his attention to learning more about the world. He and "Doctor F" (as the younger creature called him) spoke late into the night, until fatigue claimed them and they were forced to stop to grant their bodies rest.

The day had passed, and Cryxx still lived. Another successful strungle. Finally, Cryxx slipped into another new experience. A dream filled slumber.

[Wiz]

@J. Elliot Arwell & Nick
Each of you makes your way to central park, in your respective heroic(?) guises. As you watch the activity around the central park lake from two different angles, you see several army types surrounding the flatbed truck and crane while a tall, thin individual in a white lab coat seems to be directing the action of the crane's operator. The crane cable is already down in the lake, and there is a bubbling around where the cable enters the water. Suddenly a diver surfaces and touches the top of his head with one hand, then holds the hand up in the air, a finger extended and makes a whirling motion. The scientist(?) turns to the crane operator and says something, and the man begins moving levers, causing the crane cable to go taut as something which is obviously quite heavy begins being lifted from the bottom of the lake.

OOC: In your next posts, please describe how you would appear to someone who was looking at you in your current guise.

@Dr. Faraday
Refer to my first post (Nightfall). You see the army trucks rumbling past your building in the streets of New York. Martial law is being declared.

@Cryxx
In your dreams you have several flashes of familiar fear. You've been threatened by giant, rumbling machines before... when you were small. It seems the machines got big along with you. There's also a disturbing dream where a drone comes out of a giant beehive saying that the queen bee has declared that all other insects in her kingdom will be stung to death.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx awoke, a blind panic scorching through his mind. Images! He had moved...but was back here now...
Bees...kill all insects...rumbling...

But now was different. He was back in the apartment. But the rumbling...the rumbling continued...and the voice booming through the streets.

Cryxx rushed to the window. Several of the rumbling creatures were moving down the street accompanied by smaller creatures. Similar to the Doctor but covered in chitin and all the same colour. They moved not with the cautious wariness of prey, but the murderous intent of predators. And the voice...the voice was coming from one of the rumbling creatures. Another herald of the queen?! It must be stopped.

Without pause for thought Cryxx scuttled out the window and down the shadow covered wall. Reaching the bottom, Cryxx lurked in the shadows behind a dumpster before spitting a jet of corrosive acid at the creature with the booming voice.


So, surprise round then?

Hide check (-20 for attack): 19
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1636874/

Attack roll against vehicle with PA system: 31 and 24 (rapid shot)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1636876/

Damage for each (in order of 31 then 24 to hit rolls): 24 and 21
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1636877/

And initiative for next round: 27
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1636878/

And for their return fire, Cryxx's AC is 29 plus partial concealment from the dumpster.

If I win initiative again, he may act differently depending on reaction of army people. I guess they would still react without 'acting' before their turn, right?

[Wiz]

@Cryxx

The convoy you have intercepted has 3 vehicles. A jeep in the lead, with a 50 caliber machine gun mounted on the back; a humvee with a loudspeaker array mounted on top; and a armored personel carrier bringing up the rear. Twin arcs of corrosive saliva spew out from the shadowy dumpster and strike the humvee, the first one dissolving the loundspeaker array on top of the vehicle, the second painting a large splotch on the side, which dissolves through, exposing some equipment carried in back and the silouette of a man backlit by glowing, and now sparking electronics. The soldier on the back of the jeep spins around, bringing his machine gun to bear on the shadowy dumpster, as does the soldier who is manning the 50 caliber on the APC. There is a slight pause, and then the twin machine guns open up, unleashing hell in the street.

I have absolutely no rules here on how to handle autofire... so I'm just doing 10 shots per gun. At your armor, only a 20 will hit anyway.
[roll0],[roll1],[roll2],[roll3],[roll4],[roll5],[roll6],[roll7],[roll8],[roll9];
[roll10],[roll11],[roll12],[roll13],[roll14],[roll15],[roll16],[roll17],[roll18],[roll19]

[Wiz]

@Cryxx (continued)

3 shots hit, checking criticals (also require 20's) damage is 1d10 (plus multipliers for critical) checking criticals ([roll0],[roll1],[roll2]); (rolling damage [roll3],[roll4],[roll5])

Scores of bullets tear through the dumpster and pulverize brick behind you. If you were a standard geeky game player and moviegoer you might think your character feels like Clint Eastwood in "The Gauntlet" Your heavy exoskeleton, amazing dexterity, and of course the shadows and concealment keep you mostly safe, but by sheer chance three bullets impact into you, inflicting 24 lethal damage.

@Faraday

You go to a street-facing window to hear the announcement, just in time to see Cryxx jump out another, drop down to the street, and shoot acid at one of the vehicles. Two other vehicles open up on him with 50 caliber machine guns.

[evisiron]

OOC: Reflex save for the first attack to avoid the bullet (DC18):
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638028/
Reflexive teleportation to other side of street for 2cp (which occurs in their turn).

Cryxx
HP: 51/51
PP: 38/40

Cryxx stared through his many eyes as the bullets soared towards him. He could tell the maze they wove would make impossible to avoid them all. At this spot at least. With a pulse of instinct he had not possessed before Cryxx blinked from existence, appearing in the shadows across the street.

The creatures stared at the spot were he was, giving him the chance to retaliate. It seemed the larger foes were assisted by the smaller ones on their backs. These small ones seemed to be creating the most noise.

Sticking to the shadows, Cryxx sends a jet of numbing paralyzing venom at each of the small creatures. The Doctor had shown a vulnerability to it before.

[spoiler]
Rapid attacking, one shot at each of the men manning the machine guns since their back will be exposed.
To hit: 18 and 33
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638031/

Damage: 33 and 35, though I did not include sneak attack. Should this have sneak attack added since I am popping up behind them?
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638033/

And another hide check for sniping: 10
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638038/

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

Scott curses, loudly.

Akosh is amused for a second about the doctor's choice in swearing.

"Seriously Doctor F, an f-bomb? Who uses that anymore?"

Scott gives Akosh a dirty look and looks down at Cryxx. What to do? What to do?

[Wiz]

@Cryxx & Dr. Faraday

Loud radio chatter erupts, one man shouting "Bravo Squad under attack..." twin arcs of venom come from the shadows on the other side of the street each one splashing over the two soldiers manning 50 calibur machine guns. Both men collapse, convulsing. Someone in the APC calls out, "Bravo Squad move out, we are ambushed!" The vehicles roar to life and start peeling away as a man radios out the position of the attack.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx buzzed in annoyance, still addle minded from the dream. If the drones escape, they will tell the queen! As soon as the creatures roar and begin to move, Cryxx sprays corrosive venom at their strange spinning legs, hoping to immobilise them.

Firing acid venom at the front two vehicles, looking to burn out their wheels or at least slow them down.

Rapid attack of course. To hit: 22 and 24
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638201/
Damage: 29 and 30
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638212/
Hide: 1
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1638230/

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

Being too far from Cryxx or the soldiers to use his telepathy and not really wanting to get close too close to a firefight w/ a machine gun, Scott opts for more traditional.

"DAMN IT CRYXX. STOP! STOP!"

[Wiz]

@Cryxx & Faraday

Acid spurts from the shadows on the same side of the alley, and the jeep and the humvee both blow out their right front tires, as well as make horrendous grinding noises from their axels. The jeep spins out 180 and stops, the humvee smashes into the front of it and also stops. Three or four men pile out of both vehicles on the side away from the acid attacks. As the APC pulls up and pauses, the men run around the back and start climbing up the ramp that falls open at the rear of the vehicle. Meanwhile, a man has wrestled the body of his downed comrade from the machine gun on the APC and he takes position at it, swinging the barrel around to the source of the attacks. The APC roars to life, and one or two men are running to jump inside over the sparking ramp as it tears down the street. The doctor is shouting something from his window up high from the action.

[harmonictempest]

Nick Gambino
Description in armor: Nick's basic body shape remains once his armor is activated, but there is nothing else to give away his features, though he is still wearing the same clothes, obviously. The armor covers his body in irregularly-shaped polygonal black scales the approximate color and luster of of obsidian (imagine the shape and size of shapes on a turtle's shell or a soccer ball). It covers every exposed inch of skin, including the eyes (those two scales work like sunglasses), ears, nose and mouth (all reduced to small holes or slits). When he activates the armor, his skin thickens and hardens from the inside out. The scales start as points of black on his skin that nearly instantly grow until reaching the adjacent scales.

Currently wearing: jeans and a black leather jacket over the armor.

From earlier post: Hide/Move Silently = 23 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1623636/)

Hugging the shadows beneath the ledge of a no-doubt expensive high-rise bordering Central Park, Nick watches the proceedings with interest.

((Are there soldiers ringing the park, or is it relatively easy to get in somewhere that's not right by the lake?))

[Wiz]

@Nick & J. Elliot Arwell

As you watch, the crane continues straining. Whatever it's bringing up from the bottom of the lake is obviously very heavy. Looking around, you notices the soldiers from the ATV are positioned around the lake, but there are not a lot of soldiers elsewhere in the park. OOC: For more details you can always roll a spot check.

[harmonictempest]

Nick

Running lightly down the side of the building, Nick hustles across a section of street into the darkness of Central Park. Staying away from lighted paths and well in the trees and bushes, he slowly approached the main lake. The black armor suited well here, allowing him to easily dive under the shadow of any nearby bush in the deepening gloom. When he was roughly a hundred yards away from the lake, he paused, shifting position around the lake until he could neither see nor hear any soldiers. Then, picking a likely-looking stand of trees, he climbed a few dozen feet up one, as quietly as possible. Finding a gap in the branches, he settled down to watch the show as the cable continued snaking out of the lake.

Spot...if he's sitting there staring for a few minutes, can he take 20? 'Cause he's gonna try. If it's just one check, then it's [roll0], but...hopefully he can take 20 (with result of 20).

[evisiron]

OOC: Hmm, first off, can Cryxx here Dr F? I doubt it since:
-The doctor is far away
-High calibre rounds just went off near by
-There are other humans shouting to each other in the area and Cryxx may have difficulty distinguishing between voices
-Army vehicles moving around

But I shall roll to see just in case: 17
Yeah, no ranks in listen and only +2 for wisdom.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1639529/
The DM can add a DC after, but I would assume thats a fail. I can edit if incorrect.

Cryxx

Three of Cryxx's eyes followed the escaping creature, and Cryxx sprayed another gout of acid towards it. If it failed a more direct approach may be needed.

Two of Cryxx's other eyes spied another small creature replacing his stunned ally. Perhaps it was the large creature that created the attack while the small ones aimed it?
With attention between the two targets, Cryxx sends another quick blast at the larger creature that was already halted, this time directly at the noisy limb on its top.


First attack at the escaping APC's wheels, second at the gun turret itself. Both acidic.

Auto miss on the APC due to natural one.
30 to hit turret for 38 damage.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1639535/

[Wiz]

@Cryxx & Dr. Faraday

As the APC accellerates, a blast of acid misses the wheels, while a second blast of acid melts the 50 caliber, the soldier who was manning it barely pulling back in time before being burned himself. The last soldiers jump in the back as the APC tears away, the hatch swinging up and closed. As the vehicle disappears, an eerie silence falls over the street, punctuated by the shouting of Dr. Faraday. In the distance, there is the sound of an approaching helicopter.

@Nick & J. Elliot Arwell

As the crane finally seems to be bringing the object into view, both excitement and alertness increase in all of the soldiers, and particularly the scientist. An object breaks surface, something about the size of a volkswagon bug, bright silver, water sluicing away from it. It seems to be... a tiny flying saucer?

[evisiron]

OOC: I am guessing the APC won't be able to get out of range in the round, but if it did something crazy I can edit.

Cryxx

Cryxx seethed as his acid missed entirely. But there was still hope!
With an focused thought his body was dragged through the air in less than an instant, dropping him on the front of the APC. He looked around, seeing the smaller creatures inside the larger one, and prepared to attack.

2pp (so down to 36) to teleport onto the front bonnet of the moving APC. Balance check I assume?

Balance: 39
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1639574/

[evisiron]

OOC: I am guessing the APC won't be able to get out of range in the round, but if it did something crazy I can edit.

Cryxx

Cryxx seethed as his acid missed entirely. But there was still hope!
With an focused thought his body was dragged through the air in less than an instant, dropping him on the front of the APC where he latched on with a spider like grip. He looked around, seeing the smaller creatures inside the larger one, and prepared to attack.

2pp (so down to 36) to teleport onto the front bonnet of the moving APC. Balance check I assume?
1PP for surface adhesion.

Balance: 39
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1639574/

[Wiz]

@Cryxx

ooc: okay, at least while I'm the DM in charge, I am not going to impose any penalties about teleporting onto objects or locations with different kinetic potential... especially since you have the clinging power. Don't abuse it. Also, how you roleplay your character is purely up to you, you do realize, however, that you are showing an extremely bloodthirsty and aggresive side... maybe that's how you see spiders, and I wouldn't entirely disagree. But most spiders I've met prefer retreat and only attack when cornered. On to the results.

Cryxx teleports onto the APC (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M113_Armored_Personnel_Carrier) and the soldier formerly manning the melted machine gun, and the driver both pop down out of sight, slamming the hatches. Over the rumbling of the vehicle it is difficult, but not impossible to hear the approaching helecopter getting louder.

[evisiron]

OOC: Ah thanks for the link. I have a much better idea of what Cryxx is facing now.

As for how the character is being played, it is not so much a spider thing as a creature having a dream for the first time and not realising it is disconnected from reality, especially when it merges the new and old worlds together. A normal spider would not do this stuff, but a normal spider does not believe that an escaping creature works for the queen who is trying to have him and other insects killed.

Of course, now that no-one is shooting at him, he has a chance to think...

Cryxx

Cryxx looked over the surface of the creature. It was covered entirely in the armoured plates, and it did not have the spongy round legs of the other ones of its size. Maybe it could not be stopped.

But at least it had stopped attacking. It was still moving of course...
Cryxx paused as his mind began to regain control over his instincts. If this was heading to the queen there would be many more such creatures. And if the queen was trying to kill all beings, they might attack the Doctor who was not only Cryxx's link to this new world but also completely defenseless.

Cryxx muttered something that would be a curse if he knew what a curse was and leaped from the back of the back of his foes, landing nimbly on a wall and scuttling quickly to the ground. With a moment of concentration he recalled the look of the Doctors lair, and got dragged through reality to reach it.

2pp, mishap check roll: 7
On target.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1641107/

---

With a clatter, Cryxx appeared in the Doctors apartment, landing on a table and knocking over several cups, letting them clatter noisily to the ground.

[kpenguin]

Dr. Scott Faraday

Scott nearly leaps out of his skin when Cryxx appears suddenly on his dining room table. Akosh isn't so fortunate: he faints.

After a few seconds of shocked silence, Scott retains his composure.

"Cryxx... you... can teleport?!"

He shakes his head. Not the point right now.

"Cryxx, you're... in big trouble. I'm in big trouble. You just attacked soldiers- members of my... colony who's purpose it is to defend us. I might have been able to protect you from them before, but now that you've made an attack..."

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx stood and pondered the first question for several seconds.

"..."

"Yesss"

After the Doctor spoke the second time, Cryxx was much quicker to reply.

"Do not worry, I can defffeat the soldierz eazzily. And zoon they will forget I was there as the ssscents wear off. Besides, none are dead, only paralyzzzed."

[kpenguin]

Doctor Scott Faraday

So, the spider could teleport. How very... odd. Scott Faraday had little time to ponder on it however. There were more urgent matters at hand.

"What do you mean "they will forget when the scents wear off", Cryxx?"

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx looked confused for a moment, only to realise that his knowledge of 'Soldiers' was not applicable here.

"Human soldierz do not defffend bazed on scent, do zey? What do zey use?"

[kpenguin]

Scott Faraday

Of course! Ants! They identified by smell! Ants would probably the closest thing Cryxx had to compare humanity to.

"No... they don't. The identify by sight. And they saw you come out of one of my windows. They'll know to search here for you."

Scott paused to think.

"When they come, I want you to hide. I'll try to mask you with mind as well. I believe I can convince them you were simply passing through."

[Wiz]

JUNE GM STILL HERE UNTIL SOMEONE TAKES OVER...

NICK & J. ELLIOT ARWELL

No change from last post, just waiting for someone else to post, and particularly for something from J. Elliot Arwell.

FARADAY & CRYXX

As you're conversing in the Dr's apartment, nothing seems to be happening outside, the approaching helecopter must have veered away... unless... well there is whisper mode. Suddenly a spotlight floods the apartment through the window that Cryxx exited from just as the sound of the rotors cuts back in an a large loudspeaker blares out. "Those in the apartment, come to the window and show yourselves! Keep your hands empty and in sight!"

[kpenguin]

Doctor Scott Faraday

Scott harshly whispers to Cryxx, "Hide... now!"

Concentrating to shield Cryxx with his mind, Scott walks up to the windows with his hands in the air.

He calls out:

"MY ASSISTANT IS UNCONSCIOUS ON THE FLOOR! WE WERE ATTACKED BY A SPIDER-MONSTER!"

[roll0]

[Wiz]

APACHE (http://aycu13.webshots.com/image/47492/2005887811562305503_rs.jpg) (what you'd see if there were buildings behind it and a blinding spotlight from it on you)

As Faraday comes to the window, the whisper mode cuts in again, dampening the noise of the rotors and allowing Faraday's voice to be heard over the much slighter machine noises caused by the 20mm gattling cannon aiming itself at him. "Understood. A medivac team will be sent to your location. Do you know where the creature is?"

[kpenguin]

Dr. Scott Faraday

Faraday shouts. Despite the helicoptor chops not being awfully loud, it seemed like a shouting situation

NO. THE CREATURE JUMPED OUT OF MY WINDOW AND ATTACKED SOME SOLDIERS. I TOOK COVER IN MY HOME AND DID NOT SEE IT AFTERWARDS.

[roll0]

[Wiz]

APACHE

"Understood. Please remain in your home. A medivac team will arrive shortly for your assistant. Army investigators will contact you later." The apache banks abruptly and takes off rapidly down the street.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx reflexively flattened himself against the wall as the Doctor said to hide.

He wanted to ask what do do, what would happen, but dared not make a sound. And a 'medivac' was on its way... what kind of creature was that? Did it devour the wounded?

[kpenguin]

Doctor Scott Faraday

Scott quickly turns and sends a telepathic message to Cryxx.

<Cryxx. Don't speak. Just send your thoughts to me. They may be listening in to my home. I need you to teleport away. Go to the nest where you brought me, if you will. More soldiers will be here shortly. You can't stay here. I can handle myself. GO, NOW!>

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx stood for a moment in perplexed confusion, then with a single thought, disappeared from the room.

Less than a moment later he appeared back in his 'home', where he instinctively returned to his hiding spot and settled down to wait.

[Wiz]

MILITARY

After about ten minutes an army ambulance rolls up outside the building. Four men, two carrying M-16s, two carrying a stretcher make their way to the front of the building. After another couple of minutes there is a heavy knocking at Dr. Faraday's door. "Army Medivac, you have a casualty?"

[kpenguin]

Doctor Scott Faraday

Akosh still lays on the ground, passed out.

And I thought I was delicate

Scott walks over to the door and opens it.

"Yes, sir. My assisstant is lying unconscious on the floor over there. I believe its just from the shock of seeing the spider-monster, nothing serious."

His voice is very courteous. Scott respected the armed forces deeply. He had wanted to join when he was younger, but wasn't quite fit enough.

[Wiz]

EVAC TEAM

The man in the lead nods, the other one, armed with the machine gun, goes to the window. The two with the stretcher go over to the Dr.'s assistant and begin checking him out. Eventually, the medics revive him with some smelling salts. "A minor case of shock. I recommend bedrest at home." The Corporal nods, "Do you want us to evac your man, or do you feel you are both safe here?"

[kpenguin]

Doctor Scott Faraday

Faraday shakes his head.

"This is my home, sir. I will stay here come rain or snow or sleet or spider monsters"

Akosh groans in the background.

[harmonictempest]

Nick

Nick squirms a little closer from his hiding place, still sticking to the shadows as much as possible, and hoping to catch a snatch of conversation if he can.

Yeah, not a very exciting action after so much inactivity, but I...really want to see what it is, honestly.

[Wiz]

@Faraday & Crynxx ;)

The soldier nods, "Very good sir. Are you the registered owner of this domicile?"

@Nick

As you creep closer, you make out that the thing in question, resting on the flatbed is, in fact... a silvery disk with a domelike extrusion at the top and bottom. It looks very much like a classic flying saucer, except of course, it is only about 12' across, and apparently from the straining of the crane and the squelching of the flatbed's tires, it is VERY heavy. When set down, it naturally rolls to one side on it's lower dome. Soldiers begin securing it down with heavy straps.

[kpenguin]

Dr. Faraday

"If you mean I have to pay the exorbitant rent for this place, then yes. The owner of this building, my landlord is a couple of floors down."

[Wiz]

@Faraday

The soldier nods, taking out a notebook and making a notation on it. "A decontamination team may be by in the next few days... we don't know what hazards the creatures and humans who have been contaminated by this incident might pose to others. I would suggest you move out, but unfortunately, with the island under quaranteen it will be difficult to house everyone held here as it is." He nods to Faraday, "Good luck, sir."

[The_Snark]

Evening found her on the streets in a T-shirt and jeans, an ensemble she'd seen several times on young women on the streets even on a quiet afternoon such as this. It must, she felt, be unremarkable. Did it feel familiar, she'd wondered, trying them on? The T-shirt was comfortable, the jeans... snug. How could she tell if the clothes felt familiar? Should she remember anything? Should the feeling of walking in jeans bring anything back?

She couldn't tell, but it felt good to look different. Her hair and face were slightly different, too: blonde, with a more rounded face. She had considered a dusting of freckles, but they were hard to get right; she was afraid anybody who'd had them would look at her face and feel something was off. (Was that a clue? Had she not had freckles? Such a useless thing!) But she'd felt more secure walking down the street, even if her clothes and her skin both felt odd—like new shoes—and she wasn't sure where to go. She might, she decided, as well find something to eat. She set off humming, wondering what sort of food she liked. Something cheap—maybe an Asian place, there were certainly enough of those around. The park (the same one? There were trees) came into view around a corner, and she turns around immediately, not willing to go near that again. Not after last time, not after what had happened. Not with the knowledge that others like her might be out there. Now I know you're not the only starfish in the sea... The usual gnawing fear does not accompany those thoughts, and she walks back along the street in good cheer.

Then it hits her. The humming. The words. The tune in her head. They fit! It's—something! She tries to piece together more words to the tune. Only starfish in the sea, and... bum buh duh duh duh duh-duh-du-du duh-duh-du-du deh... Nothing. Only a scrap of a verse, and a longer scrap of a tune. But it's something. I have to find the rest of that.

She is standing still in the sidewalk, she realizes. Time to do something. She was hungry, but she'd eat later. She had to find this! Where... a computer. A library. I can look it up.

Firmly decided, she sets out to locate a library, or someplace else she could get access to a computer for free, when she hears a distant, blaring voice. ... authorized to keep order for the duration of the emergency... will respond with the same. She listens to the whole message as it spills out endlessly, and feels the bottom drop out of her good mood. No, no, no no nonono! They're coming! Why are they doing it now? Panic mixes with anger that something would get in the way just as she had managed to dredge something up, and the anger is stronger, washing over her and restoring her purpose.

She begins to walk again, intent on finding a library—army, or no army. She was wearing a mask; they couldn't see through to her. They would take no notice. She could walk between them, and find what she needed.

[Wiz]

@The Snark

If you do not do anything to the soldiers, they will not do anything to you. At most, if you are alone on the street a jeep might stop near you and a soldier inside it would advise you to go to your home for your own safety, but they will not stay to watch you. They seem to be looking for more 'obvious' threats.

[evisiron]

Cryxx

Cryxx lurked in the shadows of the dank alley, listening to the sounds around him. His perception could only stretch so far, but he could hear the sound of 'living' from hundreds of creatures around him. He reflected on what had happened, and was pondering what to do next when the sound of small paws moved through the area.

It was another of the small mammals that had provided sustenance before. Before it had registered the arachnids presence, Cryxx had snatched it from the ground. Fangs already dripping in anticipation, he paused a moment. A human had searched for such a creature before, yet none seemed to be around. Speech seemed to be the key.

“Rexxx… are you ‘Rexxx’…?”

The dog only whimpered, staring at the glistening shadow holding it from the ground.

“Speeeeak now”

The silence remained. The doctor had spoken of eating animals before, so long as they could not speak in protest. This must just be a stray morsel. With an instinctive motion, Cryxx sank his fangs into the puppies hide, liquidizing its insides before draining them into his own stomach. Only a few bones remained, and within minutes they had dissolved as well.

Hunger appeased, he crept onto the wall and climbed into a shadowed corner to keep clear of other creatures moving across the ground.

[The_Snark]

She had walked past a group of men wearing army fatigues just a minute past, watching the guns intently out of the corner of her eyes. If they moved they would do it suddenly; she'd have to get away before more than one or two got their shots off. That, or leap into the middle of them so that they couldn't fire without catching one another with the misses. There was a large office building up ahead, with no alleyways or corners to dodge around. If they attacked now, she wouldn't be able to flee fast enough. Now... now... now...

It was a surprise to realize she was past them already. They hadn't taken any notice of her. Of course not; it wasn't like there was a mark on her forehead, something branding her Inhuman. She walked on more slowly, scanning the streets on either side. She needed... something. Food, for now—with the fear in her midsection easing, she was only now noticing how hungry she was. She needed a place to eat, and a place to sleep, and if she could manage it, someplace where she could find the rest of that song.

[Wiz]

Here lies a valiant attempt at gaming by a talented group. It is dead because the GM couldn't assume the necessary level of responsibility to handle it alone. My apologies to all.