Woven: Los Doce

Fools - 0.6
The HellBasement can screw right off

GM: Sora stands in the office building’s incomplete husk, the barren floors and unfinished patches of wood giving the place a stark, skeletal look. It was a minor office building, once upon a time. However, when reviewing the floor plans, the city declared it a fire hazard after noting some details that were missed on initial approval. The company, rather than correcting it, decided to cut bait.

GM: Through a window long de-glassed she can see the moon standing bright in the crisp night air. Aros stares at her from the corner, where she’s causally leaning against the wall, arms folded over.

GM: “So, what do you think? Not too bad.”

GM: “Kind of sparse, but y’know, pretty out of the way. This safe enough for you?”

Sora Dorn: Sora, picking her way across the floor carefully stands up and looks around, holding the sleeve of her shirt up to her mouth.

Sora Dorn: After a few moments she nods.

Sora Dorn: “Just wish it didn’t smell so much like cats.”

GM: “Well, look at the silver lining. Plenty of living test subjects! We can probably get some spray or something.”

GM: “For the smell.”

GM: As you poke around, you see that while none of the rooms are exactly furnished, some are more complete than others. You feel like you should be intuiting…something about the space, but it

GM: ’s just beyond your grasp.

GM: Aros is actually pacing for the first time you’ve seen, murmuring something in a language you can only understand when you’re paying attention.

GM: “…good place for a lathe…interior expansion…portal-inlaid electric grid…test it on the cats…”

GM: You think that you’ve at least poked your head into every room until you note a closet you missed on your first pass.

Sora Dorn: Recall: Number of floors in this building.

GM: Only the one she’s been in, but there’s also very plausibly a basement.

Sora Dorn: Observe: Closet

GM: It’s not exactly a closet so much as a closet-like door. This door apparently had gotten wet at some point because it has icky blackish stains on the unpainted wood.

GM: It could lead to any number of things, but you guessed closet due to its location.

Sora Dorn: “Hmm”, says Sora. She closes her laptop, which she’s been using to build a quick google sketch-up of the interior.

Sora Dorn: She reaches into her bag and pulls out her ‘lock-pick’.

Sora Dorn: But before turning it on, she just tries the door.

GM: It…opens. And it stinks.

GM: The stairs leading to the lower level are pitch black and creepy as all hell. The overpowering scent of rotting wood and mud fill your nostrils, mixed in with something slightly unrecognizable.

GM: Aros looks over your shoulder, and sees you hesitantly stalling at the top of the stairs, and says “Well, you gonna go check it out or not?”

Sora Dorn: “Haha,” says Sora, her voice high and tight, “The creepy hell-stairs? You think I should?”

GM: "What, you’re gonna not see what’s down there? We’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. If something happens, we just book, okay?

Sora Dorn: Recall: Are there other stairs going down or is this the only stairs leading to the basement?

GM: As far as you’ve seen, this is it.

Sora Dorn: “OK,” says Sora, “OK… no. No! I’m a cape now. I don’t have to do the scared little girl thing. I can do this MY way. Screw you hell stairs!”

Sora Dorn: She closes the hell-stairs with what she hopes is a defiant thud, and goes and gets one of the broken chairs, wedging it under the door-handle.

Sora Dorn: Then she takes a few long steps away from the door and looks down, muttering, “All right, so if this is a basement then…”

Sora Dorn: She crouches down, putting the lock-pick, a rigid loop of metal wire with some boxy unfinished-looking electronics on one side, on the floor. She loops her cell-phone over her wrist and turns it on.

Sora Dorn: The diodes on the cellphone turn on from the flash-light app, and she keys into the camera. Then she turns on the lock-pick.

Sora Dorn: A corona of very subtle blue light flicker for an instant, and then there is a hole in the floor. It appears to have no depth to it, as though the floor, and the ceiling of the basement below, were thinner than paper.

Sora Dorn: Sora drops her hand holding her cellphone through the hole and clicks the camera several times.

Sora Dorn: Then she pulls her hand out and deactivates the lock-pick.

Sora Dorn: The hole in the floor vanishes.

Sora Dorn: She looks at her phone.

GM: Roll Dex please and thanks.

Sora Dorn: !roll 1d6

Dice Roller: Sora_Dorn rolled 1d6: 1 <Total: 1>

Sora Dorn: (Hurray!)

GM: The pictures were blurry and unclear as hell. There’s flash on your phone, sure but all you’re seeing is that there’s a lot of dark, muddy, grayness.

GM: And stink.

Sora Dorn: She does it again, and takes video this time.

GM: Roll that dex, I guess.

Sora Dorn: Err… ok.

Sora Dorn: !roll 1d6

Dice Roller: Sora_Dorn rolled 1d6: 1 <Total: 1>

GM: Well, it’s still dark, muddy, and grey.

GM: You think you might see a flash of movement, but near as you can tell it’s…bigger than it possibly should be.

GM: The basement.

GM: The walls seem to be, by your estimate, about as far around as the upper floor is? Maybe a little less? On closer inspection, you do see a single conspicuous flash of white along the grey, dirty concrete of the floor.

GM: You can’t tell what it is, but it’s un-moving.

GM: Aros stands over you and says “Listen, we can always just check out HellBasement when it’s light out. You know the horror movies, nothing happens when it’s daytime. If we get workshop set up here, we can just worry about all that down there later. It’s probably just some dead cats or something.”

Sora Dorn: “Hmm,” says Sora, pretending she isn’t scared. “If it’s ok though, it’d be better to setup down there then up here. Less likely to get people walking in.”

Sora Dorn: “Lemme just check that white thing.”

Sora Dorn: She relocates her little camera operation to above the section of flooring where the white thing is and repeats the procedure.

Sora Dorn: “Also, I need a better camera… and glow sticks! They always have glow sticks in movies.”

Sora Dorn: “And like… a bazooka.”

Sora Dorn: “And backup.”

Sora Dorn: !roll 1d6+2

Dice Roller: Sora_Dorn rolled 1d6: 2 <Total: 2(+2) = 4>

GM: The picture actually doesn’t come out bad this time. The white thing is the bones of a dead cat, curled up on the concrete.

GM: “Told ya so.”

Sora Dorn: “Aww… poor thing.”

Sora Dorn: “OK,” says Sora, sitting back. “Well, I guess I’ll have to move her, but lets er… wait ‘till it’s aired out a bit. Tonight we stay up here.”

Sora Dorn: That sounds reasonable.

Sora Dorn: She finds something reasonable and furniture-ey to sit on, and finishes her little sketch-up doodle.

Sora Dorn: “OK, well… I have some ideas, but I want to hear yours too. You can go first. Um… if you want.”

GM: “I was looking over in that room over there,” Aros says, pointing to a windowless office where some poor wage-slave was going to eke out miserable days, “and I think it would be an alright place to set up some machining equipment. Y’know, micro-forges, lathes and the like. We could make our own metal and stuff.”

GM: “And over here, and here, and here” she murmurs, pointing to 4 or 5 different places, “I was thinking we could maybe hook up portal networks to different places in the city. Like our room.”

GM: “And as far as the cats go, well, we’ve gotta test out on living subjects, right?” She says with a manic gleam in her eye.

Sora Dorn: “Hah,” says Sora, “Misreading it. Maybe we could teleport them to the pound!”

GM: “Hrm. Or we could shrink em’ into even smaller cats. Can you imagine how much the internet would eat that shit up?”

GM: “In any case, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sora Dorn: “Well, I mean, I think the portals are a good idea! And the equipment and stuff. I’m… going to need a costume.”

Sora Dorn: She feels embarrassed, even saying that to what is ultimately herself.

Sora Dorn: She crosses her legs with her knees up to her chest and picks at her fingernails.

Sora Dorn: “But mostly, I’m thinking, like, how tinkers die. We are a tinker right? Sort of? I wonder if the other tinkers have people like you and they just don’t tell anyone.”

GM: “Come on. You think that every tinker sees this and nobody would EVER talk about it? Maybe I was a twin you ate in the womb!” She cackles, smirking.

GM: “Nah, I’m probably some sort of weird backwards master construct if anything. Or you’re just bugfuck crazy.”

GM: “As for the costume, well, you’re gonna need that and a name.”

GM: “Oh, man, what if we built some bad-ass teleporting power armor!”

Sora Dorn: “Oh! I definitely want a teleporting costume. Like, that would be really cool

Sora Dorn: Sora does not mention that this desire has been obviously influenced by her many many hours watching Magical Girl anime.

Sora Dorn: “But, I was thinking, like… most tinkers. They build like… a lotta stuff, and I want to build stuff too, I’m like… physically itching to do it, but if I’m going to do the whole, you know… costume thing, I gotta be smart. It doesn’t matter if we’re crazy powerful, if we’re dumb, we’re goinna die.”

Sora Dorn: She looks down and away, “Or Mom is going to end up running everything.”

Sora Dorn: “So I’m thinking, space. That’s our thing, right? I mean, it usually takes tinkers a while to figure out what they’re good at but -”

Sora Dorn: She shakes the lock-pick in one hand.

Sora Dorn: “I guess that’s pretty clear already.”

GM: “You did hit the jackpot on that one. Remember that dweeb down in San Antonio? Slick was his name? Imagine having the tinker specialty of /lubricant/.”

GM: "Nah, I’m pretty sure all I can tell you how to make is, well, space stuff and things that’ll facilitate space stuff.

GM: “That lock-pick you’ve got there’s a good start, but I’ve got the know-how and you’ve got the thumbs. We can do so much more.”

Sora Dorn: “Hey!” says Sora, “Slick was pretty cool. He was on Deluge’s show a few times. I mean, his whole deal was sorta dumb, but he made it work.”

Sora Dorn: A pause.

Sora Dorn: “For a while.”

Sora Dorn: Endbringers you know.

Sora Dorn: They suck.

Sora Dorn: “Aaaanyway,” says Sora, shaking off a sudden case of the glooms, “I’m thinking we maybe don’t have to play the game like other tinks.”

Sora Dorn: “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

GM: “Oh? How so?”

GM: Aros has a genuinely curious expression.

GM: “You mean, like, staying all independent?”

Sora Dorn: “No!” says Sora, “I mean, yes, I mean, I don’t want to join the Wardens.”

Sora Dorn: “And the Olympians are awful except for maybe Baphomet.”

Sora Dorn: “No, I meant… tinkers get dead when their gear gets wrecked, when they run out of power, or when they’re grabbed without any.”

Sora Dorn: She raises a hand in the air as though conceding a point, “Or when they go up against an S-rank.”

Sora Dorn: “Can’t do much against those except run,” says Sora into her knees.

Sora Dorn: “But the other stuff,” she says, “That we can do something about.”

GM: “So you’re saying…we always have our gear? Something self-sustaining?”

GM: “Maybe some under-the skin implants, we could just pop the costume on you from across town!” Her grin is starting to leer back into the too-many, too-perfect teeth category.

Sora Dorn: Sora shares the grin, “Maybe, but think bigger. We don’t need a dozen ray-guns, or fifty different iterations of power armor. It’s like our laptop.”

Sora Dorn: She gestures at the laptop, a tiny brushed steel thing with a red case. On the case there’s a sticker with block letters on it that say “This machine pwns noobs.”

Sora Dorn: “It’s a piece of crap, but that’s ’cause if we need more power, I just push the computation into the cloud. Somewhere out there google server farm or Amazon blade spins up and poof, instant power.”

Sora Dorn: “We don’t need a better laptop, because we can reach out and just grab a more powerful computer.”

Sora Dorn: “We could make portal devices, or teleport bracelets, or costume implants. I’m sure we could…”

Sora Dorn: “But we don’t need too. We need one device, one device that we can reach out too when we need too.”

Sora Dorn: “I dunno,” she says, curling up again, “Maybe it’s dumb.”

GM: Aros chuckles. “It’s dumb. It’s dumb and it’s brilliant. We can be a walking armory. A storage closet full of any toy we could want. In our hands when we want it.”

GM: “We could take out each and every one of these assholes that run around, making this city such a pile of trash.”

GM: “But…we’ve gotta make those first steps. And if we are gonna do that, we need those tools.”

GM: I think we should head home. It’s…" Aros turns her head. “What time is it, about?”

Sora Dorn: “Late”, says Sora with a yawn. “We should go.”

Sora Dorn: She starts packing up her things into her bag. “Gotta get an air-horn,” she mutters.

Sora Dorn: She unlocks the hell-stairs and leaves them open so the basement can air out over the day.

Sora Dorn: She slips out, leaving the building locked and still, and heads home.

GM: The ride is as quiet as before, but even chillier. The city really does look gorgeous from this ridge, the textbook definition of a polished turd. As you ride, you think about your concept of one device managing all the rest of your tech. You can conceptualize it, you feel, but you can’t get into that tinker headspace of genuine comprehension until you’ve got your…double on board.

GM: What /IS/ Aros.

GM: Are you just mad? When did you trigger? All these thoughts and more as you feel the wind blow through your hair, riding down that one big hill you sweated up earlier.

GM: You get home at about 3:20, sneaking in very, very carefully.

GM: (Roll 1d20, please)

Sora Dorn: !roll 1d20

Dice Roller: Sora_Dorn rolled 1d20: 5 <Total: 5>

GM: As you tiptoe through the apartment, you hear your mother sniffle and snarfle from within her room as you stub your toe on a chair. She definitely drank enough to stay under. Oh, boy will she ever be pleasant tomorrow morning.

GM: As you climb out of your dirty, sweaty clothes, the events of the night run themselves through your mind.

Sora Dorn: “It’s going to happen,” she whispers to herself. “I’m actually going to do this.”

Sora Dorn: She sounds amazed at her own audacity.

Sora Dorn: “I’m actually going to do this!”

Fools 0.5
Jackal gets into his first cape fight; it goes less well than planned.

Bobert is playing as Barry Thompson, a formerly homeless man who triggered after being attacked by some snuff-film makers while on the streets. He’s gotten himself up off the ground for the time being, and has taken to the streets as the small-time independent hero Jackal. Jackal’s track record with unpowered muggers and burglars has been pretty solid so far, but he’s not yet faced another cape in a fight. Until now, that is…

Nukes: You swing open the door to your shitty motel room and stumble in, exhausted. Mopping floors may be getting really fucking old, but for you, it’s paying the rent and that’s what matters. However, the long day swabbing isn’t the sole reason behind your fatigued state. As you sit down hard on the creaking bed, your eyes are drawn to the closet where you keep your…going out duds. With the way things have kind of gotten over the last month, you have no doubt in your mind someone is going to need your help.

You hop onto TipJar, the primary resource for the enterprising vigilante looking for anonymous suggestions as to who deserves a punch in the face. As you scroll through the page on the tiny, beater-ass laptop, you see a Tip that catches your eye more than any other. It seems to be an eyecatcher because it has your name on it. Or at least, it appears to be addressed to you.

The tip reads “to the masked cape working in the southeast area of los doce, near rigby. i dont know who else to turn to. you seem to be stopping muggings and the like. theres a group of small time hood rats that have been stealing shit and sticking people up over on Puerto Avenue. look for the red house with the cracked windows. theyre lead by a cape i think. be careful.”

It’s still a few hours until sunset, about 6:00. What will you do?

Jackal: Well, there’s not much else to do but go to the red house and take down that cape, it will definitely be a pain in the ass. I’m feeling tired but sleep isn’t going to take care of these goons.

And mother of fucking god….

They’re led by a goddamn cape, Jesus fucking Christ…they say life ain’t easy but there is such a thing as overkill.

Nukes: You shrug your shoulders, feeling them pop. Wiping your eyes, you ponder what will probably be your first cape fight. You’ve taken out some muggers and that one guy who was beating his wife on East Hampton St. but you don’t think you’ve actually tangoed with another real cape yet. You yawn, and decide to go about it the cheap way. Extending your hand, you let your power surge through you, flesh dripping out of your fingers like candle wax as a bloated little homunculus comes into being. You command it to lay still as you promptly beat the absolute everloving shit out of it, feeling the absorbed damage funnel straight to you in the form of sweet fatigue-relieving energy. There’s a reason you’ve been able to keep going out with your work schedule. It’s not a perfect system by any means, overall a poor substitute for sleep, but you feel like you just drank a fifth of Red Bull.

Jackal: Ahh god damn, like a kick up the ass and a coffee down your throat! Just the thing I needed, though…if I’m going up against a cape I might need the other two guys for a backup supply. This is going to be a tough one.

Nukes: You create another pair of gross little gremlins to accompany their slowly mending brother. The sun’s still pretty high, it being the early summer. It’s still obscenely hot, too. You and your little bastards climb into your muddy, rusty, beater-ass pickup truck and begin the short drive down to Puerto Avenue. As you drive through the neighborhood, you think it seems right about the right kind of place for there to be gang activity. Poor, doesn’t seem like the cops or feds come down here often, run down…not to mention right on the border of Miscreants territory but enough to be out of their notice.

As you slowly drive through the neighborhood, nobody seems to be looking twice at you. The homunculi are sitting in the back of the cab, smacking each other and gibbering in simian tongues. Ah, that must be the red house. Slightly bigger than the rest, and looks like it might be a little less run-down. A rather large black guy sits on the front stoop, smoking a cigarette.

Jackal: Well time to put this rustbucket somewhere far enough away from this shithole, I can’t afford to lose this piece of crap. It was on a bargain after all, you gotta be pragmatic about these things y’know? Oh who the fuck am I even talking to you lonely, bitter fuck!? This is my life now, goading criminals into beating 3 gross midgets that I create so I can beat them up instead.

“Okay boys! We’re doing some scouting of the area! Play nice now!"

Okay, I gotta not look suspicious once I return to the warehouse…that dude seems mighty angry but I’ve held small talk with black folks before and 3 of my best friends in high school were black. They were busy doing their own thing but eh, we had some good times when we had the good times. Oh my oh my, a bunch of bricks just lying in a back-alley dead end corner! Probably the remains of an unfinished construction project. I could shove some in my pants and maybe sock the guy if he turns hostile.

Nukes: That you could, that you could. As your goblins scamper through the shadows around the house, they vaguely communicate what they’re seeing through the cracked, dirty windows. A handful of guys are smoking pot in the house, with what looks like a woman. The tables are covered in weed ash, money, and guns. The woman wears a red bandana over her mouth, and she seems to be ordering around some guy carrying a box. You heft on your bulletproof vest, slide on your coat, and don your mask as you slip the bricks into your coat pockets.

Jackal: Guns…fuck…I have a bulletproof jacket, but my head doesn’t. I gotta throw my little goblin-men under the bus. C’mon, Barry. Stop being a pussy and approach the disgruntled black criminal. There are innocents on the line! Sorta….kind of…

I send a message to my goblins, telling them to attack.

“Boys, do your thing!”

Nukes: The goblin hiding behind a trash can spies on the door guard, still smoking his cigs. At your order, he and his brothers suddenly attack the man, tackling, scratching and biting with malformed little fingers and oblong yellow teeth. As he fights the squishy little bastards off, kicking them away and beating them with his fists, he calls out into the house for “Deuce Deuce” to come help him.

He then pulls his Dyne 93 out and begins unloading into the triplets. While you’ve been soaking up their beating damage, the gunshots are taking chunks out of them that aren’t mending like the punches. Just as you’re rounding the corner and walking onto Puerto Street, you see the woman with the red facial bandana appear and, with a wave of her hand, blow one of the gremlins from the porch to the middle of the road, landing with a meaty splat. The thug pops the last of the surviving gremlins in the head with his Dyne and you begin to feel the accumulated stores they’ve absorbed course through your body.

You feel…powerful. You feel you probably have about a solid 5 minutes of charge. You’re standing at a street corner, several houses down from the red house. The thug and “Deuce Deuce” have not yet noticed you.

Jackal: I walk down slowly, I have a bulletproof jacket and invulnerability, so I have nothing to fear. Also better to conserve that energy for when the criminals are close, good thing I have all them bricks in my pockets. I wave to the thug.

“Why hello there sir! Have you heard the good news about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ!?”

Nukes: The thug scowls, and levels his Dyne right at your head. Deuce Deuce turns to you and says in a shrill voice “Oh, hell. Who da fuck’s this clown? Yo, bitch, you set these weird little fucks on me n’ my boy? You tryin’ to creep up on Deuce Deuce’s corners? You wanna get fuckin’ capped, bitch?”

The thug says nothing.

“Hey hey, pal. Why so silent?” I ask as I approach him.

“Is it cause thinking of doing good just something that contradicts your actions maybe? I heard gunshot noises, so I’m assuming that’s a yes. Why in the hell would you fuck other people over when you could make this shithole better? I heard a cape is your leader.”

Nukes: Deuce Deuce goes “fuck this nigga talkin, bout?” to the thug, then shouts loudly to you “Damn right a cape runnin’ the Puerto Boys! Name’s Deuce Deuce and what’s bout to happen is ya gonna come over here and do some explainin’ as to why I just had to blow some nasty lil’ shit off my porch. As for all the rest that shit, man I dunno where in the hell you from but this ain’t Bellview, boy. Round here you run the corners or you get ran. S’how it is.”

Jackal: “Now that’s not very nice. You sure you really want to gun down some stranger just because he doesn’t want you to be criminals?”

I am as close as I possibly can be to the thug and the red house. If he wastes his bullets on me I can wreck this son of a bitch real clean.

“I’m just giving you a second chance. Since the coppers and the feds don’t seem to give two shits about you and this place. If you were honest and clean you’d be smoking hand-made cuban cigars instead of dope. Food for thought?”

Nukes: Deuce Deuce looks at you wide eyed for a moment, then full on laughs, doubling over as she cackles with genuine laughter. As she manages to wheeze her way back to breathing, she manages “wheeew…man, that’s funny shit. Knew y’all heroes was a bunch of pansy ass niggas but that shit’s fuckin’ funny as hell! Aight, Malcolm. Ice this motherfucker.”

Malcolm, the thug, nods slightly, takes aim with his Dyne, and lets a bullet loose right at you!

Jackal: Good thing I got that jacket and the invulnerability cause this is going to hurt either way. Fuck me that bullet is probably going to be strong, but I want to block it anyway. I’m too encumbered to roll, I need an excuse to get rid of the bricks.

Nukes: Please roll 1d6+Your Guts Modifier.

Jackal rolled (1d6)+1: 4 <total:>

Nukes: You activate your power, feeling the energy you had absorbed course back through you as you raise your hands to stop the bullet from embedding itself in your skull. It pierces the skin on your arm but between the coat and your power, the bullet does little else than nick you.

Jackal: I throw one of my bricks at Malcolm.

Jackal rolled (1d6)+1: 6 <total:>
Jackal rolled 1d10: 10 <total:>

Nukes: You pitch a brick from your coat directly into Malcolm, hard enough to spin him to the ground. Deuce Deuce then responds by making a finger gun at you, firing it while screaming “MUTHAFUCKA”. She fires a blast of kinetic force hard enough to knock you on your ass, invuln or not.

Jackal: Agh! Fucking dumb broad! Okay, this settles it, these people ain’t worthy of civilised discourse. I should get up and send the broad flying with a punch. I think I’ll put my all into it.

Nukes: Roll to hit, please.

Jackal rolled 1d6: 5 <total:>

Nukes: She fires another blast, but this one was far smaller in size and strength than the last. It still looks like it would hurt, but it misses you as you roll to your feet, sprint up to Deuce Deuce and try to crack her in the face or chest as hard as you can. She manages to bring her arms up, absorbing some of the blow, but still the hit shoots her into Malcolm, who was getting up, knocking them both into a heap. Unfortunately, you now notice three other thugs beginning to surround you, one with a tire iron, one with a knife, and one with another Dyne. They must have come out the side door or something.

Jackal: I should bash the skull of the gun wielding one, I might not be so lucky next time.

Jackal rolled (1d6)+2: 5 <total:>

Nukes: You vault out of the way as the gunman lets loose bullet after bullet, zigzagging as you run up to brain him, brick in hand.

Roll to hit.

Jackal rolled (1d6)-1: 4 <total:>

Nukes: As you run up, you are intercepted by a slight pulse of force, fired from a getting-up Deuce Deuce with rage in her eyes. The force pulse feels like a small shove, but at that speed is enough to make you miss on the downswing as you try to club the gunman. However, the tire-iron thug comes in swinging, trying to hit you in the teeth with his metal bar!

Roll to block or dodge.

Jackal: I block the bastard as well as I can.

Jackal rolled 1d6+1: 3 <total:>

Nukes: You swing your hand up just in time to catch the bar, and rip it from his grasp, sending it clattering to the sidewalk. Oh shit, the guy with the knife is coming at you now.

Roll to block or dodge.

Jackal: Ah crap, I need to dodge fast!

Jackal rolled (1d6)+2: 5 <total:>

Nukes: You manage to dodge the knife, moving inches from its reach.

Jackal: I kick the guy right in the groin.

Jackal rolled (1d6): 6 <total:>

Nukes: You kick him so hard in the balls that you feel something give under the force of your foot. He screams and drops, clutching his ruined nards. KnifeThug is out of the fight. However, Malcolm has managed to pick himself back up, and he and the other gunman are closing in. Deuce Deuce, clutching her arm, drops it and extends her hand in a finger gun position, walking towards you. You feel like you may have a good minute of power left, and once it gives, you are going to be EXHAUSTED.

Jackal: Oh fuck me sideways, if I croak here now or lose my strength the only option is to bail. I’ll be gunned down like a roach if I don’t do something. I charge at full strength at Malcolm and other gun wielding thug. I need to take their guns away from them if I can have a chance at kicking Deuce Deuce’s ass.

Nukes: Roll Brawn+Athletic on a d12, add both of your modifiers together, with a +2 power bonus.

Jackal rolled (1d12)+2: 6 <total:>

Nukes: You slam into the gunman, grabbing him with you as you slam him into Malcom. Bullets whiz past you as you push yourself, the time ticking away ever faster. You put them both down with a quick punch to the jaw. It’s just you, Deuce Deuce and the guy who collected his tire iron. 30 more seconds.

Jackal: I pick up both their guns and begin firing wildly at both Deuce Deuce and the thug with the tire iron. Gotta make it count, something tells me DD isn’t going to go down easy.

Nukes Roll dexterity twice. Add a +1 for not trying to hit anything in particular on them.

Jackal rolled (1d6)1: 1 <total:>
Jackal rolled (1d6)
1: 2 <total:>

Nukes: Your blind firing pays off with nothing, as Tire Iron and Deuce Deuce look at each other. You begin to feel your power ebbing away, exhausting you to the point where you’re having trouble standing.

Jackal: Oh mother of fuck, this trenchcoat is exhausting. BUT, it’s still full of bricks. If I can use the last of my strength I can try and chuck it at them. This better work.

Nukes: Roll for Guts.

Jackal rolled 1d6: 6 <total:>

Nukes: You manage to whip the brick-filled pockets of the coat around like a flail just in time for them to catch tire iron in the head, knocking him stone cold out. However, it’s at that moment that Deuce Deuce sticks her finger right in your face and blows you across the yard. Everything hurts, and you are so tired you can barely believe you’re still moving at all. Your ears are ringing and you feel wetness where you hit your head on the ground.The last thing you see before you lose consciousness is the bandana-wearing woman walk up to you, hot malice in her eyes, and spit on your face.

Fools - 0.4
Sora Dorn talks to herself and goes for a bike ride

Nukes: It’s a blindingly bright afternoon here in Los Doce, California. The sun is beating down on the streets like a massive glowing boot, driving the populace under roofs and into oceans to seek shelter from the heat. For you, Sora Dorn, the searing conditions are of little concern. You are currently holed up in your air-conditioned and climate-controlled bedroom, pouring over the chatter of the teeming masses on your laptop.

“Parahumans Online > Parahuman Life > Current Cape Events > Los Doce > New Cape In Soledad???”

The thread is abuzz with conversation and theorizing regarding this scrap of security footage from the 7/11 that got wrecked earlier today. In the grainy but intelligible video, you can clearly see two relatively bulky white dudes with shaved heads get tossed through a window with a discharge of lightning behind them. The general consensus is that there appears to be a new cape in town, a hero or vigilante by the looks of it. According to several PHObics, the guys who had gotten injured (and in one case, iced entirely) were involved with those psychos from up north. The Pure Riders. While a few people are shit-posting about Arclight taking the law into his own hands, not a ton of capes in the area have lightning powers and a beef with the Riders, so this thread is currently awash with speculation as the the identity and nature of this mystery vigilante. And the one entrusted with keeping them from tearing each other apart is you, LotOnMyMind, one of the Moderators of the Los Doce subsection of the Parahumans Online message-board and forums. A badge you wear with pride.

In the corner of your eye, another you sits reclining on your bed, drumming her fingers as she watches you work. There is a crime against the laws of physics sitting under your bed, in the little hidey hole in the mattress your mom doesn’t know about.

What will you do?

Sora Dorn: Sora rubs her eyes a bit and stretches. It’s been a bit rough today, and she’s been distracted. She’s supposed to be doing her homework, and later she has a piano lesson that she hasn’t practiced for, but she’s been… distracted. She glances over at her double and then back at the computer. She finishes her current post

“Look, I’m not saying I think she’s a villain, but you’re not allowed to crap all over people who think she is. We don’t know anything about this girl yet, but she’s out there in costume so we’re all just going to have to wait and see. Try to keep things civil or you’re going to have to leave the thread.”

She clicks over to IRC and PM’s one of the other moderators, a person called LiasonMonkey. They’ve never met, but they’ve known each other online for about a year. Liason is good people but a little weird. Sora pegs her as something of a shut-in, and maybe on some kind of disability. She’s online way more than Sora is, and usually knows what’s what.

“Hey, so what do you think about this new Cape? I’ve just spent 45 minutes listening to people scream about her.”

Nukes: “Well, the main problem is, was, and continues to be a lack of info. I’ve heard people saying it was a Miscreants hit, but it’s not their particular flavor of flashy. What I do know is that what we see over the next few days will let us know better. If this mystery cape is really dedicated to sticking grit in Cleanse’s craw and is this unafraid of collateral, we might be seeing more of this over the next couple weeks. If not, well, then maybe this is what happens when things get out of hand. They might go into hiding, they might make an even louder show, but one way or another we’ll be knowing more about them soon. From a personal standpoint, I can’t stand the Riders. Good that someone’s finally standing up to them. Here’s hoping we don’t find her strung up like the last guy to try and take it to them alone. Poor Weta.”

Sora Dorn: “Eurgh”, sends Sora, “Don’t remind me.”

She looks over at her double again, twirling her fingers through her short hair.

“I dunno, I can’t get a handle on this one. People keep saying it was a hit but I dunno. I keep going over what the shopguy said…”

Sora pulls up a youtube panel of the breathless interview with the shopkeepers whose store was destroyed. She’s already watched it three times.

“He says ‘she just comes in and then blows everything up’, which sounds like a hit, but then he says later that ‘there was a big commotion and scuffle’ which means there was time between her showing up and the place going boom.”

Nukes: “People keep neglecting the interview, as they always do. Curse you, all you PHObes with your short attention spans! Not to mention, if it were a Miscreants job, do you think they’d not have touched the guy behind the counter? None of the money was taken or anything. This was either a really brutal vigilante hit, or some newbie hero didn’t know their own strength. New heroes, independent from the Twins…honestly the refresher that city of yours needs. Jackal’s a start, but he’s so small-time he’s barely there.”

From over your shoulder, your double finally chimes in.

“It could be you, you know. You could go out and make this turd of a city somewhere worth growing up. Won’t even need Mom or Marduk or Adept of any of them. You know that little toy under the bed? That was our first time. Imagine what we can do with a little more under our belt, Sora!”

She was noticeably far enough away that she would not be able to read the text on your screen, not to mention she’s been staring at the ceiling for the last few minutes.

Sora Dorn: “I don’t…” Sora trails off. She unconsciously looks down at the bed where the portable hole is hidden. She turns back to the computer.

“Yeah, she hits me as really new at this.”

She pauses for a few seconds and then appears to make a decision.

“Hey Monkey, I know it’s a noob question, but what would you do if you were a Cape? I mean, like, boom, tomorrow you wake up and you’ve got super strength or eye lasers or something?”

Nukes: “Me? I dunno. I don’t really think I’m cut out for hero work. Depends on the power I guess. Maybe I’d be a rogue, like Fluidity! Unless I got some really dangerous or bad power. Then I’d probably go to the Wardens, see if they can help me.”

You tab over to the other thread. Looks like PHO User “unknownsoldier14” is shitposting about how the Pure Riders are “the last bastion against degeneracy” in this “shitskin-infested faggot hive”. Oh, how charming.

Sora Dorn:Sora wields the ban-hammer, booting them out of the thread. She checks their total post number, six, a sock-puppet. She sighs and dumps their IP into the firewall database.

She clicks back to Monkey, “Well yeah, but everyone wants to be Fluidity.”

She rubs her eyes, it’s been a long few days.

“You’d go Wardens? Really? I mean, you wouldn’t want to… like… I dunno. Forget it. I’m being a noob. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Nukes: “Remember, I don’t think I’d be a great hero. Dunno if I’ve got that, y’know, spark. But if I had a power that could help a lot of people…or one that could hurt a lot of people…I think the Wardens, while they aren’t perfect, have the infrastructure to help you more than anyone else. And I’m sorry to hear, hun! You probably haven’t been sleeping for a reason so I won’t bother trying to cram advice down your throat, but know your old pal Monkey hopes whatever’s keeping you up gets dealt with.”

Sora Dorn: “Haha, yeah. It’s just…”

Sora pauses and watches the cursor blink for a minute.

“School stuff,” she continues, “You know.”

“I gotta dash, lets talk later ok? Maybe we can figure out who that new cape is.”

Sora clicks out of her moderation panel and hits a few key presses. The remote-booted Linux distro on the Cloud auto-encrypts its local files and shelves them as her screen returns to the default windows desktop. She carefully maintains her laptop because her mother has an administrator password. She’s not supposed to know that.

So she makes sure that she has just enough contraband on her computer (music files mostly, a series of Sailor Moon once, ripped from a friends DVD set) so that her Mom and whatever Deus Industries techies she has looking over her digital shoulder remain convinced she uses her computer the way she’s supposed to.

She doesn’t. She shuts down the false desktop too. And clicks the laptop closed. She looks out through her floor to ceiling windows. The room she’s in is on the 63rd floor. Looking out into the city is like peering into a steel and concrete forest.

“OK,” she says, to herself, to the empty air.

“If we’re going to do this, I guess we’re going to need a toolbox.”

Nukes: Your duplicate is now next to you, grinning with just-too-many perfect teeth.

“Now we’re cooking. What we need to do is get our hands on some good tools. I’m not talking about raiding the janitor’s closet, sister. I mean big. Like, the engineering department big.” Unfortunately, your double is cut off by the buzzing of your phone. Oh man, gotta get it before three rings!
You manage to get the phone open, just in time for the voice of Hera Dorn to sink into your ears.

“Sora, you are to be at Piano Lessons an hour early today. I have spoken with Mr. Costanza about trying some more advanced technical exercises and he informed me that you will be able to make use of this. As such, do be aware that I expect your Chemistry Lab to be complete before you leave. I have informed Lawrence of the situation and he will be here to collect you at 4:00.”

Sora Dorn: “Yes Mom,” says Sora.

After waiting for her Mom to say goodbye, she closes the phone. When is she going to get the time to do any of this? Well… she wasn’t really planning on sleeping that much anyway. “I’m sorry,” she says to her double. “I guess this will have to wait.”

Nukes: “Don’t worry. I think I might have an idea.” your muse says with a mischievous look in her eye. So you put your nose to the grindstone for the rest of the day, pounding your head against the wall with the Stoichiometry lab your Chemistry tutor had given you. You still aren’t sure if you’re a tinker or you’ve finally just cracked and gone entirely and completely bug-fuck insane, but either way it sure isn’t helping you figure these damnable conversions out more easily. However, after a long day of frustrating summer schoolwork, piano lessons spent trying to ignore the scrap of salami in your teacher’s mustache, and trying to divert your attention away from the fact that you’re suddenly seeing an imaginary twin, you’re absolutely exhausted.

You collapse onto your bed a bit after dinner, shortly after your Mom came in having a tedious-sounding conversation over the phone. She greeted you and promptly fucked off to her home office, as is the norm.

You finally manage to settle into a soft, comfortable, bone-tired sleep…Until you hear your new best friend scream “HEY SORA GUESS WHAT WAKE UP” into your ear.

You blearily crack your eyes open, fumbling for your glasses. Yep. 1:45 AM. That’s just dandy.

Sora Dorn: “Thanks Sora,” she whispers. Then stops, and looks at her Other. “Wait, I can’t really be calling you Sora, right? I mean. That’s cuh-ray-zee.”

Nukes: “Sora, you’re talking to yourself. The same you that told you how to build a hole in spacetime. Is any of this sane? In any case, it’s time to get your lazy rear up. We’ve got some tinkering to do, sis. As for what ya call me, it’s up to you. I don’t really care any which way. Now, listen, I could tell EXACTLY what you had rattling around in that brain of yours and I think I might have a plan to make that your reality. But, like you said. We need a toolbox. And dad’s isn’t gonna cut it this time. I’m saying we go right for the source. The R&D offices. We don’t need to go for the crazy stuff you and I both know Mom’s bosses are cooking up, but if we could get to their tool cabinet, it would be one heck of a head-start.”
Sora Dorn: “What!?” asks Sora, almost falling out of her chair. “That’s… super dangerous! I mean, Mom would kill me. Let’s just… like, find somewhere private first. Even if we do your plan we can’t exactly store a bunch of stolen tools and stuff under my mattress.”

Nukes: Your double shifts to a relatively bored expression and murmurs “Fiiiiiiiiiine. But once we find somewhere to stash it all, you and I are gonna go to TOWN on the fabric of the universe.” You know the area pretty well, having lived here for a few years, and you know that the Mosca Town developments are fairly new. This area’s gotta have plenty of places that just…fell through the cracks, right? You begin clambering through the absolute gauntlet that is your laptop’s startup procedure. From the way Mom came in tonight, you have a feeling her after-work glass of wine might be somewhat deeper than usual, so you’re less concerned with light and noise than you may be otherwise.

Sora Dorn: This means that her precautions are only significantly paranoid. She already has a few sites picked out, but she wants to run through the financial data tonight as well as check on the local security firms. It won’t do to pick a place that’s empty, but patrolled by guards and dogs.

Nukes: Please roll a Knowledge Check in Computers please.

Sora Dorn rolled (1d6)+2: 2 <Total: 4>

Nukes: You trawl around on a handful of real-estate and financial data sites for about half an hour, finding a couple pretty attractive looking properties. There’s an unfinished Taco Bell on 5th Street that looks like it will never come to be. It’s in an inconvenient place, but it’s probably not checked in on too often. There’s also the Fulton Shopping Sooper-Plex but that’s about an hours drive north in the middle of Riders territory. So yeah, no. Finally there’s a pair of one-story office buildings that were supposed to house some law firm or something of the like. One was condemned due to fire risk, and the other was condemned due to not being up to earthquake code and paying the price in a cracked foundation. One of them is about 3 blocks away, the fire hazard one, and the other with the cracked base is right by Farley Bridge, about a 20 minute bike ride from here.

Sora Dorn: “Hmm…” muses Sora, looking at her list. She checks her watch, she can’t really stay up for more then another hour or two or she’ll be a zombie tomorrow. She has some pep pills from last exam season, but she doesn’t want to start relying on them…After a few minutes thinking she pipes the location for the two office buildings and the Taco Bell to her phone. She’ll check those ones out. The Sooper-Plex would be perfect, that thing is never getting built, but now is a very bad time to be anywhere near the Riders territory. That new Cape just hit them, killed one of their soldiers, and they’re going to be buzzing like a swarm of angry hornets. She double checks her phone and then carefully pulling her door open, slips out of her apartment and downstairs to grab her bike.

Nukes: Alright, you have the time right now to get to the Taco Bell in maybe 40 minutes if you ride your bike. It’s over on 5th street, which will probably be a pretty nice ride. There’s a spot along the way where you can get a pretty nice look at the harbor. Your Muse giggles as she appears around the corner. You swear, most of the time you don’t even see her walk…she’s just already there when you walk into a room.

“Look at you, sneaking out, riding your bike alone in this big, bad city…might almost think you’re coming out of your shell there, Sora!”

As you pull your bike off the rack in the back of the building, you breathe in the comparatively cool night air. Good god it was hot today. The ride to the Taco Bell is brisk and uneventful. As you approach it, you notice that the building itself looks more or less done, short of the wood in the windows and the lack of a sign. The only thing that seems to indicate any sort of damage or anything is the hastily spraypainted “VD” on one of the walls. However, it’s surrounded by a hastily erected chain link fence, complete with barbed wire.

Sora Dorn: Recall: “VD”

Nukes: Gimme a Knowledge roll, please.

Sora Dorn rolled (1d6)+1: 4 <Total: 5>

Nukes: Uh oh. The black spray-paint was the real clincher on this one. VD could just be initials or something else entirely, but that coupled with the black paint probably means one thing and one thing only.

Viva Discordia. Motto of the Miscreants.

You don’t know if this is some sort of base or something, or if it’s just somewhere some kids were fucking around in once, or even a safe-house.

Sora Dorn: This is unusual right? I’m not in their usual area of influence.

Nukes: Well, the thing is, the Miscreants are pretty much all over. Big social media presence and all that. You’ll see kids wearing shirts that say Viva Discordia or tweeting #VD ironically alongside a picture of someone stepping on grass despite a sign’s earnest protests. The place where the legit scary fuckers hang out is just across Farley Bridge, over in the Gunsel Harbor area. So it’s a little disquieting, but nothing worth telling the cops about.

Sora Dorn: “Crap,” says Sora, shaking the chain-link fence. “This place would be perfect but…” She sighs. And looks down at herself.

“That’s why it’s taken.”

“OK,” she says, getting back on her bike. As she’s about to kick off she stops, as though an idea striking her. “What about Aros?”

Nukes: Your double, who’s suddenly standing on the other side of the fence kicking rocks, looks up as you say that and cocks her head. "I don’t know who the heck Aros is, but I’m personally for just taking it for ourselves. We could booby trap it and everything! But, hey, you’re the one who exists.”

Sora Dorn: “Hey, I know you’re me and you’re like my confidence and my ‘purest essence of self’ and everything, but – well you’re me, you know the average lifespans of new Capes. ESPECIALLY new capes with no defensive powers. Two weeks? Then they join a crew or they disappear.”

“And we are not joining the Olympians and we are not dying. Yeah, I think Aros can help, probably. Aros is you. Aros Han. It works, don’t you think?”

Nukes: Aros begins to chuckle, then giggle. “Oh, sister. It does more than work. Aros it is.”

Fools - 0.3
Overcast has an uncomfortable conversation with her girlfriend.

Nukes: It’s been several hours since your destructive excursion to the convenience store. You receive a text from Violet at about noon, interrupting your Netflicks binge watching. In impeccable grammar, the message reads

“Hey, I think we should try the Thai place over on Munroe Street. I’ve got a prep meeting for about 20 minutes and then I’ll be able to meet you…we said one, right? Meet you at one. <3”

As far as the news you’ve been browsing, the most charitable thing you’ve seen so far is a few excited tweets talking about a new cape in Los Doce, with the less charitable articles reading “Unidentified Parahuman Attacks Store; kills one; hospitalizes two.”

Overcast: I text her back. “sounds great V <333” “but uh, there’s something we need to talk about” I get off the couch, go to my closet and fetch something a little more presentable. Realizing that I might have a few bruises to cover up, I check the bathroom mirror, and get out my makeup.

Nukes: Hoo boy. That’s definitely a bruise on your jaw there. The ones on your forearms are less severe, but you hadn’t quite dissolved all the way when you got that fucker’s fist in your cheek. It’s not quite disfiguring, but it’s slightly hard not to notice. As you hang up and fold the spandex of your costume, you consider how you feel about the death of that skinhead. Sure, he had it coming. But you, accidentally or not, killed someone in that 7-11.

The other two got off with tasting their own fillings for the rest of their lives, from the sound of things. But still, it doesn’t change the fact that even though you risked your life for that guy behind the desk, he wound up turning more on you than the thugs. Maybe he was more intimidated by what the Riders would due to him if he spoke up, more than what you might do.

You’ve read about some of the things they’ve found happen to people who piss off the Pure Riders. The kind of death someone like Lynch or Zyklon can cause, or worse, what Cleanse does to people…You suddenly realize you fall under the purview of “someone who pissed off the Pure Riders”.

Overcast: The thought does not sit well. But of all the people to be up against, at least opposing them feels… right. I spend a few minute trying to cover up the worst of the bruises, particularly the nasty one on my jaw. Ech, still kinda hurts. While I cover things up, I start thinking about just how in the hell I’m going to explain all this to Violet. Not that that wasn’t already at the forefront of my mind.

Nukes: Speak of the devil…a text. “Oh no, what happened Rose? Are you alright?”

“I just got out of the meeting with the client, do you need me to come home??”

Uh oh, double question mark. She’s concerned.

Overcast: I send back a few texts. “nono, im fine” “well, maybe not fine but dont worry about it” “we ll talk about it over lunch, k?”

“I really really REALLY hope she doesn’t flip out.”

I think as I apply the last of the coverup on my jaw. Soon enough I’ve got my good clothes on, car keys in hand, and I’m ready to head out the door and make my way to the Thai restaurant.

Nukes: “Thai Dye – Authentic Bohemian Thai Cuisine”

You feel like you just blundered into Southeast Asian Woodstock. Everything is draped in beads and Buddhas, and the smell of Pad Thai mixes with Curry and a faintly skunky smell you think is coming from the “employees only” room. Violet is sitting in a booth, reading a menu. Her face lights up when she sees you, then her smile turns into a frown, and her eyebrows furrow, and as you sit down she just says in an urgent voice “Rosie, what happened?”

Overcast: I fast-walk to the seat facing her in the booth. “Okay, this is going to be uh… A doozy. So you might want to get ready for it, but like, keep it down, okay?” I plead. Her serious expression and worried eyes speak volumes.

“Okay, so remember that night I came home beat to shit, pissed, and… wait, okay, maybe I should start with today…” I take a deep breath and swallow my hesitation. The look on her face is killing me, I can’t stand making her worry like this.

I lean in close, and in hushed tones, I whisper to her. “I’m a cape…”

Nukes: Violet’s eyes widen. She actually stammers momentarily for the first time you’ve seen…ever?

“Erm, uh, I…what? Rosie, you-you’re joking, right!?” She screams in a whisper.

“How long!? Who did this to you? Why didn’t you just tell me?"

Her pupils are dilated and she’s breathing quickly. She looks at you and then seems to really, really look at you. She then slowly pulls out her phone and thumbs to a gif of security footage. Two men in leather jackets are tossed through a window. She turns it to you, looks you dead in the eyes, and very softly says “you didn’t.”

Overcast: I gulp, looking to the side guiltily. “I… I did. B-but, this was the first time. My first time out, okay, it’s not like I really wanted to hide this from you, Vi.”

Nukes: Violet stands up, touches you on the hand and just says “I-I need a moment.” She then promptly backs out of the restaurant, fumbling in her pockets.

Overcast: I follow after her, catching up to her just outside the door, a sorry expression on my face. “Vi…”

Nukes: Violet is fumbling with a cigarette and a lighter, for the first time you’ve seen in over a year.

“Please, Rose. Just…why? Why didn’t you go to the authorities!? Why didn’t you just tell me? I know what I said about capes all those times but you should have trusted me!”

She flicks a cheap lighter a few times and doesn’t get a spark. As she notices the cigarette in her mouth, she tears it out and throws it on the ground. As she stares at the ground, she’s quiet for a few moments. She sniffles, wipes her face with a cloth from her pocket, and composes herself.

“I think we should maybe order to go.”

Overcast: I clasp my hands, awkward expression still all over my face. “Yeah…” A few minutes of relative silence and an unexpectedly swift order later, we head home, Thai food in tow.

Nukes: You take separate cars, and you spend the ride alone in tearful, uncomfortable silence. Violet hasn’t touched a cigarette in, like a year. Why did she even have one with her? This case must be getting to her head more than she’s letting on…and then she got this dropped on her. You pull into the lot, and park your van.

As you open your apartment door, Violet is sitting on the couch, having looked up from untouched curry.

“…Tell me everything, Rose."

Overcast: “Okay…” I sit down next to her, eyeballing whatever “pad kra pao” is, before taking a deep breath, and letting it out. “That night when I got beat up by the PRs. That was my trigger. A-and I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to freak you out, or worry you, or…” I sigh. "Ever since then… I thought, if I have these powers then, maybe… I mean, maybe I should be a hero. Maybe that’s what the world has planned for me? And yeah, I did just do something stupid, and… rrgh.”

After a brief moment of silence between us, I break it. “I got a tip on the internet that the Pure Riders were fucking around near Soledad, and I should have had more of a plan than I did…But like it or not, there’s a new cape in town. And it’s me.”

Nukes: “It’s…a lot to take in, Rose. You know how I feel about vigilantism. I trust you…but what you did by the beach was dangerous. Dangerous and dumb. If you’re really serious about this, I’ll do what I can to help you…but I need to know some things. I canceled my 2:30, so I’ve got time. We need to make a plan. I seriously think you should go to the Wardens, they’re at least legally in the clear and they have the resources to help you. I’ve seen what happens when the wrong people get powers, and I don’t want to see you get hurt or worse. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt and there was more I could have done.”

Overcast recalls The Wardens

Nukes: [The Wardens are the Government-sponsored syndicate of superheroes formed in the wake of 2003’s attack on DC by the Endbringer Typhon. Consolidated out of hundreds of super teams across the nation, the Wardens have been the driving force over the last decade in battling Parahuman crime in the United States.As the first line of defense against insane capes and monsters like the Endbringers, the Wardens are well-funded and hold near celebrity status. The local branch, led by the telekinetic Adept, are locked in a PR war with Corporate-funded team The Olympians, when they should be dealing with the immediate threats to public safety.]

Overcast: “The Wardens, Vi? Seriously? Their egos are almost as big as the Olympians’! And I really don’t want be part of a team more concerned with their public image than actually helping people… Even… Even if that means I’m putting myself at more of a risk."

Nukes: "I…I just can’t feel comfortable knowing you’re going out there with no safety net. I’ve seen people do some scary things, Rose. I might feel more comfortable if I could…maybe see exactly what it is you do?”

Overcast: “Uh…” I wanted to say “Yeah, sure.” but in that moment, the world slowed to a stop. My mind raced back to the the convenience store. The ruined mess, the body, the cowering angry man behind the counter. I snap back, silent as the grave.

“Not inside.”

Nukes: “That bad? I…I’m having a hard time thinking of somewhere private enough…oh! We can go up north, maybe to the flats out in Fulton? Nobody would bug us out in the desert.”

Overcast: I nod. "Mmn, yeah. “ I grab my keys, take Violet by the hand, and head for the door. “Wait…” Stopped in place, I turn, looking at the Thai takeout on the table. I close everything up, shove it back in the bag and take it with us. “Come on, let’s go.” I say as I go back to the minivan, Violet right behind me. The ride over to Fulton is far less talk-saturated than a ride without Thai food would be, making it almost seem quick.

“Alright, here we are. Yeah, doesn’t look like there’s going to be anyone around to see…” We exit the car.

Nukes: “Alright, you can show me now, right?” Violet chimes in.

Overcast: “Yeah.” I walk out a fair distance away from her. I turn back towards her, and take a deep breath, instants later, my body begins to dissolve into vapor, a huge cloud forming when I was, or rather, where I still am.

Nukes: Violet’s eyes widen for the second time that day, and she sits very hard down on a chunk of upraised concrete. The cracked sign for the “Fulton Shopping Sooper-Plex” that never came to be creaks slightly.

“Well…there goes my last hope of this being an elaborate prank…”

Violet begins to chuckle, then she begins to laugh, and then she guffaws, and then she throws up.

Fools - 0.2
Loom and Alloy buy guns and argue with Loom's ex-wife.

Nukes: “Gooooood morning Los Doce, you know who it is, mix master Bobby Z bringin’ you those cool rhythms of yesteryear all mornin’ long. It looks like it’s gonna be another scorcher today, so keep on that sunblock kiddies. The time is 6:30 in the A to the M and let me tell you, all you early birds out there, it is the time to be! So to get us kickin’ off this mornin’ I’ll be bringing you hound dogs an ol’ personal fav of mine. That’s right, we’ve got my boy Paul Simon, bringin’ you that ’76 classic 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover.”

The scratching, acrimonious tones of Bobby Z stir you to consciousness. Despite the youth of the day, it’s still a very bright July morning. Your name is Abe Heeran, and it’s been about a month since that fateful day you lost it all. As Paul Simon’s dribbling guitar is filtered down to a wet murmur by the hearing loss, you slowly tilt yourself out of bed and, then, catch yourself smiling as you realize that despite it all…

Today’s the day.

What will you do?

Loom: I stretch and sit facing the open window, taking in the glorious morning. Getting up I wander to the next room and put water on for a cup of coffee. searching through the web that overlays my vision I find a clean mug and make a note to finish the dishes at some point. I wander over and start the shower up going over my plans for the day as I do so. I’ll meet Vern first to discuss and then… hmmm, maybe I’ll see if Malone wants to talk. Pouring myself a cup of coffee and grabbing a piece of toast, I then walk out the door to my car.

Nukes: You drink in the morning sun as you go about your daily routine, while Bobby Z inaudibly pumps 70’s hits in the background. After the whole of the morning routine, it’s about 7:15 or so. You hop into your big white van and begin backing out of the driveway. Oh, great, looks like you’ve got a text from the witch.

“you better pick up michael and melanie on time abe ive got shit to do and i can’t be waiting on you"

Loom: I sigh and rub my temples mulling over my response and decide not to waste the energy before typing a quick “fine” I turn out of the driveway in the van that I somehow ended up with while the wife got the new car. “Maybe this is for the better though”, I think with the van having much more function. I notice that my gas is about empty and turn out in the direction of the nearest gas station.

Nukes: You pull up to the nearest Black Gulf station, nodding slightly to the bulky Korean man operating the pump. Oh, another text.

“dont “fine” me asshole. be here at ten.”

As he fills the pump, you note his connections. Looks like he’s gonna be here a while. Poor bastard. You know that Vern’s got the day off, so you don’t think he’ll mind too much if you decide to give him the ol’ early morning revelry. You two need to go shopping. Your stomach growls slightly, and your coffee’s just about gone.

Loom: Toast wasn’t enough…but now I’ve got a deadline or Sandra’s going to give me so much hell. I text back.

“Look Sandra I’m not going to fight you today, you know the kids hate it and it’s not fair to them. I’ll be there at ten so you can keep you head in the socialite sand like you always have” I pull out of the gas station with a sigh my mood suffering slightly. I turn on the scanner hoping to hear some morning action as I make the ride over to Vern’s and shoot Malone a text.

“You up for a beer tonight I’d like to meet and catch up on some things."

I turn down side streets pulling to the side as I notice the strand of a speeding cyclist who would have gotten to take a real close look at my side view mirror.

Nukes: The cyclist whirs by you, blissfully ignorant of the close call. Your flip phone buzzes, and it looks like Malone caught the message.

“mornin to u too buddy, yeah sure we should hav a beer. meet me at donny’s at bout 8”

As you work your way from the suburbia of Carmensville to Los Doce’s North End, you look up and notice a familiar green cape soaring above you. What’s Adept doing out here so early in the morning? Superheroes, man. Never a moment’s rest. Good thing this city’s such a shithole right now, what you’ve got planned is gonna fly right under the radar. The sight of the Warden reminded you more about your newly powered status than using your power actually did. The image of the wooden mask in your garage burns itself into your minds’s eye and for what might be the first time since losing your ears and pride you’re actually excited.

You pull into the modern, sleek-looking complex your young friend lives in and begin trekking up the stairs to his apartment. Threads weave around you, it seems most of the people in this building are going to be taking the stairs today. Ah, here it is. Apartment 306.

Loom: I knock on the door and check my watch, probably to early for such a young guy to be up. I knock a second time and wait to see if he answers before calling.

Alloy: I’m out cold.

Loom: I call and it goes to answering machine so I roll my eyes and use the spare key I made to open the door. I walk into the small but well furnished apartment and dig around in the kitchen throwing on another pot of coffee before walking to Verns room "C’mon, sleeping beauty time to get up we’re burning daylight and I got saddled with the kids today.”

Alloy: You walk in and see a web of time back and forth between all rooms centered around the kitchen counter. On the counter lies a bunch of hastily combined objects such as a spoonfork which surprisingly is not a spork. I lie half off the couch with the most anime level bedhead anyone has ever seen. I manage, “Just couldn’t wait huh,” before sliding off the couch.

Loom: I roll my eyes and say dryly “Nope. How could I seeing that, nice… spork?” I take a walk into his kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.

“So I see you’ve been practicing. That’s good, cause today we go shopping. You’re going to graduate to bigger toys.”

Alloy: “It’s not a spork.”

I rub my eyes a bit and walk over to the counter and grab a stool.

“So Elphaba is dumping the kids on you. Are we going to have enough time for our little shopping date?”

Loom: "We should.”

I pour a second cup and slide it across the counter.

“Push comes to shove, Michael can watch Melanie. Speaking of our… uh, shopping excursion. You know your ability better than I do, did you have any preferred stops?”

Alloy: I stop the cup with my hand.

“I haven’t done anything with weapons yet but I’m sure it’s not all too different than regular items. Just go wherever we can get the best and/or cheapest stuff, we don’t exactly have much starting capital.”

Loom: "Alright…. Bloodbath and Beyond it is for the first stop then we hit Mall-Mart for peripherals. You need anything else? ‘Cause if not, we should get ready to head out.”

Alloy: “Let’s see.” I feel around for for my keys, phone, and wallet. “I think we’re good, let’s go.” I grab my jacket and wait for Abe.

Loom: “Good, good.” I walk out, opening the door to the bright outside light, and walk down the steps with Vern following close behind I click open the car doors.

Nukes: The van beeps in affirmation as you approach it. As you hop in you notice that it’s around 8 AM. Morning work traffic is just getting going, unfortunately BB&B is a little ways. Not too far, just down toward the downtown area a little more. It’s a hot, sunny saturday morning. So sorry for the poor bastards working on a day like today. The beach is gonna be packed. Maybe the kids will wanna go down to Soledad after you’re done shopping. Checking the time…you’ve still got around two hours. You’ll have time to shop but the rest of the day you’ll be watchin’ them. Dammit Sandra.

Loom: I step out of the car and click the lock, checking through the web quickly before walking across the parking lot. As I enter the automatic doors of the strange, bulk-grocery-esque gun shop I scan the store for an employee and make my way over to him eyeing the shelves.

Nukes: As you walk in you immediately see a tattooed latino man sitting on a stool behind the gun counter. His nametag reads “Enrique” and as you walk in he takes his eyes off the telenovela he was watching discreetly and turns to greet you.

“Hello gentlemen, welcome to Bloodbath and Beyond! Anything I can help you in killing today? We’ve got handguns, longarms, bows, even some pretty exotic shit if you can cough up the scratch. If you need any help just come find me, man.”

Loom: I look at the man keeping track of his thread and scan the glass case under the counter. Looking up at Enrique, I mutter “I want to see everything, especially personal favorites. I’m having the kind of midlife crisis only heavy ordinance can abate.”

Alloy: “My crisis hasn’t hit quite yet but I’ve been roped into his.”

Loom: To Vern I say “If you see anything you recognize…I dunno, grab a cart or something.”

“Say no more, ese. I think I’ve got just what you’re lookin’ for my friends.” He gestures to the case, then to the left and then right walls. In the case, you can see an assortment of handguns. The list of handguns was sent to each player privately

Loom, Knowledge Check in Street Smarts please.

Loom rolled (1d6)+1 : 6 <total:>

You know that these are absolutely not the total amount of handguns on the market, and BBB has a reputation of giving those with the capital a little bit more…questionable selection. Two major pieces are missing from this relatively complete collection of handguns. The Beret 93R machine pistol, and the Dyne 93.

Loom: I wander over to the rifles, looking at the wall.

the list of longarms was sent to the players

“Oh yeah, man, we’ve got a bunch of huntin’ shit over there if you’re into that, man. Two for one on duck calls dude.”

Loom, may I please have another Street Smarts check?

Loom rolled (1d6)+1: 5 <total:>

Nukes: You know that there won’t be much in the way of under the table shit for long arms. As far as those go, the Emperadores and Riders have the market cornered… And the BBB store can probably get away with some black market handguns, but slinging around felony-level ARs is out of a company like this’s ballpark.

Alloy: I walk over to Enrique. "I’m a bit low for the big stuff right now, but what do you have in the way of bows and rifle scopes?”

Nukes: “Oh, yeah man I got what you need dude. We’ve got some bows and throwin’ stuff over here, man.”

Alloy: I follow Enrique.

Nukes: He leads you to a wall covered in hunting bows. There’s a compound bow, a crossbow, some knives, even a case full of shurikens.

Alloy: “I’ll take the compound, and what do you have for rifle scope mods?”

Loom: I pick up a Beret M3P off the wall and walk over to the counter. As we all converge at the counter I look at Enrique and ask “What do ya got for ammo?”

Nukes: “We’ve got just about whatever you need ammo-wise my man, and the mods? Lemme think about that a sec, we’ve got a couple in the back.” Enrique comes out holding a box of rifle scopes. You see a couple basic sights and even one or two more exotic things like thermal.

“We’ve got your basic AOCG Scopes, a thermal over here, and a little somethin’ I like to call the Bastard. Hybrid sight, ya know?"

Alloy: "Yeah, man. How much for the Bastard vs the thermal?

Nukes: "Well, the Bastard does what the thermal does and better. So what I’m gonna say is the thermal runs about 4k and the Bastard’s gonna be 6 or 7.”

Alloy: “Hmm, how much for just a high power?”

Nukes: “Gonna run you about 500, man.”

Alloy: “Alright then. I’ll take the compound, the high power, 20 arrows, and a quiver.”

Nukes: “Hold on one sec, boss, just gettin’ your buddy rung up.”

Alloy: “No problem, take your time.”

Loom: Ehh…you know what? Can I get that Wagram 17 from the case? Just realized how much the wife is gonna bitch if I get this big guy right off the bat, but believe me I’ll be back later."

Nukes: “Alright, whatever you say, man. Gonna be 500 stones.”

Loom: I hand him the card.

Nukes: Enrique checks you out with a swipe and a beep, handing you a receipt you promptly sign. He signals to Vern, who is inspecting the ammo with slight interest, that he’s ready to ring him up. A swipe of a card and 800 dollars later, you have what you need. As you are walking out the door, Enrique smiles and says “Ay, come again, man!” The time is about 8:30, and with the drive back to Carmensville taking about 20 minutes you come to the realization may need to pick up the kids then go to Mall-Mart if you want to take the time you need. Thankfully, you’ll probably have the time to dump the guns, but you’ll need to be going to Sandra’s sooner or later…

Loom: I walk out of the store tucking my merchandise in my waistband under my shirt after realizing I forgot to buy a second holster. Reaching the van, I click the doors open. I look over at Vern and say

“You need to dump anything? I should be fine but I’ll have to see if I’ve got a spare holster somewhere. If not, maybe Malone does.”

Alloy: I reply, “I should be fine until we get back to the apartment. Let’s hit up Mall Mart,” while going into the van.

Loom: “No… gotta get the kids first but don’t worry, Michael can take care of himself at Mall Mart. I’ll just tell them to go pick something out and meet me by the front while we shop.”

Alloy: “Alright, then, let’s go meet your darling ray of sunshine.”

Nukes: You check the time, it’s right around nine. You’re not due to get the kids for another hour, but you do however have time for breakfast. One run through Grease Beast later, you’re full and right around on time to go see your maybe second least favorite person on earth.

You roll through the too-perfect neighborhood of too-perfect houses. Little temples to suburbia. Used to be you lived among them. As you roll up to the cul-de-sac, you see your daughter out in the front yard, sitting on the porch reading a children’s book. As your van approaches, she looks up and runs to go get her mother. As you pull in, all 5 feet and 6 inches of Sandra Miller, (formerly known for a time as Sandra Heeran) opens the door. She’s in working wear, if by working you mean drinking around neighborhood barbecues while she searches for a new meal ticket.

“Melanie, go get your brother. Your father’s here to pick you up.” Melanie scurries off.

“Abe. Didn’t think you’d be here on time.”

Loom: “Good morning Sandra, it’s fantastic to see you too. And yeah I’m here, I couldn’t let my children sit at home while their mom goes party hopping.”

Nukes: “Ahaha, very cute Abe. Well, we’re coming up on a holiday and you know how I get around those. Is it so much to ask that I go out and find someone who wants to listen to me? Or, well, someone who can?” she says, glaring at your hearing aids with venom in her voice.

“Looks like I’m not the only one, though!” She’s now poking her head in, smiling falsely at Vern. “Oh, Abe, I’d always considered that you might swing that way but I thought you were in deep enough denial. Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Sandra. I’m sure Abe’s told you all about me.”

Loom: I grumble dryly under my breath “Oh don’t you worry sweetie, you were always man enough for me…”

Nukes: Sandra, for her part, ignores you. If she even heard.

Alloy: I look at the woman wondering how someone so small can hold so much hate. “Oh I’ve heard all about you, dear, Enough to know you’re probably just upset you could never get a man this young and/or good looking.”

Nukes: Her face screws up slightly. “Oh bitch please, don’t give yourself so much credit. In any case I’ve got a facial at 10:30 and I don’t want to waste the day with irrelevant people. Goodbye Abe. Goodbye, whoever the hell you are. The kids can be home tomorrow at 6 PM.”

Michael and Melanie come trudging out, now familiar with the process of dragging their suitcases behind them as they hop into the van.

“Hey dad. Hey…man.” Michael murmurs as he clambers into the back. Melanie hugs her mother and hops into the backseat, greeting you as well. Sandra seems significantly nicer than you’ve seen her otherwise as she says goodbye to the kids. The catty, false smile becomes genuine as she hugs them goodbye.

“Michael, Melanie, be good for your father. I’ll see you guys at 6 tomorrow. Love you!”

She shoots you a poisonous stare as soon as she thinks the kids can’t see, as you pull out of the driveway.

Alloy: I give her a pleasant smile with a smirk and an eyebrow raise to indicate that this isn’t the end of our bitch wars.

Loom: I pull out of the driveway and glance back to Michael and Melanie “This is Vern He workes in the forensics department and he’s helping me find work.”

Nukes; “Oh, uh…hi. I’m Mike.” The kid is a young teenager, out of his tween years and well on his way to the really awkward ones. He’s not scrawny, but not particularly bulky. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a baseball hat with the Los Doce Apostles logo on it.

“Hi Mr. Vern I’m Melanie, I’m 9 years old and also what’s a forensics and wow you’re really pale are you okay and daddy why is there arrows back here?”

She’s going a mile a minute, asking more questions than you know what to do with. She resembles her mother, minus the spite, but blonde instead of Sandra’s brunnette.

Alloy: “Hello Melanie, I’m 27 years old and forensics is the use of science to catch the bad guys and I am very pale because I stay indoors and wear hoodies and those arrows are mine, it’s a hobby. And hey Mike, nice to meet you.”

I try to keep up with Melanie’s constant stream of questions.

Loom: I drive on, giving Melanie a moment to expend some of her energy and can’t help smiling. I turn around to Mike and say “Hey kiddo, did your mom have a chance to feed you guys breakfast before you left?” I then glance back to the road.
“Have you ever killed anyone? Do you have a dog? Who’s the best superhero? Are you gonna be my second daddy?”

“Uh, yeah. I had some pizza…I think Mel had some apple jacks? If you wanna stop I could eat I guess.”

Alloy: “I haven’t killed anyone, I’m more of a cat person,” I lean into Melanie, “the best superhero is your dad but don’t tell him I told you, and I might be.”

Loom: “Ahahahah, no honey. Not quite.” I glance back with a smile “You’re stuck with just one dad for now.” I drive along on the way to the Mall Mart. Keeping track of the threads of traffic “I’ve got to run to the store before we do anything but after I drop Vern off what do you guys say to getting some lunch and maybe, just maybe… we can go to the beach!”

Nukes: “Oh, uh, yeah. Alright. We brought our suits, I’m pretty sure. Mel, did you get yours?” Mel for her part, is busy trying not to explode as she processes her excitement over the fact that her dad is a real superhero.

“Oh my gosh, I knew my daddy fought bad guys but oh my gosh daddy where’s your cape? Do you have lunchboxes with you on them? Oh yeah I think I did Mikey and oh man Dad, Dad did you meet Adept? Oh wow!”

Loom: “You know, Mel, I don’t have a cape but I do have one of those skin tight leotards. And yes, actually sweetie I did meet Adept once but only very briefly with the police force.”

Nukes: You remember the time you saw him, all green robes and a silvery mask, and you recall the brief moment you locked eyes. There was something behind them that has always bugged you and you could never put your finger on it. Adept’s powerful and diverse abilities have been taking threats out in your city for years. He did half of the police’s job for them, removing tons of majorly disruptive parahuman crime entirely from the equation. Along with the Wardens of course, but, most people think of it as Adept and his Wardens rather than the Wardens. As you pull into the asphalt desert of the Mall-Mart parking lot, you think to yourself about how fucking hot it’s getting outside.

Loom: I pull into a parking space and click off the car

“So. You all ready to do some shopping?”

I get out and start towards the store.

Fools - 0.1
Rose Carroll goes out on her first excursion as masked vigilante Overcast.

Overcast is the superhero identity of Rose Carroll, a transwoman living in the Upper West Side of Los Doce with her girlfriend Violet Lewis. After triggering from a brutal beating at the hands of white supremacist syndicate The Pure Riders, she began preparing to become a vigilante using her newly gained electric touch, and ability to transform into a cloud of vapor. Said cloud of vapor can fill itself with electricity to great effect, as Rose discovers.

Nukes: The early July sun filters in through your window, giving the dust motes in the air a strange, glimmering look. As it hits your face, you are groggily roused from your slumber. A look at your clock says that it’s about 9:30. Violet must have already left for the office. Sitting up awkwardly from your bed, you wipe the sleep from your eyes and suddenly jolt slightly as you remember. Today’s the day. What will you do?

Overcast: I go through my regular morning routine, breakfast, shower, shave, but thankfully, I have off today, so not only do i not have to deal with some idiots’ dumb computer problems over the phone, but I’m finally ready to go out and help people. I have my powers, my suit, and thanks to that anonymous tip online, I have a job to do. A job for a freelance hero like me.

Nukes: You log onto the computer to check TipJar, refresh yourself on the exact nature of the anon’s information. Clicking on the Los Doce subsection, you find it rather quickly.

“hello. i dont know if anyone can help but i dont know what to do. over the last few weeks things have been getting kind of shitty up a little north from soledad. some of the people in my apartment building have been gettin harassed by these guys. from what ive heard they seem like theyre some sort of skinheads, and theyve been popping up more and more. i moved to soledad to get away from all this but its coming here and coming fast. i think its just this little group of guys but they’ve been doing some depraved shit. i know that theres been beatings and muggings but it got worse. a girl i know had a little more than a beating happen. the wardens havent been doing shit and the cops are too busy with the south end. we need some serious help. come up to sheldon boulveard up a little ways from soldedad beach and look for guys in leather.”

Overcast: I grab my gear and suit up, leaving off my mask, and donning a very civilian-looking hoodie and jeans to cover my suit while I drive. I make my way across town to Sheldon Boulevard. I stay in the minivan, cruising around, looking carefully for any signs of the Pure Riders.

Nukes: The spandex costume is applied relatively easily, although the skirt and cape bunch somewhat when crammed into your civvies. Sheldon Boulevard, eh? You really didn’t think the Riders have been this far south! That’s not even a very bad area either, you’ve been down that way when you would go with Violet to Soledad. The spread of the Riders worries you. It’s a moderately ethnic neighborhood, the kind of place where people like them will find plenty to object to.

Nukes: The drive takes about 20 minutes with morning traffic. You begin cruising through the area, checking for signs of the people described in the Tip.

Roll investigation please.

Overcast rolled (1d6)+3: 4 <total:>

Nukes: You see the obvious signs of them immediately. The streets don’t have an exceptionally great deal of foot traffic, despite it being a little after 10 on a sunny saturday afternoon. The tell tale signs of their presence, from what you’ve studied, are fearfulnessas well as the presence of methamphetamine and their array of specific grafitti tags. You see 2 of the three, and that’s probably just because you can’t detect meth with your mind. On the side of a convenience store, you can see a crudely stenciled fist in white paint and some racial slurs spattered on the brick. The store has missing glass, with wooden sheets replacing one of the broken windows.

Overcast: I park the car and walk out into the alley beside the store. The spraypainted fist stares me in the face, as I shudder, my mind bringing back a rush of painful memories. I snap out of it. That smell… This paint must still be pretty fresh. I immediately duck behind the dumpster in this empty alleyway, don my mask, and toss aside my civvies. Something tells me no one’s going to steal a beaten old hoodie and jeans lying in an alley. I swallow my nerves, half hoping those footsteps from around the corner aren’t what I think they are.

Nukes: The footsteps cross through the alleyway, but you press yourself to the brick in anticipation. The voices sound raspy and masculine. They seem like they’re actually passing the alleyway, headed towards the convenience store. You can hear their muttering, something about “shitskins” and “towelheads”. The suit is still slightly crumpled, but the morning light makes it so your mask is actually not too bad as far as obstructing your vision goes. You hear the dingaling of the convenience store door opening and what sounds like some thugs going inside.

Overcast: My heart pounds. The doubt in my mind fades, hearing their chatter. I straighten out my suit a bit, gonna have to get used to this damned thing. I give myself a mental push, and dash out of the alley, right behind them, through the door, adrenaline surging, I dive into the store. I focus, filling my body with shocking energy, like I practiced. They turn, hearing my footsteps, but by the time they can react, I’ve already thrown a power-filled punch at one of them!

Nukes: As you burst through the doorway, the group of skinheads comes into view. 3 of them, ugly, in chapped leather jackets jangling with chains and other doodads. You make a random, power filled swing at ugly #1, just in time for their eyes to widen and a “Listen here, sandnigger” to turn into “what tHE FUCK” just as your energized fist smacks into him.

Overcast rolled (1d6)+1: 1 <total:>
Overcast rolled (1d6): 6 <total:>

Nukes: Unfortunately your swing for ugly’s face was countered by his surprisingly quick reaction time. He leans out of the way of your leaping swing, somewhat tripping you. Roll an athletics check to see if you land/stay standing please.

Overcast rolled (1d6): 3 <total:>

Nukes: Good news: You don’t eat shit. Bad news: You stumble over yourself a little bit, giving the trio of thugs time to get over their surprise and begin laughing loudly.

“Really? Really!? This is what you’ve got?” Ugly number one says behind a black-toothed sneer. He gestures to the arabic man cowering behind the counter, palefaced with mounting dread at his savior.

“Ay. Goatfucker. You ever hear bout what happens to those capes that don’t get lucky?”

Ugly #1 takes a kick at you! Roll to dodge, block or sublimate.

Overcast: I’ll roll the withstand skill to block it.
Overcast rolled (1d6): 4 <total:>

Nukes: You manage to bring your arms up in time, intercepting the kick. The other two goons get in position, encircling you. Your arms are a little bruised, with only spandex separating your forearms and a boot.

“Those capes that don’t get lucky? They get fuckin’ killed. And the motherfucker they’re tryin’ to swoop in and save? They get fuckin’ ICED.”

Asshole #2 takes a swing at you with his fist while Skinhead 3 fishes something from his boot.

Overcast: Rolling to sublimate
Overcast rolled (1d6): 3 <total:>

Nukes rolled (1d6): 6 <total:>
Nukes rolled (1d4): 1 <total:>

Nukes: You don’t manage to sublimate in time, but you do begin to mist up just barely after getting punched clean in the jaw. As you are knocked onto your ass, you feel yourself dissolve away into a cloud and spread throughout the convenience store.

“Oh fuck, she’s actually a fuckin’ cape!”

The middle eastern shopkeeper for his part has in fact retired behind the counter for now and is eyeing the back exit. You manage to enter cloud form in time to not hit into the ground.

Overcast: Feeling my body melt away is disorienting, but I try to focus on shifting my form away from the counter, and as solely on the thugs as I can, revving up for the most powerful shock I can muster. (( What do I roll for that? ))

Overcast rolled (1d4): 3 <total:>

Nukes: You scatter the trio of thugs with a powerful electric discharge, blowing two if them into the shelves and launching the knife clean out of the third’s hand as he drops convulsing to the ground. Though somewhat slightly burnt and disoriented, the thugs knocked into the shelves are collecting themselves and beginning to beat a hasty retreat.

Overcast: I chase after the two runners, giving them another shock as they make it to the front door.

Overcast rolled (1d4): 4 <total:>

Nukes: The second shock seems to resonate more significantly off the glass, the discharge of lightning blasting the windows and wooden panes clean open and launching two of the three mooks out the door, now charred and nicked with glass. The third, who had picked himself up off the ground just in time, was knocked backwards into the counter, cracking his head. He is not moving.

Overcast: I change back, breathing heavily and taking a moment to assess the situation. I look for three things, am I injured, is the convenience store clerk still here/okay, and do any of those riders look like they’re getting up any time soon?

Nukes: Your jaw hurts. You took a pretty good knock but it doesn’t feel like you damaged anything. At worst you’ll be bruised, and have to explain a busted up face to your girlfriend. The convenience store clerk, on the other hand, is not okay. He is standing, slackjawed, staring at you, mouth hanging open, trembling in what looks like a mix of fear and fury. He doesn’t look like he’s able to say much of anything, but he’s glaring at you with impotent rage. The store is blown to absolute pieces, especially the front. It wasn’t a quiet discharge of energy. The rider in the store is completely unmoving, but the two out front are covered in electrical burns and cuts from the glass. People, the few in the area that were out and about, are dialing emergency numbers and shouting as the smoke from your attack wafts into the street.

Overcast: “Shit…” I look around the ruined shop, and turn towards the clerk. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean t… I didn’t know it would… Fuck…” I run out of the store, and dash into the alley, diving behind the same dumpster, hurriedly putting my civilian clothes back on. Mask, off, and in my pocket, I try to unsuspiciously speedwalk to my car, and get the hell out of this mess.

Nukes: You push through the amassing crowd with minimal effort, but stop as you begin to hear sirens. Ambulances. They’re bringing out ambulances for these skinhead motherfuckers. That’s not all, either, there’s police here too. They have begun to section off the area, driving away the rubberneckers. A loud voice is blaring for people to move along. The paramedics are loading the thugs onto stretchers while several officers are stepping inside to talk to the raving shopkeeper.


You can hear the man screaming in english, broken from both rage and lack of total fluency. As you sigh in disgust over how bad that was, you begin drawing some relatively disdainful looks from some of the crowd. You tense momentarily, thinking it might be them having suspicion of your involvement…

But no.

You know exactly why they’re staring. Small minds, behind judgemental little eyes.

Overcast: No, no no no. I look away, but I know that they’re still staring. Staring at me in a way that I know all too well. Normally I could cope, but I’m already freaking out as it is. I try my damnedest not to have a fucking panic attack, and just make it to my car. I get in the driver’s seat and exhale deeply. I push the thoughts about those skinheads out of my mind. Maybe they die? Maybe they live? Whatever the case, this is going to make some kind of impact. Maybe they’ll even steer clear of this place. I drive away, bruised, emotionally strained, and really hoping my fuckup didn’t put some good people out of business.

Nukes: As you pull out you take a glance at the clock. It’s not even 11. You may have just killed three people and destroyed a convenience store, and it’s not even lunchtime. You’re already basically fuckin’ Sorcerer, aren’t you? No, no, there’s no use in getting angry about how bad you fucked up. You can be frustrated and ashamed, but not angry. You instead ponder on what you may do differently for the next time, and reflect on how your usage of your power differed from what you expected. It was not quite your first time trying the lightning storm trick, but it was your first time doing it indoors.

Or on a person for that matter.

Or three people, in a small store, which you think you may have just leveled and holy shit you need to calm down. You realize you’re gripping your steering wheel so hard your knuckles are white and you’re about ten over the speed limit. The only other things you had planned for the day are lunch with Violet at 1, and maybe a movie later tonight.

What will you do?

Overcast: I go back to the apartment. Walk inside, and calm myself down. I change out of my suit. I flip on the TV, and get online, spending the next few hours checking to see what people are saying and checking the news to see if anyone even noticed there’s a new cape in town.

Nukes: Oh, they’ve noticed. You flip on the TV and crack open your laptop and comb around. There’s a story on the channel about some unverified parahuman altercation near Soledad Beach, and there’s a speculation thread already open on Parahumans Online as to your identity. Some are calling this a hoax or a misconception of another story. Some people are trolling , pretending to be you. Perhaps you should just bite the bullet and verify, maybe get the truth out there. You know the PHO has a secure track record.

Their userbase is one of the most secure in the entirety of the internet, due to the efforts of at least one Thinker on the site staff. Even the most loathsome villains have done AMAs to clear up misconceptions or just to gloat…

Overcast: I take a moment to think it over, deciding that even though I did some good trashing those white supremacist scumbags, I don’t exactly want the name Overcast to be synonymous with collateral damage, at least not until I get a little bit of positive light first. Gotta make a good first impression, and I’ll be damned if this was mine. Still, even if they don’t have a name to pin it on, at least the Pure Riders will be a little more careful about what neighborhood they try to take next.


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