Woven: Los Doce

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.

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