Where Does the Time Go? (IC)

[lostsole31]

Buck Godot. We meet again...

No, wait, we met again last game.

Damn. Metaphysics gives me a headache.

[lostsole31]

You check your wounds. The shoulder is pretty nasty. Your attempt to sew it is a chop job, but it's dressed. You even manage to throw isopropyl down into the wound (Yikes!), but it doesn't look good given the fact you only had a sewing kit to use to close the wound for now.

You shower and clean up, excess blood spilling down the drain from scabs and nicks here and there - but you keep your shoulder's dressing from getting wet. You don't shave, but the disparity between your facial hair (ginger-colored) and the hair on your head (solid, dark brown) is significant.

You'd say your were probably out for 24 hours, based on your facial growth now. You call down to the desk (no phone book in the room) and he gives you the number to a Chinese takeout nearby. You call the number and have difficulty dealing with the thick accent of the person on the other line. You aren't sure what you like when it comes to food. The only reason you even thought to order Chinese is you passed a place on your way to the hotel from your 'escape.'

While waiting for your food to arrive, you turn on the television. It will be time for the 11 o'clock news in 20 minutes. You search through the garbage on TV with the few channels that exist. Your food comes, and you pay, being mindful to show as little of yourself as possible to minimize identification - and suspicion given your condition. Luckily for you, the door opens such that it hides the left side of your body (your shoulder wound) without being awkward.

As you carefully chew and savor each delicious bite of your spring roll, fried rice, and General Tso's chicken - your instincts served you well in food choice - you watch the news. Today is April 2nd 2010. You learn that the top story was that of the day before, when there was a bomb blast that tore out the side of City Hall. While the historic old building is still largely intact, several minor city officials, their aides, security guards, and other innocents were killed. The explosion was set at ground level on the side of the building, and was powerful enough to do major secondary damage to the afternoon rush traffic, killing and wounding more from this effect than the bomb's direct targets. Inside City Hall, there were 10 dead and 22 injured; outside, 28 were killed and more than 70 reported injured - mainly from splinters (stone fragments) and flying glass. The blast also was enough to knock glass out of several windows of the buildings around. The bomb is believed to have been set by Iranian terrorists, and the federal government is stepping in on this investigation.

This strikes you oddly. The report mentions that no key city personnel were in that particular vicinity of City Hall at the time of the explosion, but the bomb appears to have been preset. The names of the officials have been released, though not so the aides, security, nor anyone that was outside. The other thing that catches your attention is the camera footage of the damage. The bomb seemed to have blasted outwards, almost as if from a very powerful shape charge. The reporters neglected to mention that, but you pick up on it clearly enough. And that was an awful lot of explosive power ... as well as prep and planning ... that had to go into that operation.

As the news segues to the weather, you look at the contents of the wallet. (You searched the rest of the jacket - and the thug's leather duster - but find nothing else.) These are the contents:

Spoiler

Show

* Pennsylvania State Driver's license issued to Michael Vincent Donato.
- Address is 452 Oregon Ave., Philadelphia PA 19120
- DOB: July 1, 1974
- Date of Issue: March 23 2010
- Organ Donor: No
* Three credit cards
- American Express - Blue (which is more see-through/gray than the normal blue card)
- Visa, issued by Wachovia (what's Wachovia?...)
- MasterCard, issued by Circuit City
* ATM Card, issued by Wachovia (oh, it's a bank).
* Barnes & Noble membership card
* DeConstanza's Hoagies punchcard - 7:10 punched, so you must like this place. After the 10th, you get a large hoagie for free. You're not quite sure what a hoagie is, but you guess it's a sandwich since the card shows a submarine sandwich on it.
* "Monthly Pass" issued by "SEPTA"
* Two keys
- The first seems to be a standard house key ... or the like.
- The second is smaller, appearing to go to a lock, locker, or safe deposit box. It has 7-424 inscribed on it.
* A picture of a very attractive woman with long dark hair, dark eyes, and well-tanned skin. She is likely in her upper 20s/ early 30s. She has piercing, intelligent eyes.
- The back of the picture has nice cursive writing: "Te amo, mia tresoro."
- You can read this, and it translates to: "I love you, my treasure."
- "Mia" signifies the writer is female; "tresoro" that the appositive noun is male.
- It is not signed, but appears to be relatively new.
* $1,237.43 in cash ... mainly in $100s and $50s.

You take inventory of the gun. It is a 9mm Browning HP. The clip inserted has 15 rounds remaining and one in the chamber (16 total); the two spare clips are full (20 rounds each) .... 56 rounds total. You don't have a holster of any kind, so you will have to 'strap ghetto.'

While watching the 'human interest' portion of the news, you notice that you haven't been feeling very well - but have been ignoring it to focus mentally on the news and the wallet. It moves from a feeling of general and growing discomfort to little pinpricks about your body, mainly your head and neck and arms. These pinpricks are beads of sweat forcing their way out, accompanied by a slight equilibrium shift ... not quite dizzy, but unable to tilt your head (or lie down) to get comfortable in any position. The stomach feels 'wrong' and before long ... you stumble into the bathroom to evacuate dinner.

It is a violent episode, and as soon as you finally seem to finish the hot sweat feels almost cold. This is followed immediately by you having to 'shift position' and sit, but with head lolled forward. Something is wrong with your body, and since normal food poisoning wouldn't occur this quickly ... that means you've either been poisoned or ...... with that burning sensation you are feeling in your shoulder ... you have an infection. After dealing with the bathroom for as much as 20 minutes, you are now dizzy and dehydrated and go back into the bedroom and check your temperature: 103 degrees. It fits, since you are feel once again that you are burning up. Regardless of nausea, you take some OTC meds to combat infection and drink as much water as you can dare.

You now know you need real medical attention, and you dial 9-1-1 ... not realizing that this may or may not be the best at keeping a low profile. As soon as you press the first '1' the phone makes noises at you. You look at the phone, and see that you have to contact the front desk first to make any outbound calls. You call him and he seems to be away from his desk. You keep calling him, and while waiting you collapse on the bed ... unconscious.

You awaken to a loud knocking sound at the door. The sun is trying to sneak into the room through the partially shut blinds. "Mister Donato? Are you in there? Nobody's seen you in several days, man. Mister Donato? Your week's up, so I'm letting you know if you're in there that I'm comin' in to check to see if you're gone ... Mister Donato?"

You hear the key begin to click in the tumbler. You pop up surprised. That's when you notice that you no longer are feverish, no longer are wounded, and you take a quick peek at your now unbandaged shoulder to see a scar. It's not a big, horrible scar, but it will serve to remind you that you're neither faster nor sturdier than a bullet. From what the hotelman says, you've been out for five days ... and the only soreness you have is that you are severely bedsore.

And really hungry and thirsty. What do you do as this guy is about to come into your room, you are naked, and there is blood about several effects?

[BuckGodot]

I jump up and attempt to rush to the door to block it from opening all the way, stick my head around and say, I'm here.....Just been hibernating.....I'll come down and pay for more time in about 20......

[lostsole31]

"Oh, okay, sir."

That was a near miss for a little embarrassment. Or was it?

Now what?

[lostsole31]

You discover you have a talent for blending into the faceless many of the streets. This includes knowing how to walk and talk like someone who is a local tough or thug, and keeping an eye and an ear out for things. Still, it is kinda funny when you ask for directions to the library ... but you get there, stopping to get a Philly cheesesteak and a soda for sustenance on the way.

It's a sizeable city library, and you make your way inside. You sit down at an open terminal, and start plugging away to look for information on the bombing. You find loads of news coverage, but without anything specific ... I don't know what you want to know. However, some things will be reinforced.

You seem to possessive a canny deductive reasoning, and what you find online only solidifies a feeling inside that the bomb blast was designed to seem like it was a terrorist bombing of city hall ... but that seems only to be a smokescreen for the real target - the people in cars and on the street in the blast cone at that time. Still, the news organizations seem to be focusing on the story as City Hall as the target. Conspiracy theorists online, however, are skeptical ... aren't they always.

A list has since been given of the deceased. The number is three less than was originally 'confirmed' by those watching bodies pulled from the scene. Already, the Internet among the CTs (conspiracy theorists) is alive with all sorts of wildly varying concepts of who the 'three missing names' might be, and why the federal government changed the death count. ('Cause it had to be the feds, right?) In some cases, various anonymous temporary Websites claim actually to have set the bomb themselves.

You then use GoogleMaps to learn: a) where you are (Center City Philly), b) where the address on your ID is, and c) how to get there using municipal transit if you are too cheap to take a cab. The address that may or may not be real, and may or may not be a home to you, is a tiny little house in South Philly, a few blocks from 9th & Oregon, that is known as "Little Italy." It is a house, but a research of the area shows that it is a high-crime area. The house is only three blocks from the nearest SEPTA bus dropoff, and five blocks from the nearest subway. SEPTA = SouthEastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority. The monthly pass in your wallet covers bus, train, subway not only for Philadelphia proper, but even outlying townships and such.

You try to find information on your name. While (since it is not a super-rare name) you find some instances, further check will determine that they obviously are not you ... either because you find pictures or see bios that can't be similar, or because it is one or two references to persons in the Geneology sites. You might play guesswork here for awhile, but nothing pans out. However, it is important to note, therefore, that there is NO information that you can find covering yourself.

You leave the library many hours later, and scarf up some food at some local eatery. Not knowing the state of your finances, you take the bus (and transfers) needed to get you to the listed home address. Doing this requires you to stop briefly at SEPTA terminal #7 for a few minutes. While at this terminal, a tall (7' tall!!!), solidly built black man in khaki pants, white turtleneck, dark jacket, and interesting cylindrical hat (not tall, but still some sort of ethnic hat) gets on the bus. This man appears to be a black-white mix, but with severe features. As he passes by a woman in the aisle, you spy that he has a shoulder holster ... also carrying a 9mm pistol! He gives you only the briefest of looks as he turns profile to pass the woman. He then sits three rows behind you ... and the bus is already on its way. This is the last bus before you get home.

You are sure that there aren't a lot of 7' tall black men roaming around the city. You sit with a lump in your throat. He looks like if you try to karate chop him he'd laugh at you; you'd definitely have to take it to a firefight, where you're more comfortable anyway. As you sit there assessing what to do, you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your skull. Your heart starts pounding, and you start to feel little prickles of sweat.

What do you do?

[BuckGodot]

I'm assuming I made my way to a store and found clothing.....

There are usually mirrors at the front of buses that allow the drivers to observe the passengers....Is there such a mirror on this bus, and if so can I see the mysterious, 7 foot tall, 9mm pistol wielding black man with the funny hat?

If I am able to see him, I will watch his movements in the mirror....If I am not able to see him, I will turn so that I can see his reflection in the windows. I don't want to start any business on the bus as there is a risk of injuring innocents.

I will wait till my stop, disembark, and head off in the direction of the house. I will try to scout possible places to slip away unnoticed altering my clothing so that I am all in black and harder to spot at night. I want to disappear, become invisible.....if am able to observe this man after that, I will do so and see what he does....try to follow him, etc. If I am forced to confront him, I want have every possible advantage, so I'll try for an ambush, higher ground, etc.

[lostsole31]

You are driven to the classic "abandoned industrial park hideout."

Whisper says, "There's an old guy that helps us that you're going to meet here ... from the OSS days of the USA when folks - like yourself - first started to gain notice. He used to work on categorizations and recruitments then, but left when he found that some of his recruits were being programmed as assassins and thugs."

The van actually goes to a concealed underground ramp to a sublevel. As you get out, you see - as expected for the player - the classic 'ready-to-be-torched-at-any-minute makeshift base."

A very old man with a cane, whose wrinkled face makes it nearly impossible to determine heritage, greets you. He calls himself "The Professor" but offers no other name.

[BuckGodot]

Hello.....Quite a place you've got here. Now maybe I can get some answers......

[lostsole31]

Professor: "Questions concerning your identity .... that is as interesting a mystery to myself. But you are more bewildered, so ask your questions first. This is not an 'absolute' exchange, as there are some secrets I must protect, but let's see where we get, hmm?"

[lostsole31]

You have been given time and what materials are able to forge a social security card and a New Jersey state driver's ID. You have a birth certificate forged for yourself. Using this, you set up a bank account with some of your remaining cash plus an additional few hundred the Professor can get you.

Donovan Crane is now 'alive'.

The Professor is able to have a motorcycle procured for you. It's fuel efficient, mid-sized, and can get a lot of places a car cannot, especially as regards parking. Meanwhile, on the Professor's end, the apartment is set up for you. You don't have to worry about references, as the old fogeys that run the LeMastre Arms believe that the Professor's contact's good word is reference enough.

It turns out that somehow, Londi's father and sister are alive and back in Africa, and that decoys were killed instead. Coming to light is that a week before the blast, a letter was sent to his father that threatened the elder Mr. Suziswe that "no longer shall you sire incompetents that bilk people of their money to continue helping more stupid people. You and she shall perish along with other incompetents." It seems that his little sister (remember, she has Down's syndrome) was a 'poster child' for supporting charities related to mental retardation, autism, and other low-development disorders. If that's true, then the bomb was meant to kill one person who was absolutely no threat to anyone else ... and the father of that girl. One bomber's M.O. supports that; a mysterious bomber by the name of Death's Messenger. Londi is trying to track that killer down now. He may try to contact you if he gets any leads.

Whisper (Bob Suarez) is a mestizo (Mexican-Native American) from New Mexico, and he is visiting family there and helping them out against some local trouble in the form of a very aggressive biker gang.

Only the Professor is there to see you off. He tells you that he is closing up shop and that this site will no longer be a 'safezone', but you can contact him via the cellphone. You are also given a concealable armored vest. It doesn't stop a straight shot bullet, but may help save your life.

You ride off towards New Jersey on a Thursday. You get into Hudson City. It is what it has been described to be ... a classic, Gotham-style metropolis that does have its glimmery side. But that side is hidden by the corrupt.

You find the LeMastre Arms after having to stop a few times to check the mapfinder on your phone (at least it's a modern phone). It is an old building, about four stories tall, but nice in its own way while still being surrounded by marginal squalor. It is in an area of the neighborhood that is slowly being encroached upon by the wrong element, an element that has already spread its tendrils into the area and is helping its decline.

The place is run by Lacy and Nick Thompson, both of whom are quite old, but spry and intelligent. Nick is a tall man, balding on top, with hair combed over. He wears cardigan sweaters over a collared, button-down shirt, and slacks. Lacy has that 'matronly' figure and wears flower-print dresses. You meet them just as a very sickly, old Mrs. Krumha (you are introduced) is leaving from an afternoon visit. Nick escorts her to her room and returns. His manner strikes you as a gentleman ... not a fancy type, and probably one who had to work his whole life ... but a gentleman in how he treats others. Lacy serves tea and cookies.

They are interested in you, of course, but it doesn't take too much work on your part to deflect their questions and get them chatting about themselves. Lacy dodders about, and is quite the busybody. She is, as can be expected of women her age who don't get out much, quite the busybody and she tells you all manner of gossip concerning some of the other residents ... of course, that means you may have to watch your own step.

Nick, on the other hand, is absolutely fascinating. He has wonderful stories to tell. He loved stories about gangsters when he was a kid, and loves cops-and-robbers genre anything. He is a veritable treasure trove of information concerning old-time gangsters. He even helps out down at the Gangland Museum in the neighborhood. On top of the mantle to their fireplace (yes, the place has a fireplaces in some apartments - including your own) is an old Thompson submachine gun. He assures you that it doesn't work, of course, but is his prized possession that it took a lot for him to get and restore to look as nice as it does. Also, he was in Europe in World War II.

Lacy insists you stay for dinner, and she and Nick are persuasive enough to get you to do so (not that it should've taken much persuasion). That's when you notice an incongruity .... there are three of you, and four places set.

[BuckGodot]

I will wait politely for the others to sit and ask, Who else is joining us if I may inquire?

[lostsole31]

Without need for a vocal answer, the door opens and in steps a pretty young lady in her early- to mid-20s. She is 5' 4" and petite, has deep red hair, and emerald green eyes. She has round science-nerd glasses that she manages to make attractive. Her hair is not 'up' but tied back in a ponytail. She is very attractive, but she is definitely not looking like she was trying to make any fashion statements. Still, there is something about her that is delicate and strong, intelligent and beautiful.

"We're in here, dear!" calls Lacy.

When she comes into the dining room, she stares at the incongruity ... not only are there four plates, there is a fourth person! She looks at you with a look that is less surprised and more exasperated. She gives Lacy a stare as if to say, "Really? Again?"

"Susan, I'd like you to meet Donovan Crane. He's a new tenant in our building. Mr. Crane, I'd like you to meet our grand-daughter Susan. She's a student at HCU studying exo-, exa-, er, exi-...."

"Exobiology, grandmom. You know this, don't tease me," Susan says. She'll shake your hand, assuming you offer yours first. "Congratulations, Mister Crane. You are now officially the youngest tenant in this building ... probably by 30 years." As she actually shakes and introduces herself face-to-face, she does manage a genuine smile, but you can tell that she isn't even focusing much on you so much as 'the situation' which you gather is a common one.

(I imagine you will have some things to say on your end, of course ... and go ahead and ask whatever questions. I just don't want to parse out a conversation via E-mail over the next however long. But again, don't let my pushing the plot lead you to feel like you can't interact.)

The meal you have is an absolutely religious experience. The Chinese you had when you first woke is associated with having been ill, even though it was the infection. At the hideout, it was either soup and protein shakes or some sort of takeout. The meal practically makes you want to cry. Lacy does serve wine with the meatloaf and rice pilaf and carrots ... a nice rosy wine that is oh-so-yummy with the meal, but Lacy only serves everyone a glass of wine. If you glass gets low, you would have to ask for more ... that is one point where Lacy is not nearly as overbearingly generous.

You learn that Susan is a student at Hudson City University (HCU) working on her master's degree in exobiology. Exobiology is the study of life sciences dealing with non-terrestiral sources. It is her hope to earn a doctorate and work for any one of many government agencies that study the properties of aliens and other-dimensional creatures that are part of the super-powered sub-culture on our world. She lives in a small apartment with a roommate of hers just off campus.

She strikes you as being stunningly intelligent. Actually, despite not being knowledgeable in the sciences, her grandparents also strike you as being incredibly intelligent ... but probably came from circumstances in their youth that didn't lend their lives so well to more hi-filutin' goals and professional fields. They're brilliant; but they're salt of the earth people. At least you know where Susan gets her smarts from.

Do you say what you (will) do for a living? No matter what you say, the Thompsons are generous people that will find a way to complement you and the life you choose or are working towards. Nick does say that a young fellow (you must be in your 30s, mind you) like yourself can probably get any job you want if you work hard at it. You seem bright, healthy, and eager to get on with your life from whatever it was that brought you here.

Post-dinner comes to the parlor with bread pudding with caramel sauce and a dollop of home-whipped sweet cream, served with coffee. (Though Nick is willing to share a shot of Bailey's with you in your coffee ... on the sly, of course.) This is absolute rapture, and you feel like a member of the family. And it is time for the evening to come to an end. Of course, there is something about it all that says that there is an invitation to the family, leading to ....

Lacy asks, "Mister Crane, it's gotten so late out and there is an unfortunate element about our city. You wouldn't mind walking Susan home, would you?"

[BuckGodot]

Lacy asks, "Mister Crane, it's gotten so late out and there is an unfortunate element about our city. You wouldn't mind walking Susan home, would you?"[/QUOTE]

Rising, I reply, Well.....I am new to the area and don't really know my way around......I guess if Susan is comfortable with it, I would be glad to....

[BuckGodot]

and I will partake of the conversation and share my new profession as well as the Bailey's. (A redhead? Really? You know me so well. LOL)

[lostsole31]

T3S6: You elbow the thug in the head (non called shot), doing a base of 3 n-BODY and 8 STUN.

T3S8: The gun is adjacent (next hex, at 6.5' - just like the next square in D&D, 5' away - is "adjacent"). The thug grabs it and shoots at you. He misses your torso, but that means he misses your armored vest. His .38 caliber bullet plows into your upper left arm (your off-hand), the force of the bullet sending you rolling across the street and into a car (3" away).

The bullet itself did 6 killing BODY and 12 STUN. Rolling along the ground into the car did no damage. You now have 48:50 END, 18:30 STUN, and 8:14 BODY. Your arm is badly injured and bleeding terribly (no additional damage for bleeding, just RP). The bullet did a lot of damage, but hit you in a spot that didn't cause you to be stunned. You only have 1 point of Pain Resistance, which helps, but this much BODY lost means that you will have to make an EGO roll (not your best ability...) at a -1 penalty (so, basically a 10- on 3d6) just to make any actions because of the pain and distraction of the injury.

T3S9: The pain shoots radially from your arm and down your fingers in one direction, and up your arm into your head, your chest, and throughout the rest of your body. You - in your short memory of life - have never felt anything quite this horrible. You've been shot before ... and this injury is much, much worse. In fact, it almost seems like you are boiling from the inside.

Of course, the truth is - from a point of view - you are.

The clothes on your body writhe and stretch and darken, shredding apart into various gobs of a black void, swirling out and around you in tendrils. More of this matter comes out, bursting out of your skin violently, to shoot out and return to smother you. Finally, when the internal pressure becomes too great, you explode ... sort of. You are on the ground facing upwards, partially lifted by the bubble of blackness beneath you. Finally, the last powerful belch of rupturing darkness bursts forth in a powerful, agonizing scream. Your body - what you can see of it - is shredded apart starting from the toes and ripping upwards. Your scream is 'drowned' in the darkness as the caldera of your mouth is filled with this strange energy-matter mixture, erupting midnight high into the sky.

You are, naturally, stunned by this whole thing.

T3S12: You roll around on the ground, trying to get a sense of the bizarre, bullet-derived delirium you just felt a second ago ... for surely it was your brain's processing of the unbelievable pain that gave you such a horrific dream. You try to get on your knees.

Your ears are tinny as if gunfire went off in your ear. Sounds begin to return, and you try to focus in your groggy state. You see the thug get up on his feet and shoot at you again. You know you can't even move out of the way as barely coherent as you are. A low, distant roaring sound and a puff of smoke from the gun...you feel something vaguely pass through your upper right arm, grazing your arm to hit the car door a little behind you. The force is still enough to throw you back into the door and onto your butt.

Post-Segment 12: The goon shakes off the little bit of the punch you gave him. For your part, your body seems flooded with energy ... lots of energy ... lots and LOTS of energy!!! Though still recovering from the effects of your 'personal' trauma and the pain of the gunshot (which feels like it's still there in all of its unhappy glory), you shake off the STUN.

You haven't grown any, but your thickness has increased. Your mind is running a lot faster than you remember it having done before.

T4S2/4P23: You take stock of yourself as you come out of being stunned ... practically ignoring the thug who seems to be moving half as fast as yourself now. You, almost reflexively, stand up on your feet. Your body is either gone or encased in darkness, though considering you still feel the injury of the gunshot you'd say the former - or else somehow there has been some form of transference. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the light shining on the car window; the reflection is weak, but your body almost seems to be a 'living singularity' and with poor definition as the energy of the darkness cannot be contained and constantly 'leaks', especially out the back and shoulders. You look closer at the window, noting that more energy leaks all about your head to not give it that nice 'head' shape but only vaguely human. Most striking are the eyes ... no pupils, no irises, but a soft, glowing red.

That's when you notice that you ... see .... everything. You perfectly see in the darker parts of the street not covered by the streetlamps, in the visible light spectrum. You can see vague nuances of things that cannot possibly exist in the visible light spectrum. You can detect variances of heat, the breath and various heated areas of the thug as you turn to look at him. Speaking of breath ... it finally dawns on you that you are no longer breathing. It seems that your body as Donovan Crane is no more - despite the 'mystical'(?) transference of injury (to a body that can sustain a little more injury) - and that this body you now possess is made of the same material that you exuded to make your clothing before ... but on a logarithmically more powerful scale.

This body - it seems to have mass and weight - and yet you are quite sure from the way that you feel that you are a form of energy unknown and uncharted. Your entire being wants to lift away from the ground. You sense that if you really tried, you could semi-discorporate enough to even further minimize damage to you, though that might be difficult to do.

T4S4P10: The thug is horrified at whatever it is you look like (the window only gave you a poor reflection), and he shoots. You have been so involved with your transformation that you don't dodge the gun. The low roar again, the puff of smoke ... but this time when the bullet it hits, it snaps you out of that 'fuzzy dream' stage. The bullet hits you in the stomach. It doesn't seem like it had any chance of injuring you. Your belly 'catches' the bullet and it drops. Still, the force is enough to slam you against the center of the driver's side of the car door, smashing the windows and having you drop to your butt again.

T4S6: Bullets, at least of this caliber, probably can't hurt you ... but this getting slung around since your body isn't as 'heavy' as before is really getting annoying. And Christ Almighty, you are fast ... REALLY fast. (SPD of 7). And still, the feeling that energy is not only coursing through your very existence, but that you are a doorway to more of this energy that is straining for release. What do you do?

[BuckGodot]

Well.....So much for dating Sandra.....

This needs to end and end now.

I swing my arm in a throwing motion at the thug and shout....You are going down!

My intention is to charge the baddy and take him out with as many blows as possible. (Not knowing my capabilities or attacks specifically) Done being Mr. Nice Guy. Gloves off...He tried to kill me.

[lostsole31]

Sandra? Who's Sandra? You're dating Sandra and putting the moves on Susan?!?

You man-whore. Actually, your chances with Susan aren't kaput yet. Remember, she went inside when the fight broke out.

You gesture/say as below, then charge...

You're used to moving a certain speed when running, which would've made for a nice charge (Move-Through). You launch at the ba-ad man at full tilt. This is not that speed; that was not a run.

You finish before you realize two things after that violent blur of movement:
1). You were flying, and at several times faster than your normal combat charge; a little more than twice your "combat burst movement".

Spoiler

Show

you have a base flying speed of 16" compared to your human running of 7".

2) You have planted this guy into the end of the apartment building. His body is broken, and he is possibly dead.

Spoiler

Show

Because your form is technically, energy, most of your power - physically - deals more with ignoring many mortal concerns and being more resilient; mostly, though, you've doubled in agility (23) and are now several times faster (SPD 7). However, your body only got "stronger" to allow you enough tachyon tension to maintain a corporeal form ... you still have a 15 STR <3D6>. Your flight @ full is 16,, and a move-through does v/3 damage + STR for 8d6 total. You did KB to your opponent, so he (don't ask) took an additional 6d6 damage and your continued movement meant he plowed into the wall. You actually took half of the damage you inflicted (would've been full if you did no KB to the dude), but your resilience kept you from harm. This was a positively primeval and effective tactic against the guy, but you do note that it is not a terribly accurate maneuver, and leaves you more vulnerable to attack ... meaning a drop in OCV\ DCV.

You hear sirens in the distance, and even though your body is "something else", you are significantly wounded - despite there being a little bit "more" of you to wound. And, oh, yeah...you can fly!

You notice that his ho already ran off. What do you do?

[BuckGodot]

Susan...Sandra....Sarah....Hell, I don't remember MY name let alone anyone elses.....

I look around quickly to see if there were any witnesses.....If none, I will see if I can reach my apt without being seen. Fly up to the window, etc.

If there are witnesses, I'll fly away from the building and try to come back stealthily in a bit.....I need to get where I can assess my damage and try to bandage myself up.

[lostsole31]

So, what is Mr. Crane going to do concerning his predicament? Nick will wake him early enough for you to leave in the morning. You got $20 to your name, and no ID. You have to show up to work in the morning to do your final sign-in and so forth ... what will you do?

[lostsole31]

You fly out to Minneapolis. And when you get in, a text is waiting for you to look for your chauffer @ your flight's baggage terminal. You hang around for awhile, when you realize that the androgynous, Kato-looking ******** in the classic chauffer's outfit with the "Black Crane School of Kung Fu." Someone obviously has an interesting sense of humor.

The driver seems oblivious until you notice him, then it seems like he recognizes who you must be. Asking him questions is nigh-pointless. He tries a few odd, polite greteings w/ a severe accent. He knows nothing else, but at least is cheerful to a fault.

He leaves the Twin Cities, heading out into the snowy, lake-ridden wilderness. Finally, he stop outside of a grand, old resort inn overlooking a large, frozen lake. Lots of sturdy bungalows surround this side of the lake. "Kato," which is what you've given to calling him for lack of any other name, gestures to the inn.

Once you get inside, Whisper & Londi are waiting inside with a tall, lanky, humanoid snake-creature w/ iridescent scales and a decidedly Far Eastern theme ... but no Professor.

[lostsole31]

"I am Naga," says the snake-man simply, answering the "who?" question on the tip of your tongue, in an unidentifiable and not overly sibilant accent.

"My race is my name. We naga are the guardians and repositories of the Mystic in your world."

That answered the "what?" question you were about to ask. This Naga guy must have to answer this series of questions a lot.

"The Professor has yielded his essence to the universal flow. He tried to hold on to give you someone to trust, but he was 97 and 'other' stresses were to much for his aged body."

Wow, he has the answers ready, doesn't he?

"Yes, I do."

That's weird. Just to throw this guy off, you think of...

"Please, Mr. Crane. I don't think Ms. Thompson would appreciate you thinking of her in that manner. Let's keep your open gate of a ... mind ... focused on less offensive and more constructive thoughts for our training, shall we?"

!!! !!!

[lostsole31]

"Besides, Mr. Crane, not focusing would lead you open to a surprise attack."

As he says that, a very clumsy punch glances off your back. You look around to see a bloated, stiffly moving animated human corpse ... a zombie! What do you do? The others are not reacting but watching.

[lostsole31]

The next couple of weeks is your mind getting pummeled and long hours of very grueling mental training, augmented by meditative intuition exercises designed to make you more aware of the power within you and how to control it.

Through the advantage of the White Room and Naga's boosting of your mind, you find yourself capable of doing fantastic feats. But Naga shows you after this initial "sell" of what you can do that on your own, for now, you are quite limited. Here is what that means. You have an even chance (50% pass/fail, or a 10- on 3d6) of making the following happen with your multipower:
* Big Steps Through the Darkness: Teleport 10" CM (combat movement), or 20" NCM (non-combat movement).
* Blinding Chains of Darkness: A basic 1d6 Entangle. This means that a normal human with 10 STR can, on average, rip out of the entangle after 3 turns. Still good at slowing down normals, though.
* Body of Shadow: Pretty much a go/no-go power, that is really tough for you. Using this power has only a 28% success rate (8-).
* Clinging Darkness: Also a go/no-go power that you can't scale. You have only a 3% success rate (4-).
* Darkwall - Lengthening Shadows: A 1" wide x 1" tall flat plane that protects against 3 PD/ED and 3 Power Defense. Isn't even very bulletproof against small caliber ... but it still blocks sight, slows deadly attacks, and minimizes mystic powers ... and for allies and innocents.
* Deafening Nightmask: 4d6 Flash Attack, for an average of 12 turns that an opponent is disabled.
* Irresistable Darkblast: Though Armor Piercing (AP), you have only a 50-50 chance of getting off a 4d6 energy blast. On average, this only does an average of 4 BODY and 12 STUN, but cutting defenses in half (AP) is nice. Still not a powerful punch (yet), and it won't knock anyone out (or stun them) under most conditions.
* Reign of Darkness: Even using a 1" burst of this power is difficult (39%, 9-) at this time.
* Shadow Touch: 3d6 NND attack that can only be blocked if someone has an energy force field ... means a standard of 9 STUN. Now, imagine grabbing someone with a choke and doing a "multiple attack" of the shadow touch-choke for a total of 5d6 NND (assuming that they have no rigid armor on their neck)?
* Tendrils of Darkness: Right now, your 50-50 only extends to about 16 STR worth of telekinesis, but that's still decent. Not superhuman, but it's always nice to grab something from a distance. And you still can't beat "fine manipulation."
* Viscious Vitality: Right now, you can't do anything better on a 50-50 than 1/2d6, for an average effect of 2 points STR & 4 points END transference per turn, to a maximum of 28 STR/ 86 END.

You are taught all sorts of combat tactics (normal HERO maneuvers, with an understanding of chance-of-success/failure for you ... we'll chat at some point). This is conducted in the White Room against various fantasy creatures. You also learn, however, that your Achilles heel is light. Your are twice as affected across the board by the light-based magic that Naga might use on you than is expected of anyone else of your build and abilities. Be careful of lasers ... they are downright deadly to you!

You can now control your 'assumption' of your human form without damage to carried objects, clothing, or the like. However, at this time, any carried/ worn objects you have 'disappear' until reformed. So, Cloak doesn't reach into a 'pocket' to pull out his ID, or the cellphone (and extra SIM card), or anything else. Also, if Cloak is holding onto basic small items when he reverts to human form, those items are either destroyed or simply drop (various and random). Only larger objects remain held or dropped.

Finally, it is time for you to go back to Hudson City. Naga says that Hudson City was chosen on purpose for you. Until you have better control of your powers, you really are only reliable against "street-level crime" despite the powerful upper end of your abilities. You aren't given a plane ticket. You are expected to get used to long-distance flying for future missions. Since you practically don't tire when flying and have no need of sleep or food ... this is a good deal, albeit much slower than a conventional jet. Your human persona, however, DOES need food, clothing, shelter, sleep, etc. to function. Not paying attention to your human side means that he/you could be debilitated if you wait too long in your "natural" form of Cloak.

The only job beyond minimum wage (which isn't enough for the rent at LeMastre Arms) that Naga can set up for you is that radio job. Anything else requires more exposure than is good for you to have. That radio job was filled, but since lost another two assistants. Any other job requires more paperwork that you can't possibly foresee if you tried to forge everything. Btw, you have you have since re-forged your ID materials. You are given a basic forgery set, but money is still needed for materials if you want to do more with it than you have already.

[BuckGodot]

I might make it a point to stop back at the original job and show them I have my ID and stuff now......Just in case they need someone for the future. Who knows....I might get the shock jock to stop being a **** if the circumstances present themselves.... Heh heh

[lostsole31]

Sure, but well before that .....

You have neither a trained nor an exceptional means of finding your way back to Hudson City. As a pilot, your skills are to use the controls that will do the navigation for you ... but you have no skills at navigation, nor do your powers (currently) have a means of plotting your position. Of course, since you partly 'exist outside the laws of this reality' that makes sense.

Before you leave, you have to use the basic computer at the inn to print out directions. That gets stored in your wallet (remember what happens to held items, and it would be torn away at the speeds you could fly, anyway). You memorize how to get out of Minneapolis and onto I-694N, then I-90E. Once in Chicago, you'll take a pause and pull out the map again.

With some adjustments, and maybe just some plain ol' "joyriding", it takes you under three hours to zooom! into Chicago. You land on the rooftop of the Sears Tower, partly to take in the beautiful scenery of the Windy City nightscape, but also because that tall building has great windscreens and you'll have to switch to Donovan to do your map readings.

It is beautiful up here. You could DEFINITELY get used to some of the perks of being able to fly and see these sights without need of airfare.

You hear the sounds of an energy weapon somewhere below...

As you look in that direction, just a few blocks away you see a blue flash of some sort on the street. What do you do?

[BuckGodot]

Ok.....Presence attack, followed by basic grab with Tendrils of Darkness and use Viscous Vitality to drain her.

[lostsole31]

(The assumption ... and this is muy importante, is that unless you define otherwise, you use your powers with the nearest-to-50% as possible.)

You fly around behind her, but despite her distraction your billowing energy overflow behind you (that would be the "cloak" effect of excess energy venting out behind you) knocks over some things and she turns to face you just as you say "It's always the cute ones that are trouble" (or something to that effect).

You startle her, but not long enough for her to recover into defensive posture to keep from being totall surprised. You open the gates to the Qliphothic realm as your chest and arms burble and malform, but your control is poor and you lose the grasp (but still pay the END cost for the attempt).

Her hesitation over, and horrified somewhat by the concept of what she sees, she says, "So, come to stop Lady Blue on her mission of mercy, huh? Well, that means you're either a hero or want to horn in on the action. Since you didn't act like a hero ... I'll assume the latter. And this loot isn't for me or you, but the POOR, you jerk!"

Thrusters and ventrals in her battlesuit fire up and she lifts into the air, about 1 hex off the ground. The glow in her force field grow brighter and channels to her gauntlets (no, it does not drop the force field) and a powerful blue blast shoots forth and blasts you in the left arm. It is only because of the arm that you take no damage and aren't stunned! Still, it is a powerful, forceful blast ... and you are flying ... so you go flying back through some shelves and displays to the back wall, where you are planted halfway into it (but again, you are tough ... so no damage).

Both you and she regain END losses.

T1S2: What do you do?

[BuckGodot]

I stop and stare blankly (which, may I point out, my face does naturally. LOL) Wait, wait, wait......Mission of mercy? Did I misunderstand your intent here?


(Since I can't use BLACK for Cloak speak, I chose Navy)

[lostsole31]

You say what you do while smushed into the wall. (Btw, there is no "black". It is all "Navy blue!" )

"Hero or schmuck, you'd better let me be," Lady Blue says. "Besides, haven't you heard of me? I'm the modern-day Robbin' Hood!"

She scoops up more 'stuff' as she flies around in the center of the store.

[lostsole31]

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the world ...

Spoiler

Show

Johnny Kwon was a fraud. Oh, he knew Kung Fu alright ... but barely. He mainly got by on his natural strength, speed, and stamina - all of which were nearly the peak of perfection. Instead of focusing his skills, he worried more about raw physique. But it wasn't without effect. When you're the brawniest guy in the ring, who cares about dodging and ducking. Hey, take a few blows to show the crowd how impressive you are ... and then let the opponent have it.

He seriously hurt three men in the ring, and even killed another; but each of them was taken down well enough or with the right cover maneuver that he was cleared of charges. Even in the disciplined world of martial arts, getting killed in the ring was a viable hazard. Johnny lost a lot of respect in the martial arts world as a result, but he didn't care. Once offers for legitimate matches disappeared, he discovered that the world of underground pit fighting was far, far more lucrative. Fast money, fast girls, and lots of respect. That is, until the day he had a match in Cape Town several years ago.

Johnny, despite being 'merely human,' fared well against many low-level mutants that didn't have his training and expertise - and these matches brought far more prestige and money that fighting other mere mortals. Upon finding the fight scene in Cape Town, South Africa, Johnny bested many of the local fighters but heard of one that didn't approve of the fight scene. So, Johnny arranged to have the teenager's mother held hostage.

The youth came in like an animal, a living incarnation of all of Africa's great animals' power and grace. Many of the underworld soldiers and the criminal lord running the pit were killed or wounded as this large, monstrous creature bounced around like a rabid lion. Through his own lack of training and inexperience in such matters, the boy's mother was killed when (unbeknownst to him) he smashed support columns that tumbled a section of upstairs balcony she and two guards holding her were standing in.

That was the day that Johnny Kwon realized that he wasn't even as skilled as some of the world's non-superheroic martial artists. The boy wrecked Kwon's body within seconds and left him for dead before running out into the wild to escape the swift Apartheid 'justice' of the ARGENT-outfitted Afrikaaners. Enough of the crimelord's security tapes were recovered to recognize the boy as Londisize Wimund and a 'kill on sight' order was issued. Londi managed to warn his father in time for his father to get him and his little sister out of the country and moved to New Delhi where his father had offices.

Londi thought about that day long ago when he was a clumsy boy and brought about the death of his mother. For many years now, he had honed his skills and his powers - gaining a measure of respect as an honorable mercenary in the process. But Londi came home to his father's home in New Delhi to find that his father - bed-ridden since the Death's Messenger bombing that killed his sister in Philadelphia - had been kidnapped without message or ransom. Londi managed to track a man's scent whom Londi recognized as having smelled before (which to him, is as easy as we might recognize someone's face). A short interrogation later, and he discovered that a South African gangster who was owed money from years prior by Londi's father found out where the elder Mr. Wimund was residing and him brought back to Cape Town.

A few more rundowns, interrogations, and questionings of black market contacts, and Londi figured out that the main enforcer in charge of his dad's kidnapping was none other than Johnny Kwon. But this time, it is said that while Johnny's natural physique was unenhanced, he fully recovered after a year, and then threw his entire will into training to be the very best fighter he could be. But the real topping on this sundae was that it was rumored that Kwon disappeared for some time after his recovery and when he returned he seemed little changed - until he fought. The longer Kwon fought, the more powerful he became. What that really meant, Londi didn't know. Londi was able to use black market contacts to find the gangster and send him to justice and save his father ... but there was a little score to settle now.

And so, Londi found himself back in Honolulu, a town he was more than familiar with after several travels before this one. His time as a mercenary not only gave him a lot of knowledge of other of his craft, the criminal underworld, and black market operations, but also of being pretty familiar with a lot of the major cities and hotspots in the world. Years ago, he had trouble with a local shipping magnate from Japan, but he fell in well with a bunch of Samoans that hated how thie businessman treated the day laborers. Getting close to Kwon in the open would likely end up in massive collateral damage and possible loss of innocent lives ... but Kwon's weakness was the adulation of the crowds in a fighting pit. So, Londi called upon his Samoan buddies to give him a hand.

If he tried to come as Londi, he would never get close to his target. One of his beer-pals recommended he go costumed, as 'that crowd loves that sort of thing.' Londi spent most of his adult life using his own name for the sake of mercenary reputation and family honor, so he always eschewed using a 'Codename' or some silliness. But this time, especially after being recently infused with the late Professor's teachings, Londi was willing to try it. He thought of simple "Big Five" names of the most popular African animals, but most were silly even if somewhat descriptive.

Finally, Malo'whe - a rugby enthusiast - recommended Londi take the name of Springbok, based on the World Cup winners: the South African Springboks. The springbok, as an animal, is simply a small antelope or goat and not very awe-inspiring; but the rugby team of the same name were the once-and-current Cinderella underdogs and tough-as-nails. They used to be a laughing stock and despised by the blacks, but after Mandela's leadership became a force to be reckoned with. Londi liked the idea of the 'surprise' of the power of such a name (because names in his culture have an inherent 'power') for so humble a creature.

His friends quickly helped him fashion a costume. From a Western standpoint it might seem garish, but Londi considered himself a South African hero - not a Western one. The colors of his primary wear would be the revered green-and-gold of the rugby team. The South African flag, in addition to those, also include black, brown, red, blue, and white. It sported a V-neck, while the left arm was wholly bare from the shoulder and the right arm was covered entirely. His equipment belt was green with yellow trim. He was of mixed Zulu-white heritage (his father is white) so brown and white were covered. Black was the thick matting of hair on his body. He colored his assegai's (African throwing spear) hilt a deep red. His electro-shield was primarly blue, but he painted the control disc yellow as well. Cosmetic horns were placed on the green partial-mask (leaving eye-holes, hair, and goatee open). Not having real lion's mane, his friends bought alpaca wool and colored it black-and-brown to resemble the mane of the South African black lion, and fashioned it into boots and a sporran. The final touch was the insignia of the springbok itself on his chest. Of course, for the pit fights, he would have to leave his weapons and equipment with his friends since no weapons were allowed.

A few preliminary fights, but not laying it on too thick, and Springbok was a shoe-in for a title fight. He made sure to make his fight against the main challenger (and a serious outmatched fighter) to Kwon look like a knock-down-drag-out affair before finally besting him and earning the right to finally challenge the now-mighty Kwon to battle. And so, the night begins ...