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  #76  
Unread 30th of March, 2005, 05:24
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Bolt
HP: 5/5 Status: feels like the lamb being led to the slaughter - unhurt

Its not the first time since he has been following Prophet that Ryan has wondered if he made the right choice, at the very least he should have insisted that Trisha stays behind... yea, good luck with that, but just the fact that she was here makes this more complicated.

He had to catch up with Prophet, getting lost down here probably wasn't the best idea and he wasn't waiting, normally it would be a simple matter run down the wall across the "water" and up the other side but he had never done it with a passenger before.

He approaches her and slips his arm around her waist, lifting and pulling her close to him, shifting her to the side slight so he can still run and maneuver. Any other time having her this close would bring on a different set of emotions but he was too anxious about what he was about to do.

"Hang on tight and shield your face." He tells her as he backs up some, he covers her with his duster as much as he can. Normally he never worried about air friction or small particles, but now he hoped whatever protected him will protect her as well.

(ooc: water run and wall run, will use a hero point if needed so Trisha doesn't get vaporised by the speed.)
  #77  
Unread 31st of March, 2005, 13:15
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the Mechanic

Sachs frowns colossally. “Really, Dr. Thomas. There are innumerable reasonable explanations available without resorting to the ‘Gilgamesh hypothesis’. For example...” You wait politely as the archaeologist struggles to wrap his mind through any alternatives, and watch him grow increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, Hell,” he sighs, puffing through his mustaches. “Five years ago, I worked on an animal grave in South Dakota. We found fifteen buffalo that had died at the same point in time, by arrows shot from the same bow. The arrowheads had hit with so much force they were pulverised into dust inside the buffalo.” He grimaces. “Tell me that anyone besides a metahuman could manage that. Dr, I have to concur with you; there must be some kind of powerful creature in that tomb below us.”

Vanderman’s response is brief and, perhaps, predictable: “How do we kill it?”

You and Sachs share a sideways glance; he rolls his eyes, giving you a slight shrug that expresses and ocean of exasperation with the military.

Vanderman sneers, and elaborates. “Mr. Super-Indian down there puts out more radiation that a Los Alamos hamburger. He can control minds, and tried to kill Dr. LaCroix. In case you haven’t noticed, thread level has been ramping up for the last year at least. I reckon that means he’s either he’s approaching critical mass or he’s getting ready to wake up.

“That means: Option one - ker-frickin’-boom; or option two - we get a meta of unknown power wandering around. And I don’t think he’s gonna be happy that a load of white folks are livin’ in his country now.”
  #78  
Unread 31st of March, 2005, 13:16
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Osprey

Her pulse is high and slightly irregular under your fingers, but seems to be sliding to a normal rate. About what you’d expect for someone out cold. Uncertain about your feelings, you rocket up into to the air, spin, and propel yourself to the ledge at the front of the bar.

About twenty to thirty rough looking men are climbing into eleven or so cars. There are more of them than you’d expected, and the fight seems to have given them the time to start on their way to the AeroDyne building. One the other hand, there are only about two to four of them in each vehicle, and they’re probably just ordinary Mafioso.

Plus, they haven’t seen you yet.
  #79  
Unread 31st of March, 2005, 13:16
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Quantum

The East European gives an incredulous snort. “Do I have to spell it out to you, idiot? You, and your group, are interfering with our plans. You remember that little party at the docks you crashed, right after I put a bearing in your overfast friend’s guts? Our plan. Your interference.

“Don’t make the mistake of repeating that interference, tovarich.

You vanish in an implosion of purple light.

The ‘Port rubs his temple as the mental noise of your exit hits him, close range. He grumbles, and thinks to himself: Those clumsy, high-altitude jumps of his have given me a migraine...

The SWAT officer and the paramedic reach the edge of the stage, and the armed policeman challenges him. Pietr Loschvuld gives the man an angry glower, before disappearing into thin air.

- - -

The lobby of the Centinel Building is well within your range, and you’re familiar enough with it to reach there without trouble. Daedalus and Eclipse gasp and stagger as you arrive, apparently disoriented.

A guard starts at your appearance, his hand flicking to his gun belt. Seeing it’s you, he relaxes, and mutters into a communicator for a moment, before giving you a wary nod and resuming is professional, watchful stance.
  #80  
Unread 31st of March, 2005, 13:17
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Wreck

X lands in a discreet alley at the side of the building, in front of a sturdy metal door. His hand brushes a piece of the wall, which slides aside and reveals a keypad. He points at it, and his computer-laden glove bleeps and whirs. As the door slides open, X pauses and does something else you’re not sure of. “Odd.. it’s laggy,” he muses to himself. Bored, you glance around the alley, noting several discreet, sophisticated security cameras watching you.

Finally, X steps into the building. You follow into a rather bare rectangular concrete room. Metal racks and shelves stand empty along the walls, and there are several desks in a far corner. The large roller doors are closed and locked. The most striking feature of the room is a chain-link metal cage in the middle, which secures the tall, black cylindrical shape of a supercomputer. There’s some illegible graffiti with a lightning-bolt motif on the walls and floor, and a number of wooden boxes that have been broken open some time ago.

X swears with some heat. “Damn.” Rapidly regaining control of himself, he lifts his hand. “Access local security grid. Display any recorded anomalies. And run a diagnostic on the uplink. I want to know why I wasn’t alerted during the break-in.”

A faint holographic image appears in the air in front of your employer. At high speed, it runs through several slices of images recorded by the cameras outside. Most show nothing more than people wandering through the alleys, or the odd stray cat nosing around. One recording, however, is nothing but static. X shifts when he sees this.

“Harumph.” He swivels, and looks up at you. “Most disturbing. This is one of our subsidiary bases of operation; as you can see, it is kept relatively empty until we need it. What little there was here, however... seems to have been stolen. I am rather displeased about this, I’m sure you can imagine.”

X strides over the smashed boxes, and starts sifting through the scattered packing material. “I have your first task, Wreck. Find who did this. Retrieve anything that hasn’t been fenced yet. Ensure that the thief, or thieves, reconsider their life of crime. Try not to attract the attentions of the police or the Centinels.”

He provides you with a little more info as he works it out. The break-in occurred seven days ago, and was accompanied by a disruption of the security systems, probably by a fairly powerful jammer. A number of power modules, spare wireless cards, clips of DP-9 ammunition and cell phones were taken, but the only items that really interest him are four computer towers; advanced, black and silver units about the size of a large book. They’d be worth a lot to a knowledgeable buyer, and contain sensitive data regarding the Syndicate X computer network.
  #81  
Unread 31st of March, 2005, 13:18
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Bolt

It’s not the first time you’ve carried her at high speeds, but the tight spaces in the sewers mean you have to be careful about where her limbs stick out. She seems to pick up on your tension, and gives you a gentle squeeze around the shoulders, a gesture more reassuring than intimate. She tucks her face close against your chest, protection her face from the wind friction.

For her, the journey is so quick that it probably doesn’t even register to her senses. You break into a run, accelerating in a way that defies all laws of biomechanics. Momentum easily overcomes the weak force of gravity, allow you to control your descent down the wall and up the other side. Similarly, at your velocity, the surface resistance of the war is effectively stronger than tar, and easily carries your weight for the millionth of a second you’re actually on it. The slime-coated sewer walls provide a minimal challenge to run over, but you manage it without error, leaving only some smudged footprints and sudden ripples in the flow of the underground river. Still at speed, you go a little way down the tunnel, catching up to Prophet almost instantly. Trisha looks surprised when you let her down, marveling at the near-instant change in scenery.

“It is near,” your guide says quietly. He leads you down a sharp slope littered with gravel, and stops at the end of the tunnel, endless darkness stretching out in front of you. For the first time, he meets your eyes, and just for a moment he looks uneasy. “I... do not know exactly what you must do to Exorcise the Devil, hero. His shade lingers here, polluting the Spirit World around him... perhaps it is anchored to his mortal remains, or to one of the unholy artifacts he wielded. Maybe it is the pain of those he slew that fuses him to this world, and you must find a way to alleviate their agony. Good luck, but I will not enter here. The evil cloys my wits, and the temptation to shatter the land of the heathens may grow too strong.” Prophet shuffles up the passage, and sits on a slab of broken cement, sinking into meditative state.

Trisha glances after him, then looks into the darkness. She fumbles through her pockets, and produces a Maglite. “Lucky I brought this...” she whispers, her voice oppressed by the echoing hollowness. She clicks on the torch, but nothing happens.

Before she can check the batteries, there is a rushing sound in the darkness ahead. A dim blue-gray flame gutters into life seemingly from nowhere, casting a ghoulish light that accentuates the shadows. As your eyes adjust to the sudden flare, you see that there is a candle sitting on the uneven ground ahead. After a moment, there are two more flares in the darkness, further back and spread out; then two more, further back still but closer together.

Five candles. I don’t need to tell you what shape they make, do I?

The dim light seems to draw heat from the air, making goose bumps tingle under your shirt. You can, however, see the layout before you. The room must have once been a roundabout of the surface road; now, it is a roughly circular chamber with ragged walls made of subsided concrete and packed piles of earth, pierced by reinforcing beams and the scattered remains of cars. The flickering witchlight makes weird pools of shadow creep across the walls. Twisted hubcaps and rusty doors give the place the look of an automotive graveyard. In the far wall, you can see what must have been the entrance to the tunnel; darkness slopes away through a maw of jagged concrete shards that look like teeth. The candles stand on the distorted ring of asphalt that forms the road, with long red streaks leading between them.

You don’t know whether it’s blood or paint.
  #82  
Unread 2nd of April, 2005, 06:30
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Bolt
HP: 5/5 Status: Waiting for the creepy music to begin, unhurt

When he was thirteen he studied the occult, spells, witches and warlocks and for a while wondered if it could be real, but like all fads this faded and was forgotten. Magic wasn't real, sure, super science and novas did things that seemed like magic but everything had a rational explanation behind it. Magic, true magic didn't exist. He had come to believe that.

Now in this place, at this time he wasn't quite as sure...

"Stay with Prophet and keep your head down." He tells her pushing her a little in his direction. Once she is headed towards him, he will take a few quick breaths and step out of the tunnel into the open space.

If nothing happens he will continue forward and check on the candles and the red streaks between them. Carefull not to touch or disturb anything.
  #83  
Unread 3rd of April, 2005, 02:30
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Quantum
HP 4/5. Status: Unhurt, but ruffled.

Giving the security guard a friendly wave, Quantum lets his field drop. As Daedalus and Eclipse regain their bearings and look around their new environment, he walks up to the guard. "I need to talk to Alicia Stone, ASAP. We've got trouble brewing."

He looks back at his two passengers, indicating that they should sit down. "Also, I've got a couple folks here who might be interested in helping out." And, perhaps, getting a little help themselves. They need a bit of guidance, keep 'em from getting in over their heads. 'Course, I might be doing just that myself.
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  #84  
Unread 3rd of April, 2005, 17:55
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Bolt

Trisha frowns a little, but you can tell from the slightly too-wide tension around her eyes that the overwhelming, reeking, malignant atmosphere of this place is getting to her as well. Tellingly, she hardly raises a complaint as she heads back up the tunnel. Your nerves feel too tight under your skin, almost screaming, as you step out into the chamber.

In a relieving anticlimax, nothing happens.

The smell of sulfur is strong in the stagnant air as you creep forwards, unsure of what to expect. You peer down at the nearest candle. It’s a short piece of gnarled, yellowish tallow, bent and ribbed oddly. Not the sort of thing you’d find in IKEA, or even in a New Age crystal store. It stinks of badly preserved fat.

Suddenly, the pale, cold flame gutters and bursts up in brightness. The noxious wax starts to melt as you stumble back in alarm. As it dribbles down the shaft of the candle, the jagged rim of a fingernail is revealed. Your stomach flip-flops in nausea. Behind you, there’s a shifting sound in the gravel, something scuttling towards you... You turn at full speed, seemingly, to all towards observers, to simple invert your facing 180 degrees instantly.

Elizabeth smiles at you.
  #85  
Unread 3rd of April, 2005, 17:55
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Quantum

The guard looks a little uncomfortable at your second comment, and surprised. “You mean you haven’t heard about the... uh, nothing.” He points you to the executive elevator. “The Rep’s in her office. And I suppose I could call someone from PR to handle them...”

Having been to Stone’s office once already, you see no need to both with conventional transportation. Fixing the abstract spatial coordinates in your mind, you shift straight up to the top floor of the Centinel Building after a quick see-you-later to Daedalus and Eclipse. The fronds of a potted fern shift like feelers at your arrival, upset by the gravitational shockwaves that ripple out around you. Practice makes perfect, you reflect. Your skill at teleportational navigation is getting sharper with every jump; you landed almost exactly where you wanted this time.

You knock on the door, and the Representative responds almost immediately; “Come in.” Pushing open the door, you see that little has changed. Despite the lateness of the hour, Alicia Stone looks as cleaned and pressed as ever, from neatly bunned hair to immaculately buttoned blouse. The only concession she seems to have made to informality is a small glass that sits on her desk, the remains of some alcoholic beverage glistening in the bottom.

She stands over her desk, swiftly sliding a number of documents into a folder. Behind her glasses, her eyes are a touch guilty, a touch frightened. “Paul,” she says with a formal but not unfriendly tone. “I thought you were taking the night off?”
  #86  
Unread 5th of April, 2005, 00:16
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Quantum
HP 4/5. Status: Feemin'.

“Paul, I thought you were taking the night off?”

"I was," he replies, "until things turned pear-shaped over at the stadium. Some half-crazed freak with a pile of lackeys and the power to start a riot turned up. I had to expose him to hard vacuum to quiet him.

"A few other 'capes' turned up at the scene, and I want to see what information you have on them. Two of 'em are fairly new to this, and I brought them here to see if you wanted to recruit them. They're greener than Irish Spring, but I think they've got some potential. They're in the lobby, looking lost.

"Also, I ran into that teleporter the guys had to deal with before -- the one that got away from the arms deal they stopped. He tried to talk me into leaving the city to stay out of their way. I think they might be pulling similar stunts with the rest of the team, so we need to check on them, give 'em a heads-up."

Not giving her a chance to butt in, he leans forward, placing his hands on the desk. "There's more. Something snapped when I was tangling with that nova. Things are happening with my abilities that seriously exceed what I'd been able to do before, and the changes are coming hard and fast. I want to talk with the scientists that worked with me three years ago -- and I want to look at their records. It's about damn time that someone told me the truth; I have the right to know just what the hell they did with me, and what they were trying to accomplish.

"Don't bother playing ignorant with me, I know that I'm not a 'naturally-occuring' nova now. I've had memories come up recently, and now I know that I was made this way. I want to know what they did, and why. Hopefully, I can get an answer before I break from the strain, 'cause I don't know what's going to change next."
  #87  
Unread 5th of April, 2005, 08:23
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Bolt
HP: 5/5 Status: Bewitched, Bewildered and Bewondered; Unhurt

<Shock is written plainly on his face.>

There were times that Ryan thought that maybe he was losing his grip on his sanity, that the years he has spent running was just some fevered dream that his mind had come up with to help him cope with her death, that he would suddenly open his eyes and he would be in a white room with his family and friends and he would realise that he couldn't outrun a speeding bullet...

<He tries to speak but nothing comes forth.>

But this cinched it, he was insane, there was no doubt about it...

<He inadvertantly takes a step backwards.>

But insane people don't realise that they are insane... right?

<He starts to reach out but stops almost as if he is afraid to touch her.>

"Elizabeth... Is it... is it really you?"
  #88  
Unread 7th of April, 2005, 14:15
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Quantum

Stone looks poised to answer your questions at first, but as you grow more assertive an indignant, angry flame starts to build behind her spectacles. She snaps a baleful gaze down on your hands, resting on the polished synthwood of her desk. A part of you flinches, that glare that they normally only issue to school principals and librarians triggering a child’s memory, but you hold your ground.

“It’s...” she glances at the screen on her desk, “nearly 1 am, Mr. Forrester. Far too late for your paranoid ravings.

“As far as I know, you’ve been in cryogenic suspension for your own good following your power manifestation for the past several years. Is it surprising that your powers are ‘thawing out’ at a different rate than your other bio-processes, given that they consist of specifically reality-altering abilities?” Her tone grows increasingly sharp and heated as she goes on.

“There was trouble at the stadium? That I know. What I didn’t know is that you were there. Why didn’t I know that? You decided to leave your communicator in your apartment and take a night off. Oh, but you’re not the only one... Osprey’s is turned off, Wreck left his behind too, and the Mechanic’s is telling us that it’s out of range. So I’ve had no-one to investigate the Madison riot, and I had to let the police handle it. Metahumans crimes were supposed to be our jurisdiction. Can you imagine how this looks to our oversight?” She’s working herself up into a real fury now.

“Oh, you met Loschvuld, did you? Wonderful! I suppose I should be glad you didn’t take up his offer - we’re starting to run short of Centinels!” She’s actually shouting at this point, jabbing an accusing finger at your chest.
  #89  
Unread 7th of April, 2005, 14:48
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Bolt

It must be her.

Elizabeth’s nose crinkles up in that way it always did - does - when you’ve done something she finds funny, a little exasperating, but overwhelmingly adorable.

It must be her.

She reaches out to your apprehensive hand, and gives it a playful poke. In her soft, warm soprano, that voice you’ve longed - long - to hear ever since you heard it give a death scream (but that never happened, did it?), she says “C’mon, Ryan... stop messing about.” Her expression sobers, and her very wide blue eyes catch the corpse-light from the candles. “We have to find a way through the tunnel. We have to find a way for those poor people to get to safety.”

It must be her.

She’s right, of course - she’s always been the moral compass you guide your life by, and the light that enriches it. Mentally, you turn away form that filthy, deceitful part of your mind that tries to tell you she’s dead, not really here - that can only be some kind of evil influence seeping in from this tainted hell-hole. A psychoactive field, or a demoralising curse, however you want to describe it. Science, magic, same thing couched in different terms.

It must be her.

She brushes past you, and you catch a whiff of the clean, fresh smell of her light brown hair as it swishes by you. Your girlfriend crouches and plucks one of the candle from the floor. “Eww !” she shudders, quickly wrapping it in several tissues from her pocket. It’s dim, but it casts enough light to at least let you see the walls as she lofts it at the jagged, stone maw that leads deeper into Ritual’s catacomb.

It must be her. Because you can’t cope with the alternative.

“Comming?” Elizabeth asks.
  #90  
Unread 8th of April, 2005, 01:15
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Quantum

“Oh, you met Loschvuld, did you? Wonderful! I suppose I should be glad you didn’t take up his offer - we’re starting to run short of Centinels!”

Any tones resembling accusation fall from his voice, as a look of astonishment crosses his face and decides to stay for a moment. "Waidaminit -- everyone went out of touch? At the same time? And what do you mean, we're 'running short'? What the heck's going on?"

His hands have moved themselves off the finely-polished desk long ago, and now he backs away a bit, taking a seat. "If it isn't one thing, it's three. Okay, let me know what you know about all this. If you have an idea where the others are, I can get to 'em, check up on them and give them their comms. As long as I don't have to fight any more neanderthals along the way, I'll see if I can help patch this up."
  #91  
Unread 8th of April, 2005, 03:12
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Bolt
HP: 5/5 Status: Beyond the ability to process rational thought, unhurt

Nothing else matters, Trisha. The mole people. The frozen people entombed somewhere in the Centinals building. Nothing, not even himself.

Elizabeth is here and so very real. Yet part of him wants to believe something else, he mentally crushes it, smashes it into oblivion. The only thing that matters is Elizabeth. For her he would willing pass though the gates of hell.

“Comming?” Elizabeth asks.
"Of course" He says with a smile. He follows her with only one glace behind him.
  #92  
Unread 11th of April, 2005, 09:40
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Wreck
HP: 5/5. Status: The game is afoot!

Tracy's brow furrows. Asking questions isn't his specialty. Well, not unless there's a punch either immediately preceeding or following the inquiry. Maybe that's what X has in mind. Or maybe he's just confident in Tracy. Either way, it's probably not going to turn out well. But then again, when has anything ever been good? Not since that first morning after getting these damn powers.

"Uh, sure. I'll do it."

But where to start? He could go back down to the bar, ask a few scumbags a question or two. Throw in a couple of punches and he might even learn something. But they aren't the type to steal a bunch of computers and other techno-junk. Then again, if it could fetch a good price...

Lifting off into the air, Tracy began to make his way back to the bar. For a man like him, it's the only place to start.
  #93  
Unread 14th of April, 2005, 01:15
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Osprey
HP: 2/5; Status: Normal, Stun: 1, Lethal: 0


From the ledge, Rob watches as they start to leave. Twenty-two men, minimum, not counting the cars with three or more soldiers. All of them shooters, and most of them already ensconced in metal and glass...and he can't fight a car. Realistically, stopping the raid before it starts is pretty much hopeless; he'll have to follow them to Aerodyne and come in from their rear...besides that, they'll probably break off into easier-to-chew squads once they get there, and he might be able to use the imminent confusion to his advantage.

The idea that forms is a little crazy, a lot risky. But Aerodyne is across town and he'll need to conserve his strength, so hitching a ride is essential. Stealthily, Rob hops lightly from ledge to fire escape to windowsill to streetlamp to dumpster shadow, moving closer to the last car as he does so. As the doors close, he sprints, a mere half-meter above the pavement, until he can grab the bumper. The car starts, and as it begins to accelerate he lifts and lays himself as flat as possible against the back of the trunk lid and the tiny ledge afforded by the bumper...hopefully, his ability to defy gravity can keep him from falling off.

As the car nears Aerodyne, Osprey detaches from the bumper and again seeks the cover of high shadows, trying to get close enough to overhear any last-minute planning that might give him insights to their deployment and goal. Assuming it all works, of course...

OOC: Looks like Hide and Move Silently checks are in order. When he first reaches the bumper, he stays primed to fly out of the way in case he's been spotted and they take action (like throwing it into reverse.)
  #94  
Unread 17th of April, 2005, 17:25
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Quantum

Stone gives you a long stare, apparently deliberately swallowing her fury. The skin around her nose remain crinkled with anger, but otherwise she seems to re-master her emotions.

“Was something I said unclear?” she asks in a voice tinged with acid. “You are the only member of the team whose location we have confirmed.

“The Mechanic was last seen entering a military helicopter around 22:00 hours last night, of his own free will by all appearances. We lost track of him about fifty miles south-west of the city; the communicators aren’t designated tracking devices, so don’t have the range to pinpoint position beyond that. The Defense Department isn’t returning our calls on the matter.

“Osprey... we lost him for the same reason we couldn’t find you.” The ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Most metahumans don’t realise how hard it is to track fliers. We don’t have any surveillance vehicles, and can’t requisition them from the NYPD at short notice. You and Osprey both preferentially use your powers to travel, so we lost you quite quickly.”

“Wreck, on the other hand, tends to walk. He went to a dive in lower Manhattan, then, ahem...” she pauses, “we lost him when he left with a woman. There’s been no sign of either of them since then, although... we found signs of damage in a subway terminal near by, consistent with an enhanced strength brawl. We’re investigating that now.”

Stone carefully sits behind her desk, watching you warily. “Thank you for the offer of help, Paul. To be honest, at this moment I’m not sure what you could do. We don’t have many leads - well, except for the fight scene.” She lays her fingers deftly on top of each other, resting her hands calmly over the folder.
  #95  
Unread 17th of April, 2005, 17:50
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Dirigible
Nightcrawler [GM]

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Bolt

The gates of hell.

How appropriate.

Boldly, you step to the fore as you and Elizabeth approach the jagged stone maw of the tunnel. With you in the way, the pallid illumination of the corpselight candle casts probing fingers around your silhouette as you peer into the reeking darkness. Even as you consider that ahead, the shadows behind grow more profound. Within one removed, the other four candles spontaneously quench themselves, leaving you shrouded in a hollow veil that conceals godknowswhat creeping up towards you...

The tunnel slouches down in a buckled hunger. The asphalt is twisted into an irregular footing, and here and there metal barbs of support struts gouge their way out of the floor. The walls seem to be melting, Daliesque... or maybe oozing ichor. Everything appears to be wracked, in a state of torture; warped by the very presence of evil.

About fifteen feet ahead, the way is blocked by a mass of metal. Cars, dozens of them, are smeared together in a solid mass of wreckage, like they crashed over and over and over until buckled doors, ruined fenders and bent rooves merged together. The silvery disks of headlights catch the light and reflect it back at you. Oddly, most of the windows and windshields seem unbroken, though many of them do bulge oddly. All the glass is blackened, however, as if smeared with some tarry matter.
  #96  
Unread 17th of April, 2005, 17:54
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Wreck

Seeing your bemused expression, X suggests: “You may wish to consult those in the immediate area. In a neighborhood like this one, wise citizens make a point of ignoring each other’s business, given how much of it is illegal... but I feel they may make an exception for you.”
  #97  
Unread 18th of April, 2005, 05:27
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Quantum
HP: 4/4. Status: Unhurt, concerned.

Paul gets up from the chair, shaking his head. "Something ain't right here. How could everyone -- and I mean all five of us -- go out of contact, and vanish, at about the same time? Yeah, it could just be bad timing, but that's like me rolling a Yahtzee on the first try. It just doesn't work that way."

Stepping back to a clear section of the office, Paul activates his power. He blinks out of existence, then snaps back in about one second later. As he shuts off the field, his communicator can be seen in his hand. Sitting back down, he loops it over his left ear.

"Okay, if you want I can go to the site of that fight, though I doubt I could be any help there. I don't really know Wreck all that well, and I'm a lousy tracker. I'll take my twenty lashes and play nice.

"Oh, and about the guys who worked with me some-odd years ago. I think I've figured out how my power works, I'm wanting to know if they can tell me the why part."
  #98  
Unread 20th of April, 2005, 14:48
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Bolt
HP: 5/5 status: Pretty sure he has become part of some horror flick

Every instinct he has is telling him that this is not the place to be and if it wasn't for Elizabeth he probably wouldn't be, but like usual she was right these people didn't deserve what was happening to them and right at this moment he was their best shot, which meant they were pretty much scrapping the bottom of the barrel.

Carefully he will approach the tangle of vehicles seeing if there was a way through or around, paying particular attention to the tarry matter on the glass.
  #99  
Unread 21st of April, 2005, 15:04
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Osprey

Well, as crazy, pointless plans go... this one turns out pretty well. Or at least, not catastropically.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Every time the car stops, changes direction or slows down your nose grinds against one of the lights. That’s because what you’re doing is hard - not lying on the bumper, but flying, horizontally, against an unpredictable surface, when you can’t see where you’re going. You try pressing your back to the vehicle - but flying backwards feels wrong, white-knuckle, pants-wetting wrong.

“I woulda thought Tom woulda showed...” one of the men in the car grouses.
“Huh. Prob’ly couldn’t find any ammo,” another says in a smirking tone.

Someone turns the stereo on to a retro rap station, loudly. You cling to the vehicle as DMX demands to know where, precisely, da hood at. After a few more streets, it gets switched off again, letting you listen in on a part-way through conversation.

“...doin’ it, man? I mean, it’s like she’s the enemy, y’know?”
“Ain’t no enemy a mine, Jay,” someone in the back seat responds. “She’s, like, family o’ the old capo. And Riley, pardon my French, Riley is a cocksucking greasy two-bit Westie Irish sonovabitch. But, uh, don’t tell none a his I said that.”

Some of the gangsters laugh, other mutter warnings about the risk of mafia soldiers badmouthing the new management of the underworld.

“I gots no love for Antonia’s crew...” another ruminates. “But since Riley don’t feel like paying us this month, then shee-it, I got no problemo with looking other places for work. It’s his fault, really.”

“Keep it down, you mooks...” the driver announces. “We’s here...”

The four men get out of the car, putting on their best hard-man faces. Guns are fingered, flick-knives opened and closed and lucky charms rubbed. The cones of light from the headlamps paint bright streaks across the parking lot, catching on the chainlink fence ahead. The administration and manufacturing buildings of other companies crowd around like curious spectators on all sides, effectively cutting the spacious square off from the rest of the city.

They don’t even notice the black shape shooting up into the air from behind their car, vanishing into the dark sky.

“Turn ‘em off, you moron!” someone hisses as more cars arrive, settling around the secure-looking AeroDyne industrial campus ahead. Within the fence, a blocky ten story office building houses the regional offices of the corporation. A number of low, corrugated-steel roofed adjuncts serve as warehouses and low-intensity factories.

“Where’s the boss lady at?”
“Wha? What lady? I was told bout this by my buddy Louis... said that this was an insurance job... but s’a lot a people for an arson job...”
“Naw, it’s all Antonia’s thing, right?”
“Wha’s the hold up?
“I hear the guy who runs this place is, like, a ‘borg or something...” someone whispers as they criminals gather into small clumps, waiting for some signal, growing more confused and unsure.
  #100  
Unread 22nd of April, 2005, 19:58
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Quantum

When you mention your doubts over the unlikeliness of the coincidence, Stone shakes her head. “I can’t see any way it could have been organized from the outside, if that’s what you’re implying. And I’m sure no-one within the Foundation would have...” her voice trails off, and her lips wrinkle slightly as if she’s just made an unpleasant connection in her mind.

She swiftly brushes this aside, however. “You want to contact Dr. Chen and Espinoza’s team? That... should... be possible. It may take some time, I’m afraid.” She then taps a panel on the surface of her desk, and the monitor slides smoothly out of its slot. She turns it towards you, and calls up a map of the city. “The station in question is... here,” she points. “Chief Proscatti is already there, but you’re likely to get more help if you find the Situation Manager, Luke Greico.”

You study the map for a few moments, and become reasonably confident you can find the location without too much trouble.
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