[H][RP] Heroes II - START!
Jun 21, 2017 1:05:33 GMT -6
Post by Fireraven on Jun 21, 2017 1:05:33 GMT -6
- A Battle of Wits –
In this game, this battle like so, flee from
the deniable, the turncoat with a gun.
“More, give him more!” Beige shouted into the mic. The warehouse floor below his safe control room was a maze of shipping containers and crates. His voice echoed through the many-walled room and the hundreds of feet of open air above the short containers. Inside the labyrinth of steel were two men: a victim, and a volunteer – an experiment and a risk.
It was exhilarating.
Marc Lisa was an odd fellow. Deniable asset gone rogue, gone superhero (if only for a few short weeks) and then turncoat, betraying his allies in a dramatic rooftop fight that saw the end to two Atlantean supers – as well as a tremendous loss of blood from Marc. He’d taken a talon from the dinosaur woman straight through his neck. She had ripped it from her arm and thrown it, impaling him through the neck. Fortunately, Marc was a resilient turncoat, and managed to survive long enough for Beige to patch him up. It was then that the doctor had begun his . . . alteration of the soldier – and at the man’s own request.
First was armored skin, Marc Lisa’s mandated first order of business. A simple job – some grafting of nanoweave layers of Tross’s own superdex throughout the man’s epidermis and a genetic strengthening of the bond of connective tissue in the dermis. Unfortunately, as a result, it had darkened his skin tone dramatically, despite the flesh color Beige had applied to the material. But Marc did not care. He was stronger already.
Next on the agenda was some basic upgrades to Marc’s government-applied implants, as well as an upgrade to the implants Beige himself had given the man only a year prior.
But the most interesting surgery, and the one Marc wanted most of all, was a telepathic block – a mental wall – a defense against telepaths. This, of course, had been requested by Marc before he knew that Novak, the powerful telepath with the Atlanteans, had taken his own life. But the request was still valid – Beige knew of eight telepaths in the world outside of his own creations in Smog Towers, and there was no telling how many more there was.
The surgery wasn’t a tall order; Beige had already devised the plan, the technology, everything needed, and had had his own top scientists and surgeons perform the upgrade on him. All he had to do was do it to Marc.
And that’s what he had done – a few weeks back. Marc, recovered from the surgery, was now undergoing a test: Withstand the psychic incursions of a telepathic being of Beige’s own creation. So far, it was working swimmingly. Marc had resisted perfectly, denying the psychic in all attempts to invade his mind. Beige was currently encouraging the telepath – a rugged young man who looked like he’d been through hell twice over – to try harder. Still Marc resisted.
An endless field – a long way to walk before even reaching his gray matter. The field plagued with acid rain that never ended, potholes that were impossible to see or predict, but were every four feet.
A bottomless chasm ending the field, the clifface ragged and sharp, reaching down into mental nothingess. Across the chasm was his attacker’s siege camp, his enemy’s brain.
A wall at the edge of his side of the abyss. Strong, sturdy, well-built. Concrete blocks weighing four tons each, like the pyramids – each laced with ultra-dense meteorite to further strengthen and secure. Despite the pure weight of the blocks holding the structure in place with ease, there is extra-adhesive mortar with atomically-bonding outer layers holding the blocks together. Rebar like a locking mechanism, like puzzle pieces fitting the stone together. Titanium-reinforced corners- no, there are no corners. The wall is endless, not even a circle around my mind, just an unbreakable wall stretching up and outward without end into a mental void.
Who knew imagination could be such a good defense?
And that Marc would be such a good defender?
Marc and the telepath had stumbled into each other long ago, negating the purpose of the maze in forcing them to reach out and find each other, but Beige forbade them to attack with real-world measures, so they stood, in silence, across from each other, thinking at the other.
An unbreakable wall. Unbreakable. Hah- nothing’s unbreakable. All I’d need is the right battering ram powered by the finest hydraulics to punch a small hole through into one block and set a nigh-nuclear charge there. Hell, even burning the adhesive mortar might do. The mortar turning to ash would destabilize the structure, new gaps forming like cracks where they weren’t before. A mistake.
Marc swore. He’d literally just given his enemy the tools to break into his mind. He saw his wall breaking. The mortar was burned – an impossibility in reality if it was normal mortar, but in his mind he had made it sticky and, by expectation, flammable. He watched as several rapid fire battering rams with the hugest system of hydraulics he’d ever seen set up outside his wall and began hammering. His mind rang as thousands of purely mental hammers struck against his defenses. He winced in pain. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.
He doubled the wall. Tripled it. Multiplied its thickness by so many. The charges were set by shadowy figures – imprints of his attacker, a representation of his mind. It was a decrepit figure, torn apart, missing pieces, and dark and blurry, like it was a photo taken on the move in bad lighting. The figure was a footprint – a footprint that was about to blow his wall to smithereens. But that wasn’t going to work. He’d made more layers now. He was fine.
The charges blinked out of existence and were replaced by full-blown nuclear bombs, huge and menacing, ready to blow. How they fit in the small dents made by the battering rams, he didn’t know, but in the illogical hellscape that was their mental battleground, nothing made sense.
But there has to be rules. Everything has rules. Even this crazy world with its gorram gods in the flesh and crime unending, everything had rules. That meant anything could be broken. That was why this worked. The only reason his wall could be broken was if the rules demanded it. What rules demanded this?
Mind over matter. Mind over matter. The nukes detonated, and his wall came tumbling down. On his attacker’s side of the ravine, bridges began forming, coming over the emptiness below. Armies of shadowy figures began a haunting march across, a mere yard behind the bridge as it formed in front of them. Like a child building a railroad track in front of a toy train as it moved.
The chasm grew larger, Marc resisting. He pulled his side back, but the bridges began forming faster. As he pulled back, they came forward. This wasn’t defense. This was retreat. His endless field was shortening. He was leading his enemy in.
“MORE!” Beige yelled, a muffled scream echoing through the abyss.
Mind over matter. Mind over-
What the- mind over matter? This was mind against mind. Nothing about matter here. No rules, no reality, only a dreamscape of endless possibilities.
Matter over mind.
Marc pulled his pistol from its holster as quick as he could. The image appeared in his mind, the result of his body performing the action, his brain imagining what it was ordering its vessel to do. His enemy looked at the image. The bridges withdrew. In nanoseconds, all perceived far too long in his mind, his enemy tried to leave his mind and return to the real world to avoid the bullet – but Marc was quicker. He drew, and fired, putting three rounds through the man’s left leg. One shattered his shinbone, the other made a donut of his kneecap, the other went through his thigh, possibly piercing an artery, but certainly shredding skin, muscle, nerve tissue, and possibly breaking bone. It was a good pistol.
Marc ran forward, his enemy stunned, locked in his mind. Marc threw himself forward as he still watched his enemy’s bridges retreat back over the abyss. His endless field stretched out again, the wall reforming from the fiery ash the nukes had reduced it to.
Matter over mind. Marc head-butted the telepath in the warehouse with him, his skull crashing into his. In his mind, his side of the chasm, his cliff, rushed forward, shattering the bridges, vaporizing the men on it and slamming into his enemy’s. The walls of his cliff cracked and broke, caving in, undergoing a process of ultra-speed entropy, breaking down, decaying, eroding, and falling into the abyss below, turning to dust. The cliff fell away completely, exposing a hulking mass of gray, an unprotected mental structure. As the telepath fell to the floor in the real world, Marc standing triumphantly above him, his enemy’s mind fell down in the abyss after his defenses, turning to dust.
What had he done?
“Marc, blast it, I said no killing,” Beige said, storming down some stairs and coming up to him.
“He’s not dead. The hits were nonlethal. The head-butt is a non-issue.” Beige shook his head.
“I don’t know what you did, Lisa, but his vitals are out. Winked off. The console up there said so. A sudden brain death, followed by loss of all bodily function due to lack of command. His body is just fizzing out.” Beige sighed. “And he was my most experienced psychic, too.”
“I . . . but I only-”
“Well hell if I know, Marc, but you killed him. You knocked craniums and his came out of the deal completely lifeless.” Marc blinked several times in shock.
“I can do that?” Beige shrugged.
“I guess so. I’ll need to do some more tests . . . see if we can recreate it, see what happened, really. Why you can do it. How you can do it.”
Marc stared at the now-dead telepath on the ground below him. A pool of blood formed around his leg, but that wasn’t the gruesome part. What was gruesome was the completely lifeless eyes, and the unmoving face locked in final shock, brain instantly killed in only a head-butt. His body still looked vaguely alive, some veins still pulsing, a slow, shaking rise of the chest as the lungs realized their futile actions and died down, losing their function.
I did that. With . . . with my mind. And my head. My physical, actual head. Mind . . . and matter.
Mind and matter.
It was exhilarating.
Marc Lisa was an odd fellow. Deniable asset gone rogue, gone superhero (if only for a few short weeks) and then turncoat, betraying his allies in a dramatic rooftop fight that saw the end to two Atlantean supers – as well as a tremendous loss of blood from Marc. He’d taken a talon from the dinosaur woman straight through his neck. She had ripped it from her arm and thrown it, impaling him through the neck. Fortunately, Marc was a resilient turncoat, and managed to survive long enough for Beige to patch him up. It was then that the doctor had begun his . . . alteration of the soldier – and at the man’s own request.
First was armored skin, Marc Lisa’s mandated first order of business. A simple job – some grafting of nanoweave layers of Tross’s own superdex throughout the man’s epidermis and a genetic strengthening of the bond of connective tissue in the dermis. Unfortunately, as a result, it had darkened his skin tone dramatically, despite the flesh color Beige had applied to the material. But Marc did not care. He was stronger already.
Next on the agenda was some basic upgrades to Marc’s government-applied implants, as well as an upgrade to the implants Beige himself had given the man only a year prior.
But the most interesting surgery, and the one Marc wanted most of all, was a telepathic block – a mental wall – a defense against telepaths. This, of course, had been requested by Marc before he knew that Novak, the powerful telepath with the Atlanteans, had taken his own life. But the request was still valid – Beige knew of eight telepaths in the world outside of his own creations in Smog Towers, and there was no telling how many more there was.
The surgery wasn’t a tall order; Beige had already devised the plan, the technology, everything needed, and had had his own top scientists and surgeons perform the upgrade on him. All he had to do was do it to Marc.
And that’s what he had done – a few weeks back. Marc, recovered from the surgery, was now undergoing a test: Withstand the psychic incursions of a telepathic being of Beige’s own creation. So far, it was working swimmingly. Marc had resisted perfectly, denying the psychic in all attempts to invade his mind. Beige was currently encouraging the telepath – a rugged young man who looked like he’d been through hell twice over – to try harder. Still Marc resisted.
An endless field – a long way to walk before even reaching his gray matter. The field plagued with acid rain that never ended, potholes that were impossible to see or predict, but were every four feet.
A bottomless chasm ending the field, the clifface ragged and sharp, reaching down into mental nothingess. Across the chasm was his attacker’s siege camp, his enemy’s brain.
A wall at the edge of his side of the abyss. Strong, sturdy, well-built. Concrete blocks weighing four tons each, like the pyramids – each laced with ultra-dense meteorite to further strengthen and secure. Despite the pure weight of the blocks holding the structure in place with ease, there is extra-adhesive mortar with atomically-bonding outer layers holding the blocks together. Rebar like a locking mechanism, like puzzle pieces fitting the stone together. Titanium-reinforced corners- no, there are no corners. The wall is endless, not even a circle around my mind, just an unbreakable wall stretching up and outward without end into a mental void.
Who knew imagination could be such a good defense?
And that Marc would be such a good defender?
Marc and the telepath had stumbled into each other long ago, negating the purpose of the maze in forcing them to reach out and find each other, but Beige forbade them to attack with real-world measures, so they stood, in silence, across from each other, thinking at the other.
An unbreakable wall. Unbreakable. Hah- nothing’s unbreakable. All I’d need is the right battering ram powered by the finest hydraulics to punch a small hole through into one block and set a nigh-nuclear charge there. Hell, even burning the adhesive mortar might do. The mortar turning to ash would destabilize the structure, new gaps forming like cracks where they weren’t before. A mistake.
Marc swore. He’d literally just given his enemy the tools to break into his mind. He saw his wall breaking. The mortar was burned – an impossibility in reality if it was normal mortar, but in his mind he had made it sticky and, by expectation, flammable. He watched as several rapid fire battering rams with the hugest system of hydraulics he’d ever seen set up outside his wall and began hammering. His mind rang as thousands of purely mental hammers struck against his defenses. He winced in pain. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.
He doubled the wall. Tripled it. Multiplied its thickness by so many. The charges were set by shadowy figures – imprints of his attacker, a representation of his mind. It was a decrepit figure, torn apart, missing pieces, and dark and blurry, like it was a photo taken on the move in bad lighting. The figure was a footprint – a footprint that was about to blow his wall to smithereens. But that wasn’t going to work. He’d made more layers now. He was fine.
The charges blinked out of existence and were replaced by full-blown nuclear bombs, huge and menacing, ready to blow. How they fit in the small dents made by the battering rams, he didn’t know, but in the illogical hellscape that was their mental battleground, nothing made sense.
But there has to be rules. Everything has rules. Even this crazy world with its gorram gods in the flesh and crime unending, everything had rules. That meant anything could be broken. That was why this worked. The only reason his wall could be broken was if the rules demanded it. What rules demanded this?
Mind over matter. Mind over matter. The nukes detonated, and his wall came tumbling down. On his attacker’s side of the ravine, bridges began forming, coming over the emptiness below. Armies of shadowy figures began a haunting march across, a mere yard behind the bridge as it formed in front of them. Like a child building a railroad track in front of a toy train as it moved.
The chasm grew larger, Marc resisting. He pulled his side back, but the bridges began forming faster. As he pulled back, they came forward. This wasn’t defense. This was retreat. His endless field was shortening. He was leading his enemy in.
“MORE!” Beige yelled, a muffled scream echoing through the abyss.
Mind over matter. Mind over-
What the- mind over matter? This was mind against mind. Nothing about matter here. No rules, no reality, only a dreamscape of endless possibilities.
Matter over mind.
Marc pulled his pistol from its holster as quick as he could. The image appeared in his mind, the result of his body performing the action, his brain imagining what it was ordering its vessel to do. His enemy looked at the image. The bridges withdrew. In nanoseconds, all perceived far too long in his mind, his enemy tried to leave his mind and return to the real world to avoid the bullet – but Marc was quicker. He drew, and fired, putting three rounds through the man’s left leg. One shattered his shinbone, the other made a donut of his kneecap, the other went through his thigh, possibly piercing an artery, but certainly shredding skin, muscle, nerve tissue, and possibly breaking bone. It was a good pistol.
Marc ran forward, his enemy stunned, locked in his mind. Marc threw himself forward as he still watched his enemy’s bridges retreat back over the abyss. His endless field stretched out again, the wall reforming from the fiery ash the nukes had reduced it to.
Matter over mind. Marc head-butted the telepath in the warehouse with him, his skull crashing into his. In his mind, his side of the chasm, his cliff, rushed forward, shattering the bridges, vaporizing the men on it and slamming into his enemy’s. The walls of his cliff cracked and broke, caving in, undergoing a process of ultra-speed entropy, breaking down, decaying, eroding, and falling into the abyss below, turning to dust. The cliff fell away completely, exposing a hulking mass of gray, an unprotected mental structure. As the telepath fell to the floor in the real world, Marc standing triumphantly above him, his enemy’s mind fell down in the abyss after his defenses, turning to dust.
What had he done?
“Marc, blast it, I said no killing,” Beige said, storming down some stairs and coming up to him.
“He’s not dead. The hits were nonlethal. The head-butt is a non-issue.” Beige shook his head.
“I don’t know what you did, Lisa, but his vitals are out. Winked off. The console up there said so. A sudden brain death, followed by loss of all bodily function due to lack of command. His body is just fizzing out.” Beige sighed. “And he was my most experienced psychic, too.”
“I . . . but I only-”
“Well hell if I know, Marc, but you killed him. You knocked craniums and his came out of the deal completely lifeless.” Marc blinked several times in shock.
“I can do that?” Beige shrugged.
“I guess so. I’ll need to do some more tests . . . see if we can recreate it, see what happened, really. Why you can do it. How you can do it.”
Marc stared at the now-dead telepath on the ground below him. A pool of blood formed around his leg, but that wasn’t the gruesome part. What was gruesome was the completely lifeless eyes, and the unmoving face locked in final shock, brain instantly killed in only a head-butt. His body still looked vaguely alive, some veins still pulsing, a slow, shaking rise of the chest as the lungs realized their futile actions and died down, losing their function.
I did that. With . . . with my mind. And my head. My physical, actual head. Mind . . . and matter.
Mind and matter.
---
- Choice One –
Doom | Captain Lux | Shepherd | Phaedra | Gigakeita | Doppelganger
Break in, get her,
get out.
Doom was standing, motionless, behind the pilot’s seat of the jet, staring out as the jet soared through the clouds above Iowa, its cloaking panels glinting in the sun, glaring against the bright blue sky. You’d just left the base moments ago, and you were already nervous.
In the center of the troop bay, where you were all gathered, there was a hologram of the two towers connected by the skybridge.
“Just so we’re clear on the plan,” Lux said, “I’ll go over it once more.” She’d already briefed you all back at Elysium, when you’d been assigned the mission, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to hear it again – and it’d give you something to do on the (although incredibly short compared to other modes of transport) fairly long ride to Chicago. “We land on the roof. Phaedra,” Lux pointed to one of the Matriarchs in the troop bay, “will phase into the penthouse suite and figure out where Kira is. We get there, get her out, and then we run. Any guards in the towers are to be presumed innocent and not to be killed. This is a non-lethal covert op. We find her and get out with no casualties. Worse comes to worse, we fight our way out – we do it without killing anyone. Emergency evac is on the skybridge.” Lux stood.
Doom turned around and faced you all.
“Lux is leading this, not me. And for good reason. But I just want to say good luck to us all. There’s no reason for this to get messy.” Doom turned away.
Lux nodded. “If we encounter Sepp – the man who kidnapped Kira in the first place – do not engage. He is a powerful super, and we don’t want to take him without a plan-”
“-If Sepp’s there, we tear him a new one,” Doom said, interrupting. He’d turned back to you again. Lux frowned.
“Who’s leading this mission and why?” It was barely a question. Doom grit his teeth.
“We can’t afford to let him go.”
Lux sighed. And nodded. “Alright, alright, I agree. But you don’t hit him without us. We attack together. We coordinate. We take him down as a team.” Doom put his hand on Lux’s shoulder and whispered something to her – likely an apology.
“Hey, you ever need evac, don’t hesitate to call me, any of you,” Shepherd called from the pilot seat. “If anything goes wrong, hit me up. We aren’t taking any chances.”
“We’re not gonna lose anyone else,” Doom said grimly.
“So,” Lux said, “that’s the plan. Any questions?”
“We should be coming up on the towers within the hour. Speak now or forever hold your peace!” Shepherd shouted.
In the center of the troop bay, where you were all gathered, there was a hologram of the two towers connected by the skybridge.
“Just so we’re clear on the plan,” Lux said, “I’ll go over it once more.” She’d already briefed you all back at Elysium, when you’d been assigned the mission, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to hear it again – and it’d give you something to do on the (although incredibly short compared to other modes of transport) fairly long ride to Chicago. “We land on the roof. Phaedra,” Lux pointed to one of the Matriarchs in the troop bay, “will phase into the penthouse suite and figure out where Kira is. We get there, get her out, and then we run. Any guards in the towers are to be presumed innocent and not to be killed. This is a non-lethal covert op. We find her and get out with no casualties. Worse comes to worse, we fight our way out – we do it without killing anyone. Emergency evac is on the skybridge.” Lux stood.
Doom turned around and faced you all.
“Lux is leading this, not me. And for good reason. But I just want to say good luck to us all. There’s no reason for this to get messy.” Doom turned away.
Lux nodded. “If we encounter Sepp – the man who kidnapped Kira in the first place – do not engage. He is a powerful super, and we don’t want to take him without a plan-”
“-If Sepp’s there, we tear him a new one,” Doom said, interrupting. He’d turned back to you again. Lux frowned.
“Who’s leading this mission and why?” It was barely a question. Doom grit his teeth.
“We can’t afford to let him go.”
Lux sighed. And nodded. “Alright, alright, I agree. But you don’t hit him without us. We attack together. We coordinate. We take him down as a team.” Doom put his hand on Lux’s shoulder and whispered something to her – likely an apology.
“Hey, you ever need evac, don’t hesitate to call me, any of you,” Shepherd called from the pilot seat. “If anything goes wrong, hit me up. We aren’t taking any chances.”
“We’re not gonna lose anyone else,” Doom said grimly.
“So,” Lux said, “that’s the plan. Any questions?”
“We should be coming up on the towers within the hour. Speak now or forever hold your peace!” Shepherd shouted.
---
- Choice Two –
Matriarch | Aegis | Verdant | Dust Devil | Ferro | Miss Photon | Kid Wonder | Psi Hard
Get there, stop the bomb.
Evac.
Africa. The 2030s had not been kind to the already-underprivileged country. But, really, what country had the 2030s been kind to? Still a continent of relative poverty in comparison to the majority of the West, and in an arguably worse state of disarray and human indecency. Dubai, however, had excelled, a beacon of technological advancement – the gateway to the future. It had become a prosperous state, the Burj Khalifa growing ever taller, similar towers springing up all around it – though the city, however rich, still retained its expanding, dilapidated district of shantytowns, some of it even stretching out onto rickety docks in the bay, a huge contrast to the cultivated, cut-to-perfection, artificial sand docks in the rich city.
One rich man had even created a beach in the shape of his face in the bay.
But that was neither here nor there.
In the rich blue skies above the clouds over Africa, the U.S.S.S. Icarus hovered, a massive circuit of what essentially seemed like connected aircraft carriers in a rectangle around a huge balloon. Gargantuan VTOL turbines were on and under every corner.
You had been called to the bridge to see something. A massive glass window looked over a sea of endless clouds. Inside, the bridge was an organized bustle, consoles and ensigns at every turn. The captain stood at an overlooking point, the POTUS next to him, all of you behind.
“Beginning descent, sir,” a man on the bridge said.
“Activating cloaking panels,” another said. Suddenly the airship lowered, a hurricane of swirling white wisps of cloud curling away as they were blown by the Icarus’ turbines. The parting clouds revealed an epic sight: Far, far away, miles and miles down, the green, less green, yellow, and finally brown patchwork of landscape that was Africa.
“We’re directly above Malawi now, Mr. President,” the captain said, turning to Rowen.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” the President asked you. “Malawi. Third-world country, ravaged by market crashes in the 20s. Land disputes in 2029 with Tanzania. Either way, that missile is going to be launched unless you stop it.”
It was then that you were sent into the jet. An unintroduced pilot flew the jet, and a hologram of the General and the POTUS briefed you. The jet had liftoff, heading down towards Malawi.
“You have T-Minus 15 minutes until drop,” the General said. “you will find parachutes and your disposable camo in the troop bay with you.” Fortunately, you’d been briefed in their use on the flight over the sea. “You will land about a mile west of the base. Dispose of your parachutes and camo – the camo will be defective by the time you land. Make your way to the base and deactivate the missiles. You’ll be on your own once you make landfall. Radio for evac when the mission is complete; we will pick you up and return you to America. Good luck out there. Any questions?”
One rich man had even created a beach in the shape of his face in the bay.
But that was neither here nor there.
In the rich blue skies above the clouds over Africa, the U.S.S.S. Icarus hovered, a massive circuit of what essentially seemed like connected aircraft carriers in a rectangle around a huge balloon. Gargantuan VTOL turbines were on and under every corner.
You had been called to the bridge to see something. A massive glass window looked over a sea of endless clouds. Inside, the bridge was an organized bustle, consoles and ensigns at every turn. The captain stood at an overlooking point, the POTUS next to him, all of you behind.
“Beginning descent, sir,” a man on the bridge said.
“Activating cloaking panels,” another said. Suddenly the airship lowered, a hurricane of swirling white wisps of cloud curling away as they were blown by the Icarus’ turbines. The parting clouds revealed an epic sight: Far, far away, miles and miles down, the green, less green, yellow, and finally brown patchwork of landscape that was Africa.
“We’re directly above Malawi now, Mr. President,” the captain said, turning to Rowen.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” the President asked you. “Malawi. Third-world country, ravaged by market crashes in the 20s. Land disputes in 2029 with Tanzania. Either way, that missile is going to be launched unless you stop it.”
It was then that you were sent into the jet. An unintroduced pilot flew the jet, and a hologram of the General and the POTUS briefed you. The jet had liftoff, heading down towards Malawi.
“You have T-Minus 15 minutes until drop,” the General said. “you will find parachutes and your disposable camo in the troop bay with you.” Fortunately, you’d been briefed in their use on the flight over the sea. “You will land about a mile west of the base. Dispose of your parachutes and camo – the camo will be defective by the time you land. Make your way to the base and deactivate the missiles. You’ll be on your own once you make landfall. Radio for evac when the mission is complete; we will pick you up and return you to America. Good luck out there. Any questions?”
---
- Choice Three –
Dixie Prosper | Beethoven | Black Angel | Chromia | Lookout | Ryft
Save the man.
Stop the killer.
The underdogs. That’s who you were. And you’d been sent to save no less than a henchman for Beige – the most evil villain of the modern age. But nonetheless, he was presumably innocent, and the serial killer was still murdering, even if they were all associates of Beige. The murderer had to be stopped.
It was mildly upsetting, but it had to be done.
“Alright, his building is down the block a little ways. ‘CanNeg Consolidated.’ Top floor,” Dixie said. She’d landed the jet, in stealth mode, on a building a little ways away from the potential victim’s company headquarters. She’d flown the jet – and when, surprised that a millionaire could fly her own jet, she’d responded “of course I can, it’s fun.”
“What’s the plan exactly?” Black Angle asked. A moviestar! It was almost exhilarating being in her presence.
“Find the scientist. Guard him. Prevent the killing. Use your skills. Honestly, this isn’t going to be tough. I believe in you guys, and don’t really think you need me. I’ll be running overwatch from in here, but you guys can sort yourselves. Just work together and you’ll do just fine. All you have to do is keep him safe. Don’t get cocky though, the serial killer, though likely some dude in a ski mask with an axe and a tragic past, could be a trained assassin. But that’s all unlikely. Good luck guys. Keep it discreet. Across the rooftops till you get in. We want to apprehend the baddie, not scare him off. Any questions need answering before you go get him?”
It was mildly upsetting, but it had to be done.
“Alright, his building is down the block a little ways. ‘CanNeg Consolidated.’ Top floor,” Dixie said. She’d landed the jet, in stealth mode, on a building a little ways away from the potential victim’s company headquarters. She’d flown the jet – and when, surprised that a millionaire could fly her own jet, she’d responded “of course I can, it’s fun.”
“What’s the plan exactly?” Black Angle asked. A moviestar! It was almost exhilarating being in her presence.
“Find the scientist. Guard him. Prevent the killing. Use your skills. Honestly, this isn’t going to be tough. I believe in you guys, and don’t really think you need me. I’ll be running overwatch from in here, but you guys can sort yourselves. Just work together and you’ll do just fine. All you have to do is keep him safe. Don’t get cocky though, the serial killer, though likely some dude in a ski mask with an axe and a tragic past, could be a trained assassin. But that’s all unlikely. Good luck guys. Keep it discreet. Across the rooftops till you get in. We want to apprehend the baddie, not scare him off. Any questions need answering before you go get him?”
---
Alright guys, welcome to Heroes II! This RP is going to be a blast. Right now you have a brief socialization/planning period to talk to each other, question your commanders and prepare for the mission. Read your choice continuation, then write a response based on that. Here's a few rules to abide by, real quick-like (stolen sorta from Hawkypoo).
1. Use parentheses to mark portions of your post that are out of character - ((like so)) - but keep these at a minimum, cause that's what the OOC topic is for.
2. In combat you can do pretty much anything. I encourage you to be creative. In fact, the more creative, the better. I will judge the outcome based on the logic of your actions and the likelihood of it succeeding based on common sense - and the final result will be affected by dice rolls. You are allowed to make your own dice rolls, and I'll just assume you didn't lie to me, but you can really only do these for simple actions and combat against minion-types. If it comes down to it and there's what amounts to a horde then, unless I state otherwise, honestly feel free to just defeat them without rolling - so long as you act logically. When it comes to a named character, you must wait for my response. Post your action and I will determine the outcome.
3. Player versus player is allowed, so long as it is appropriate given context and you do not, in this act, exercise control over another player's character. Never control another character unless it is an inconsequential NPC you or I made up or the other player gave you explicit permissio.
4. If you start getting too powerful and/or ignoring my rules, I will warn you. If it continues, I will descend with swift justice. The superheroes and supervillains you will be playing, meeting, and fighting with or against in this RP are by definition OP, but there comes a point where it is unfair and/or ridiculous. I will determine when this is.
5. You have quite a bit of freedom in Heroes. Technically, you can go anywhere you want at any time. I'd just prefer if you stayed mostly on (if fairly malleable) rails. Just be sensible. Also remember to keep the thematic tone of the universe in mind. I'm fine with humor (seriously, I love it) and totally cool with some absurdity, but don't go overboard. We have fun here, but this is, at the end of the day, a dark roleplay.
6. Don't look the trope-horse in the mouth.
7. I will message all of you personally about your plans for your character arc and how I can factor that into the story (which is where the bulk of the plot honestly comes from) upon a later date, but if you have any questions or concerns (or if you want to get cracking on an arc immediately) do not hesitate to PM me. I am here for you. We're here to have fun, together, as a team.
8. Read my posts, please. I put a lot of effort into them, usually. I read all of yours!
9. I'm a crafty bugger. Look for clues.
10. In addition to these hefty posts, I will make small posts for my own characters in response to your actions. Feel free to treat any character I introduce along the line like they are controlled by a player. I encourage socialization with not just players, but NPCs.
11. Midnight is coming.
12: Have some freaking fun.
13: Thirteen is an unlucky number.
Alright, Heroes, START!
1. Use parentheses to mark portions of your post that are out of character - ((like so)) - but keep these at a minimum, cause that's what the OOC topic is for.
2. In combat you can do pretty much anything. I encourage you to be creative. In fact, the more creative, the better. I will judge the outcome based on the logic of your actions and the likelihood of it succeeding based on common sense - and the final result will be affected by dice rolls. You are allowed to make your own dice rolls, and I'll just assume you didn't lie to me, but you can really only do these for simple actions and combat against minion-types. If it comes down to it and there's what amounts to a horde then, unless I state otherwise, honestly feel free to just defeat them without rolling - so long as you act logically. When it comes to a named character, you must wait for my response. Post your action and I will determine the outcome.
3. Player versus player is allowed, so long as it is appropriate given context and you do not, in this act, exercise control over another player's character. Never control another character unless it is an inconsequential NPC you or I made up or the other player gave you explicit permissio.
4. If you start getting too powerful and/or ignoring my rules, I will warn you. If it continues, I will descend with swift justice. The superheroes and supervillains you will be playing, meeting, and fighting with or against in this RP are by definition OP, but there comes a point where it is unfair and/or ridiculous. I will determine when this is.
5. You have quite a bit of freedom in Heroes. Technically, you can go anywhere you want at any time. I'd just prefer if you stayed mostly on (if fairly malleable) rails. Just be sensible. Also remember to keep the thematic tone of the universe in mind. I'm fine with humor (seriously, I love it) and totally cool with some absurdity, but don't go overboard. We have fun here, but this is, at the end of the day, a dark roleplay.
6. Don't look the trope-horse in the mouth.
7. I will message all of you personally about your plans for your character arc and how I can factor that into the story (which is where the bulk of the plot honestly comes from) upon a later date, but if you have any questions or concerns (or if you want to get cracking on an arc immediately) do not hesitate to PM me. I am here for you. We're here to have fun, together, as a team.
8. Read my posts, please. I put a lot of effort into them, usually. I read all of yours!
9. I'm a crafty bugger. Look for clues.
10. In addition to these hefty posts, I will make small posts for my own characters in response to your actions. Feel free to treat any character I introduce along the line like they are controlled by a player. I encourage socialization with not just players, but NPCs.
11. Midnight is coming.
12: Have some freaking fun.
13: Thirteen is an unlucky number.
Alright, Heroes, START!
---
- Roster -
Reaperman290 as Natalie Novak, aka Chromia! the emotional rainbow - 19 HP
Burger Warrior as Polly Weitz, aka Gigakeita! the traumatized gianteen . . . ess. Gianteeness. Yup. - 29 HP
Doctor Grant as Katelyn Langley, akaConstruct Miss Photon! the Green Lantern but blue and with boobs - 25 HP
Ghostly as Matthew Ishida, aka Doppelganger! the mimicHOLY SHIT A MIMIC GET THE GLOO CANNON - 20 HP
Cory28 as Colin Goldwin, aka Lookout! the trust-fund kid with all the cool toys - 17 HP
Halfbaked, Latest of Larrys as Aiden PearceMichael Ward, aka Ryft! the trans-dimensional illusionist - 31 HP
Arby as James 'Jimmy' Washington, aka Kid Wonder! the walking propaganda-turned-super - 24 HP
Burger Warrior(again?) as Barbara Wright, aka Psi Hard! the psionic tank - 42 HP
Ghostly(going once? going twice?) as 2nd Lieutenant Raelynn Vrataski, aka Banshee! the commando who goes commando, with a grudge - 29 HP
This is you and your health, with armor. I will determine health for your unarmored forms at a later date.
Go forth.
Reaperman290 as Natalie Novak, aka Chromia! the emotional rainbow - 19 HP
Burger Warrior as Polly Weitz, aka Gigakeita! the traumatized gianteen . . . ess. Gianteeness. Yup. - 29 HP
Doctor Grant as Katelyn Langley, aka
Ghostly as Matthew Ishida, aka Doppelganger! the mimicHOLY SHIT A MIMIC GET THE GLOO CANNON - 20 HP
Cory28 as Colin Goldwin, aka Lookout! the trust-fund kid with all the cool toys - 17 HP
Halfbaked, Latest of Larrys as
Arby as James 'Jimmy' Washington, aka Kid Wonder! the walking propaganda-turned-super - 24 HP
Burger Warrior(again?) as Barbara Wright, aka Psi Hard! the psionic tank - 42 HP
Ghostly(going once? going twice?) as 2nd Lieutenant Raelynn Vrataski, aka Banshee! the commando who goes commando, with a grudge - 29 HP
This is you and your health, with armor. I will determine health for your unarmored forms at a later date.
Go forth.