From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Tue Aug 21, 2001 2:22am
Subject: Recap: SoF Turn 1.0
    [Forgot to put recap in the heaser of the last one]

Keith Harper wrote:

> > > Meanwhile in the
> present.....
> > >
> > > The Guardians had been
> missing for almost a week. The news and tabloid
> > > television have been
> filling the airwaves with speculation as to where
> > > they are and what has
> happened to them. (much like the missing intern
> > > reports in the real
> world)
> > > All that is known is
> that they where seen fighting women in Nordic
> > > regalia on flying winged
> horses in Central Park, went into some strange
> > > glowing portal and were
> never seen again.
> > >
> > > Several supervillaiins
> have claimed responsibility for their
> > > disappearance, trying to
> pass it off as part of their maniacal uber-plot
> > > to take over the world.
> Though the majority of these claims have been
> > > discredited, it still
> doesn't prevent them from appearing in exclusive
> > > interviews on such shows
> as Hard Copy and American Journal.
> > >
> > > Marvin Vale turns off
> his ancient black and white TV, disgusted by the
> > > media circus surrounding
> his former team-mates disappearance. He looks
> > > around at the dingy one
> room apartment he now resides in and tries not
> > > to think about what is
> making the scurrying sounds in the walls. It was
> > > hard to believe he had
> fallen so far so fast. After leaving the
> > > Guardians the money had
> run out quickly, eaten away by lawyer fees from
> > > the lawsuit filed
> against him by Pamela Anderson. The trial was still
> > > pending, and he had
> little money left. He had heard she was dating Kid
> > > Rock now and the
> thougtht of it disgusted him.
> >
> > > The only job he was able
> to obtain was as a longshoreman in the NYC harbor,
> loading
> > > and unloading ship
> cargo.
> >
> > Things had been going
> alright with the job, until a forklift had overturned,
> pinning
> > one of his co-workers
> beneath it. Marvin had no choice but to use his powers
> to lift
> > the forklift off of him
> and quickly fly him to the emergency room.
> >
> > When word of this reached
> his supervisor, Marvin was given his walking
> papers. His
> > supervisor was an
> anti-metahuman bigot who had no use for "superfreaks" on
> the job.
> >
> > Out of work and with
> little money, Marvin begins searching the classsifieds
> and
> >
> > > actually comes across
> something that looks promising. The ad reads...."
> > > Are you a metahuman?
> Want to use your powers to earn money fast? Then
> > > call Supers of Fortune
> at 555-HERO to setup up an appointment for an
> > > interview."
> > >
> > > Marvin quickly races
> down the hall to the pay phone near the stairwell.
> > > He has to wait for
> Bonita, a latino "working girl" who lives in the
> > > apartment next to him to
> get off the phone with one of her "clients",
> > > then he quickly dials
> the number.
> > >
> > > "Hello....yes this
> is....(he quickly looks around to make sure no one is
> > > within earshot)....
> Captain Marvel. I'd like to set up an interview.
> > > Tuesday at noon?..I'll
> be there."
> > >
> > > Marvin hangs up with a
> smile appearing on his face on the way back to
> > > his apartment. Things
> were looking up.
> > >
> >
> > Since leaving the
> Guardians he had been lying low, rarely donning his
> uniform, except
> > for the rare midnight
> flight around town. The media and general public was
> unaware of
> > the actual circumstances
> surrounding his leavingthe team. The official
> statement from
> > the Guardians publicist
> was 'Irreconsilable Differences". His government
> sanctions
> > had been revoked, and at
> one time he was possibly facing charges from the UN
> Security
> > Council for his short
> lived alliance with Harbinger. It was only because the
> Guardians
> > had pleaded with the UN
> officials to dismiss the charges that he was not
> behind bars
> > today. His former
> taem-mates had put themselves on the line for him, even
> though he
> > had betrayed them. He was
> grateful to them, but hadn't been able to bring
> himself to
> > make contact with them
> since their last battle with Harbinger.
> >
> > His original intent in
> becoming a superhero was to sway public opinion in
> favor of
> > metahumans to prevent the
> Xargothian scheme to fan the flames of hatred
> against
> > metahumans. Perhaps this
> was a second chance. A way to give the people
> someone to look
> > up to as a hero. Maybe he
> could make up for what he had done wrong.
> >
> >
> > The next day he reports to
> the Supers of Fortune ( or SoF as they are
> referred to)
> > office for his interview.
> >
> > He is greeted by an
> attractie female lawyer named Candice Chesterton. She has
> long red
> > hair that she is wearing
> up and green eyes behind her designer eyeglasses.
> She is
> > fairly tall for a woman
> standing about 5'9", and an even 6' in her heels. She
> looks to
> > be in her early 30's or
> late 20's.
> >
> > She explains that the
> Supers of Fortune is the brainchild of her client who
> wishes to
> > reamin anonymous. She is
> in charge of handling all of the day to day business
> affairs
> > of SoF. SoF's mission is
> to utilize metahumans' powers for the benefit of
> society...
> > for a fee of course.
> This could range all the way from the mundane to the
> > miraculous. It could be
> something as simple as a someone with telekinesis
> lifting
> > heavy loads withought a
> crane or as dangerous as hunting down known metahuman
> > fugutives and handing them
> over to the authorities or investigating metahuman
> related
> > incidents. As a former
> Guardian, Captain Marvel would probably be called upon
> to
> > perform the latter type of
> work. If hired he would be given a special
> investigator
> > license akin to a private
> detective or bounty hunting license.
> >
> > Her client has made it
> quit clear that no jobs are to be undertaken that seem
> dubios
> > or questionable in nature.
> One of the goals is to promote acceptance of
> meathimans ,
> > while capitalizing on
> their unique abilities. Her client has a vested
> interest that
> > metahumans be utilized and
> seen in a positive manner.
> >
> > "So, Mister...er...Marvel.
> Are you interested?" she asks looking over the top
> of his
> > glasses.
>
> [First, thanks for changing
> the storyline. Second, that last sentence says,
> "his" glasses. Is it a
> transvestite? just kidding.]
>
> [does this woman recognize
> me as an x guardian? i will assume she does, but if
> this is wrong, please tell
> me.]
>
> " >
> > > "Well, I'd like to know
> a little more. For instance, what other metas do
> you have working for you?
> How many, and any that I have heard of? And can I see
> a file of the kinds of
> missions they are asked to do?" says Marvel. He realizes
> he knows very little about
> this place, and he doesn't want to get mixed up in
> anything questionable. He
> already has enough trouble with the authorities these
> days.
> > >
> >
> > "We are just starting up
> at the current time and haven'y officially opened
> for business yet." she says.
> " We hope to be up and running within the next few
> weeks. At the current time
> we only have a small handful of metas as employees
> and they probably aren't
> people you are familiar with as the majority of them
> are averasge citizens who
> possess some minor metahuman ability. We have had
> intereviews with other
> costumed hereos, but nothing hs been finalized yet
> except for one other. He
> calls himself Sketch. He's an
> > accomplished artist and
> is able to bring to life the drawings he makes.
> We have plans for a small
> group of costumed
> adventurers or '
> superheroes' to take on our most difficult assignments. I'll
> be able to speak more freely
> about these things , should you become an
> employee. The city police
> and other law-enforcement agencies have expressed an
> interest in utilizing our
> talent pool. "
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > >
> > > "Also, what is the pay?"
> Metas do offer a very rare service, and Marvel
> judges by the furnishings
> that the mystery person behind all this can afford
> to pay well. [Here, keith,
> we are getting into questionable territory. How rare
> are metas? are their numbers
> increasing or decfreasing? I would think that
> metas would be able to
> demand high salary, especailly good ones. After all, who
> else could do what they do?]
>
> > >
> >
> > "We start out with a base
> salary of 50 K a year, with bonuses for each
> completed case. Our fees are
> negotiable, we work wwith a sliding scale, so as
> not to be unqaffordable to
> the average citizen. Th ebonuses are a percentage
> of the total fee paid our
> clients. "
> >
> > [This is comparable to
> what the Guardians paid. Which was a $1000 a week,
> plus free living quarters,
> food, and all the other perks of the Guardtower.
>
> >
> > Meta number approximately
> 5000 total worldwide. About one in a million. The
> highest densities are found
> in large metropolitan area. For some reaon America
> has the highest number of
> metas. Studies have indicated that since thier
> initial apperance in 1938
> there numbers seem to increase with each passing
> generation as well asd their
> powers becoming more potent (or dangerous
> depending on your
> viewpopoint) ]
> >
> >
> >
> > >
> > > "Finally, is it possible
> for me to hide my identity while working with you?
> I am trying to leave my past
> behind. I don't particularly want it publicly
> known what I am doing any
> more. The tabloids still hound me over the pamela
> thing. (Marvel wants to ask
> her her opinion on his present court case, but
> decides to wait till later
> before asking.)
> > >
> >
> > "Yes, As long as you have
> registered your true identity with CAPE, then there
> is no need for anyone to
> know your true identity. 'Captain Marvel' would be a
> legal persona. But, I'm sure
> you know all of that having been a Guardian.
> >
> > [You had to do all of this
> as a Guardian. CAPE has record of all of this
> info. What it allow s you to
> do is sert up a legal identity as Captain Marvel,
> seperate from Marvin Vale.
> This comes in handy for testifying in court without
> revealing your true identity
> and also for makking citizens arrest. Not to
> mention who they make the
> checks out to. It is similar to how they set up new
> identities in the witness
> protestion program, though this gives you two
> identities rather than
> eerasing the old one. They even issue you
> > an "Identicard" that
> identifies you as Captain Marvel. It has technology in
> it that can verify that you
> are in fact THE Captain Marvel and not some
> impposter.]
> >
> >
> >
> > >
>
> Captain Marvel gets a
> depressed look in his eyes as he listens to Ms.
> Chesterton. She can tell
> from the look on his face that he has stopped
> listening to her, lost in
> his own memories.
>
> "Ahem." she says. Captain
> Marvel looks up, embarrased to have let his attention
> lapse so obviously.
>
> "I'm sorry Ms. Chesterton, I
> think I made a mistake coming here. It's nothing
> wrong with your group, it's
> just me. I am not ready for this yet." He stands.
> "Thanks for your time. I
> wish you the best of luck in your new company, but I
> think you need someone
> besides me to join. And I also hope you can give metas a
> better name in this country.
> Our peoples must live together. We need to be able
> to trust each other. Our
> future depends on it." With those cryptic words, he
> leaves.
>
> ***********************************************************
>
> Frank Grism stood in the
> dingy hotel room looking at himself in the mirror
> through his artificial
> yellow eyes. He needed a shave, and his head was covered
> in short stubble the same
> length as that on his chin. The stubble barely
> covered the recent scars
> that ran along several suture lines of his skull.
> Scars from the operation.
>
> He felt the still unfamiliar
> lump in the base of his skull, where the processor
> housing was. More scar
> tissue ran from that spot down the left side of his
> spine, branching off at
> several places to run along his limbs. He examined
> every inch of scar tissue he
> could find, and there was quite a bit. The
> operation had only been a
> few weeks ago, but the scars were barely visible now.
> The technology they had used
> on him must have been advanced. Frank did not know
> anything about computers or
> medicine or cybernetics. But he knew what they had
> done to him.
>
> He picked up the sofa with
> one hand, feeling more than hearing the servos in
> his joints respond to the
> added weight. The couch was a pull out bed, probably
> a couple hundred pounds, but
> it felt like only a few pounds to him. He knew
> they had augmented his
> strength, and his speed. He had used those abilities in
> his escape. He had also used
> his built in weaponry. The laser between his first
> and second knuckle on his
> right hand was not visible now, the flesh having
> regrown over the laser's
> muzzle. He must have some kind of accelerated healing
> for it to have healed
> already, he had only used it yesterday. He shuddered at
> that memory, their first
> attempt to recapture him. He had killed three of their
> hunters in a dark alley not
> three miles from his present hotel room. He was on
> the run. He didn't even know
> who they were.
>
> Frank had worked on an oil
> rig off the coast of Alaska until they had captured
> him. That was over three
> years ago, he recently learned. It seemed like only
> yesterday. And not because
> so much time had passed without him seeing the
> outside world. It really did
> only seem like yesterday. He did not remember any
> of his confinement until he
> had been brought online by his captors. His first
> memory after being abducted
> was of standing in a strange coffin sized pod with
> electronics all around, men
> in red lab coats prodding him and inserting things
> into his very skull. There
> were others in that lab too, he could see them over
> the scientists, others in
> pods like Frank. Other cyborgs.
>
> Frank didn't know why he was
> able to escape. The scientists seemed very
> surprised that he was awake
> and could move. Someone must have accidentally (or
> intentionally? wonders
> Frank) activated him before it was time. Before they
> could completely program
> him. He could feel the tug of the program on his mind,
> whispering to him things he
> could not hear or understand. He had a vague
> feeling that he needed to
> return to the lab. That was the last thing he would
> do.
>
> Frank was free now, and in
> New York. He needed a place to stay. He needed
> money, he was famished. His
> clothing was torn and bloody from his fight with
> the hunters. He thought
> about stealing more. He could certainly take whatever
> he wanted, no one could stop
> him. He had been shot in the recent fight, but the
> pain had been instantaneous
> only, his processor automatically commanding his
> brain to block out the pain
> signals and send pain relieving endorphins. And as
> he now inspected the bullet
> wound beneath his makeshift bandage, he noticed
> that it was now only an ugly
> scar, no longer a wound at all. His healing was
> miraculous. He wondered if
> it could be caused by the processor somehow. He
> couldn't think of any other
> way.
>
> **************************************************************************
>
> Elsewhere....
>
> Brady had just received word
> from that the re-acquistion attempt had failed. He
> had the unenviable task of
> informing his superior.
> He knocks hesitantly on the
> door and enters when he hears a reply. The office
> suite is dark due to the
> blinds being drawn even though it was late afternoon.
> His supervisor sits at his
> large mahogany desk, watching the wall that was
> lined with countless
> television terminals, each one tuned to a different news
> report. He clicks a button
> on his desk and a bookshelf slides into place in
> front of the screens
> shutting off the cacophony of stock reports and political
> commentary.
>
> Brady delivers the news. He
> knew his supervisor didn't like things to be
> sugar-coated and he expected
> to be informed of any new developments with the
> situation.
>
> The supervisor says nothing
> for a long time. Brady knew not to break the
> silence. Not to speak until
> his boss was done pondering the implications of
> what he had just been told.
>
> "This is ....unfortunate...
> Mr. Brady." His supervisor was a master of
> understatement. "Tell me
> again why subject X-971 was able to escapee?"
>
> "There was some sort of
> complication while downloading the behavior protocols
> sir. A computer glitch. The
> subject regained consciousness during the procedure
> and overpowered the
> technicians."
>
> "And tell me again why we
> are unable to track his homing device or activate the
> explosive implant."
>
> "These two things are the
> last part of the procedure Sir, The explosives are
> triggered by a signal sent
> to the homing device. They are linked together. One
> can't be implanted without
> the other, at least not very successfully or cost
> effectively. To implant them
> any earlier puts the technicians at risk for the
> remainder of the procedure.
> The subject escaped before either of these things
> could be implemented."
>
> "I see...and who was in
> charge if overseeing the procedure."
>
> "I was Sir."
>
> "Very well, you are
> dismissed."
>
> "Thank You, Sir," says
> Brady turning to leave.
>
> "Oh Brady...One other
> thing."
>
> "Yes Sir?"
>
> BLAM!!!
>
> The supervisor return the
> handgun to his desk drawer and inform s his secretary
> to have a cleanup crew be
> sent to his office. As an afterthought he has a
> bouquet of flowers sent to
> the widow Brady.
>
> _____
>
> Now on the other side of
> town, Frank notices an ad for super heroes.
> Sanctioned. It was a crazy
> idea, Frank should go into hiding. But then, the
> best place to hide was in
> the least obvious place, and that could be out in the
> open. Frank tore the ad down
> and stalked off to the address listed.
>
> _____
>
> Frank hocked some ash trays
> from his hotel room for a dirty sweatsuit with a
> hood--turquoise with yellow
> stripes down the sleeves and legs--ugly as hell,
> which was fitting for Frank,
> who was no looker himself. Advertisement in hand,
> Frank enters the polished
> foyer of the building housing SoF. He does not know
> what to expect.
>
> Frank is greeted by Ms. Chesterton who basically gives him the same
> rundown on
> SoF as she gave Captain
> Marvel. Marvel had left just an hour earlier, and she
> was a little disappointed in
> his decision not to join. She was unsure about
> this man who had showed up
> with no appointment and identified himself only as
> Frank.
>
> "So...Frank," she says,"Tell
> me about yourself, What brings you to SoF?"
>
> Frank is uncomfortable in
> the polished, modern looking offices. He is even more
> uncomfortable to be sitting
> across from such a beautiful woman. He still has
> his hood pulled up, hiding
> his scars. Self-conscious, he realizes the hood
> hides part of his face, and
> may be the reason for the woman's uncomfortable
> look.
>
> "Don't be alarmed," begins
> Frank. He pulls down his hood, revealing his scarred
> skull and yellow eyes.
> "Frank Grism is my full name, though I can't prove that
> to you. I'll be honest with
> you ma'am. I need help.
>
> "Three years ago, or
> thereabouts, I worked on the ____-corp oil rig off Juneau
> Alaska. I was involved in an
> accident, and went overboard. Thought I was dead.
> The last thing I remember
> was guys in frog suits gathering me up. The next
> thing I remember, I look
> like this, scars, yellow eyes, and its three years
> later. Three years..."
> Frank's mind wanders off briefly before he continues.
> "Anyway, the next thing I
> remember after the accident is being in a lab
> somewhere (he would know
> where it is, though it is doubtless gone by now) with
> technicians poking and
> prodding me. I escaped. And I figured out what they did
> to me."
>
> Frank stands and turns
> around, pulls up his dirty turquoise polyester sweatsuit
> top to expose the scars on
> his spine and back. He turns back around to face her
> and sits again. "I have
> these scars all over me, even my fingers and toes.
> Everywhere. They implanted
> me with machinery. I have super powers now. I think
> I'm called a cyborg.
>
> "They're after me too.
> Yesterday I killed three men hunting me. You may have
> read it on the news by now,
> it was in Hell's Kitchen. They tried to kill me,
> shot me here," Frank raises
> his shirt again, shows her the angry scar over his
> heart from their high
> powered rifle. "I also heal faster now too.
>
> "I need help, I'm hungry, I
> have no way to prove who I am. I don't have any
> family at all. I can
> remember my social security number, that's about it." He
> rattles it off for her, and
> she scribbles it down. "I realize you aren't into
> charity," he says looking
> around at the obviously expensive offices. "But I saw
> your ad, and I can do what
> you want. I figure now I can be a super hero, since
> I got some powers. I'll work
> for you if you'll help me. I need my identity
> back. I need to get back on
> my feet. I don't know who the hell to trust, to be
> honest. I figure I better
> pick somebody who is totally uninvolved in my life,
> and that person is the least
> likely to be in on my capture. You know what I
> mean? I think somebody on
> the rig was involved, caused me to be thrown
> overboard. I can't go back
> to them, and they're the closest thing to family
> I've had for ten years. I
> can't just go to the cops, cuz I just killed three
> men. I see on your name card
> there that you're a lawyer. Well, counselor, I
> pick you. You're that person
> who is totally uninvolved. You're the person I'm
> gonna try trusting. I don't
> have any other options. Can you help me?"
>
> > > >
> > > > "Well this certainly
> is a peculair situation. I think before we proceed
> any further you should
> report what has happened to the authorities, either the
> police or CAPE. If what you
> say is true, then I'm sure the situation with the
> three men will be a case of
> self-defense. Though to be honest I read nothing
> about any homicides in
> Hell's Kitchen. This isn't legal advise. I am not your
> attorney. I doubt very
> seriously you could afford my fees, even if I still did
> practice in the poublic
> sector. "
> > > >
> > > > Ms. Chesterton wasn't
> sure why she was pursuing this., the man had just
> admitted to committing
> murder and now he wants a job with them? Still, for some
> reason she felt he was
> telling the truth and was prepared to give him the
> benefit of the doubt. Then
> she had an idea.
> > > >
> > > > "How much money do you
> have Mr. Grism? "
> > > >
> > > > "I've got a dollar and
> some change. That's it."
> > > >
> > > > "That's fine. That is
> exactly SOF's fee for finding out and proving your
> identity and keeping you
> alive in the meantime.. We'll get to work on it
> straight away. If things pan
> out, then we will be in a better postion to
> discuss employment. I'm sure
> you understand the legal liabilities involved
> without doing the proper
> background checks first. " She buzzes her intercom and
> says. "send in Mr. Kirby
> please."
> > > >
> > > > A few moments later, a
> young man probably, in his early 20's enters the
> room. He is wearing
> oversized cargo pants, with a basic white T-shirt covered
> in paint stains. His hair is
> punked out and looks like it hasn't been washed in
> awhile. It is jet black with
> parts of it dyed flourescent blue. He is extremely
> gaunt and has a very pale
> complexion. Over his shoulder is slung an oversized
> army surplus satchel. He has
> a pencil stuck behind his ear.
>
> >
> > > > The man introduces
> himself as Steve Kirby, but says to call him Sketch.
>
> >
> > > > Ms. Chesterton says,
> "Sketch will be your bodyguard and lead investigator
> for the remainder of this
> case. Perhaps you should take him to the scene of
> where you were attacked to
> see if he can turn up any clues. "
> >
> > When Ms. Chesterton said
> Frank couldn't afford her fees, Frank almost left
> right then, thinking he had
> made a mistake coming here. But something had
> changed this woman's mind.
> She was willing to help, obviously. Frank needed
> help.
> >
> > "Thank you Ms.
> Chesterton," says Frank standing. "I know this is all strange,
> but I'm telling the truth. I
> mean, who could come up with a story like that
> anyway, huh?" She does not
> laugh at his mild attempt at humor, staring at him
> over her designer glasses.
> Frank clears his throat, and turns to the man beside
> him who stands with his arms
> folded.
> >
> > "Uh, hi. I'm Frank," he
> says extending his hand.
>
> While shaking the man's hand
> Frank wonders how the hell this kid was supposed
> to protect him. He looked
> like one of those weird artist types who hung out in
> SoHo.
> > >
>
> >
> >
> > _____
> >
> > It is still daytime when
> they arrive at the alley in Hell's Kitches where
> Frank was attacked. There is
> no evidence of the struggle. the bodies are gone,
> no police tape, as Frank
> would have expected. Frank, still wearing his
> polyester warm up suit,
> walks over to one wall, and points.
> >
> > "See here, these are the
> bullet holes from them shooting at me." Several
> small holes are chipped into
> the red brick of the wall in neat rows, obviously
> the result of automatic
> weapon fire. "They used silencers with uzi looking
> guns, but different. I don't
> know guns very well. I killed all three that I
> saw, their bodies were
> there, there, and up there," Frank says, pointing to the
> roof. "That's where I left
> them anyway. I didn't stick around long. I was
> afraid others were coming.
> They had radios. They were dressed like urban
> commandos or something."
> >
> > Frank scans the area with
> his special eyes, checking for anything out of the
> ordinary--heat signatures,
> electronic circuitry where none should be, etc.
> [Note that electric current
> generates an EM field so he can "see" circuitry if
> it is turned on.]
> >
>
> Frank notices nothing out of
> the ordinary.
>
> Kirby, or "Sketch" as he
> liked to be called, sits down cross legged against the
> wall and stares for a moment
> at the bullet holes punched into the brick along
> the opposite wall. He begins
> rifling through his satchel and pulls out a
> tattered sketchbook. He
> opens it and begins drawing a picture with the pencil
> he had stuck behind his ear.
>
> "What the hell are you
> doing?" asks Frank, a little pissed off that this kid
> decideed it was time to draw
> some pictures insted of investigating the case.
>
> "Relax," says Sketch, "I'm
> almost finished. I'm not a detective, but he is"
> indicating the figure he had
> just drawn.
>
> Frank looks at the drawing.
> It depicts what can only be the sterreotypical
> image of Sherlock Holmes,
> funny hat, overcoat, big pipe, magnifying glass. It
> was actually pretty damn
> good. Then the image begins to fade away from the
> paper and an instant later,
> Frank sees the sketch begin to appear in the
> alleyway.
>
> It was Sherlock Holmes!
> Right there in the alley with them. Except he wasn't in
> color, squiggly pencil lines
> and smudge marks danced across his black and white
> form as he moved about the
> alleyway looking at things with his magifying glass.
> It was as if the drawing
> had come to lifa and taken on a three dimensional
> form rather than a two
> dimensional one. It was the craziest thing Frank had
> ever seen. [If you remember
> the old music video "Take on Me" by A-Ha, that is
> how Sherlock looks when it
> moves]
>
> Sketch lights up a smoke
> while Sherlock looks for clues.
>
> Frank hears something above
> them and leaps out of the way, cyber-enhanced
> reflexes kicking in, just
> before being pounced on by what sounded like a wild
> animal.
>
> At a second glane it isn't
> an animal at all. It is a man or at least humanoid.
> It has four arms, each one
> carrying nasty looking knives caked with dried
> blood. it has a large
> lion-like mane for hair and jagged razor sharp teeth. It
> turns on Frank, stalking
> warily with a sadistic smirk as it cuts itself with
> one of the knives. the long
> gash healing almost instantly behind it. "Here
> kitty, kitty, kitty..." he
> says mockingly.
>
> "Oh Shit...." says Kirby and
> begins sketching furiously as Sherlock pops out of
> existence.
>
> Shit! thinks Frank. What the hell is *that?*
>
> Frank immediately realizes
> his error, returning to the scene. That
> was where any hunter would
> go to pick up the trail. He had to be
> smarter if he was going to
> keep his skin (so to speak). (<--cyborg
> joke)
>
> A faint red targeting grid
> appears in Frank's vision, locking in on
> the thing with the knives.
> The combat program in Frank's processor
> begins stimulating centers
> of Frank's brain for adreneline and other
> chemicals to hop him up for
> the fight, while analyzing the enemy's
> stance and movement to
> calculate likely next actions. Knife fighting
> databases are modified to
> compensate for a four armed enemy,
> instantly producing sets of
> probable attack patterns to expect. The
> computer also casually warns
> Frank--not by language, but by
> impression--that this enemy
> is very dangerous, more than a match even
> for a cyborg.
>
> Frank steps between Kirby
> and the thing, crouching low, polyester
> pants stretching against his
> bent legs. "Draw up a jetcycle or
> something and let's get the
> hell outta here kid." Frank snatches up a
> trash can lid to parry
> knives with and dumps the trash can between
> himself and his enemy,
> backing up. Rats scurry out. [If Wildchild is
> distracted by a rat running
> out, Frank will use that instant to
> launch an attack on him if
> the advantage is there. Otherwise Frank
> waits till Wildchild
> launches an attack, counterattacking him with a
> spear-hand thrust meant to
> kill. Frank is preparing for a defensive
> retreat.]
63
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Mon Aug 27, 2001 4:47am
Subject: Recap:SoF Turn 1.1
    "Watch your ass." says Sketch not glancing up from his etchings. "
That's Wild Child. Certified nutso assassin for hire. Enhanced strength,
agility and regeneration, not to mention a severe sadomashochistic
streak."

Wild Child bows his head slightly at the somewhat odd introduction,
never taking his eyes off of Frank. "Guilty on all counts I'm afraid."
his voice a cross between a growl and a hiss as he continues slowly
advancing towards Frank like a cat stalking it's prey.
Then with a sadistic gleam in his eye it leaps forward with inhuman
speed with his knives  whirling furiously.

Frank's body reacts before he can even consciosly register what is
happening. It is as if his body had a mind of it's own. He dodges the
first knife strike, only to be caught by another that cuts a bloody gash
on his forearm. At the same time, Frank lashes out at the creatures
throat with a spearhand thrust (at least that is what the computer
whispering in his brain identifies the technique as, he had no knowledge
of such things, at least he didn't before the operation). Frank misses
his mark, but Wild Child rewards his efforts by grabbing the
outstretched arm and pulling Frank in closer to him and putting him in a
bearhug with his two lower arms. The top two are still free to do as
they please, which most likerly involves gutting Frank.

"Time to die, sweet meat!" hisses Wild Child, his rancid breathe hot
upon Franks face.

Frank makes a quick glance over his shoulder and sees Kirby still
furiosly scribbling away in his sketchbook.

"Almost done." says Kirby without looking up.








Frank's arms are pinned to his sides by WC's two lower arms. But his
feet are still on the ground. The knives flash as WC reverses his
grip for the killing stroke. Blood spurts from Frank's forearm with
each heartbeat, but the computer inside Frank assures him that the
wound is within his ability to regenerate.

The computer also does its own independent assessment of Frank's
combat predicament, and it sees only one viable option. Though his
arms are pinned, his legs are free. So the computer, or rather Frank
(almost against his will) executes a kick with his right foot toward
WC's head. Frank's legs aren't exactly designed to execute such a
kick, the maneuver requiring his legs to move into something akin to
the full chinese splits. But the cybernetic body inside Frank *was*
designed for such a maneuver.

Frank hears his tendond pop and feels some of his groin muscles tear
as his leg jerks up in the kick. He tries to break free of WC's grip
too. The bioplasm stored in his system, made from his own stem cells,
is redirected from his wounded forearm to his torn groin and
hamstring muscles.




The seam of Frank's polyester sweats also tears from the kick,
splitting all the way up his ass. Like Frank, the sweats were not
designed for this treatment. Yes, it was time for Frank to get a new
costume, a real costume, not a turquoise and yellow zip front warm up
suit. He would remember to have reenforced seems in his real costume,
that was for sure. And to wear underwear.





The surprise maneuver is enough to give Frank the element of surprise
and Wild
Child's
grip loosens momentarily allowing Frank to wrench himself free of the
madman's
grasp
and limp away.

Frank hears the roar of an engine and squeeeling tires as a Lamborghini
(sp?)
sports
car skids up next to him. Frank assumes it is what Sketch had been
drawing
since it
appears as the Sherlock Holmes drawing did earlier; all squiggly lines
and
smudge
marks. The passenger door opens and Frank sees Sketch at the wheel.

"Get in!" says Kirby and Frank does so, wincing from the pain in hs
groiin. As
soon
as Frank shuts the door, Kirby slams it into gear, burning rubber down
the
alleyway
and causing several cars to honk angrily as he tears into the street
from the
alleyway.

Kirby has the Cd player blaring. 'I did it all for the Noogie' by Limp
Bizkit
and is
singing along gleefully when one of Wild Chiild's knives punches through
the
rooftop
narrowly missing Frank's head. the passenger side window shatters as
another of
Wild
Child's arms reeaches into the car trying to grab hold of Frank.

"Shit. He is one persistant bugger. isn't he? I'll ttry to shake him
off, but
if not,
then you are going to have to do something about him. My drawings don't
last
very
long, and when this car disappears he'll be right on top of us.
Literally."

Kirby begins weaving the car, trying to throw Wild Child loose, but it
dosn't
seem to
be working.




With four arms, Frank assumed Kirby would not be able to shake Wild
Child from the roof. "You couldn't have just drawn up a flying cycle
like I said, huh kid?" says Frank as he gets his feet beneath him in
the sports car's seat (no easy task, since the seats are almost
horizontal). Frank's groin already feels better. Frank also realizes
that the pain itself is not totally unpleasant, since he knows that
it will be immediately fixed by the regeneration anyway.

"Can you draw prostitutes that, uh, work?" asks Frank as he looks up
through the roof of the car with his IR vision, and sees Wild Child's
form vaguely--no details, but he can tell where the arms and legs
are. One hairy arm gropes blindly for Frank's throat. He can
definitely see that one. Remembering Beowulf and Grendel, he grabs
the hairy wrist in his mechanically strong left grip. He mentally
activates the laser in his right hand, and a small screen appears in
the lower left of his vision, giving him power and dispersion
options. Frank instantly selects the highest power and the smallest
dispersion just by thinking of a laser with as tight a beam as a
human hair, the best beam for cutting. He passes his hand slowly past
Wild Child's forearm, intending to end this struggle and win himself
a trophy in the process.

"How much longer will this car last Kirby?" asks Frank.

[Note about Frank's physical appearance: I have already said Frank
is rather ugly, even without the scars. He is barrelchested with
large shoulders and arms, and kind of skinny legs. He has a large
gut, not fat and protruding, but more just part of his barrel chest.
Picture Joe Cocker, arms kind of permanently back--or Micky Rourke
while playing Bukowski. That is Frank's posture too--sort of odd, and
even odder as he is quite fast and dextrous. He looks kind of like a
slightly overweight gorilla (he used to be fatter, but he lost all
his weight while in captivity). Frank is in his late thirties.]
64
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Thu Sep 6, 2001 5:17am
Subject: Recap:SOF Turn 1.2
    " I drew Jenna Jameson once,  but like I said, my animations don't last
very long, so all I got was a set of blueballs. It's easier just to jerk
off the old fashioned way like God intended." says Kirby, slamming it
into fourth hear and running through a busy intersection without
stopping.  The sounds of cars crashing and honking can be heard a second
later.  "I really haven't figured out how long the things I draw last.
It varies  from a few seconds to a couple of minutes and it has nothing
to do with the size or complexity of the object or person I draw.  I
have figured out though that for one of my drawings to do something in
real life, I have to portray it doing that same action in my drawing. So
say I drew a picture of Iceman of the Guardians. that doesn't
nesecccarily mean that my drwing , once animated will have all the same
powers as Iceamn does in real life. I would have to draw him shooting
ice blasts, or skating ion an ice ramp or making ice walls or whatever
in order for my drawing to be able to do it."

" Uh huh" says Frank not really listening due to grappling with Wild
Childs arm. He activates the laser and slices right through it.  Blood
spurts everywhere in the car, bathing them both in the coppery smelling
fluid. Wild Child howls in perverse pleasure from the pain. It sounds
like a waterbuffalo having an orgasm.

"Gross." says Kirby.

Wild Child removes his bloody stump of an arm from the  window. And
Frank realizes that The hand that he just cut off is still functioning.
It is crawling around the car like "Thing" from the Addams Family.
 
Wild Child begins using his stump to coat the windshield in his blood
obscuring Kirby's vision. He turns on the wipers, but it doesn't help
much. It just leaves bloody smears on the windshield.

"I can't see shit." says Kirby downshifting to a crawl.  " We are gonna
have to make a run for it."
 




Frank thinks, this guy isn't for real. Four fricking arms (well, only
three now) and eats pain like candy. And that LAUGH. Like a hyena.



Frank says, "He's after me. I'll give you time to draw up something
else. But hurry kid, I don't think I can last too long with this
guy." With that, Frank opens the door of the Lamborghini and rolls
onto the ground.

Frank comes to a stop against a fire hydrant, flopping toward it and
cracking his plated skull against the base of it as he comes to a
stop. He has road rash all over his body, but he didn't take any real
damage. Without his skeleton and regeneration, that fall would have
been very nasty. For Frank, it was just extremely painful.

Frank stands as quickly as possible, knowing that ol'three arms will
be right on top of him as soon as he realizes what happened. Frank
still clutches Wild Child's hand. He shoves it down onto the top of
the fire hydrant so that the top bolt of the hydrant is stuck between
the radius and ulna bones, the clawed fingers grasping at air, unable
to move. It looks kind of what Frank imagines a tralfamadorian looks
like (from Slaughterhouse 5 by Vonnegut).

"Hey Three Arms! Over Here!" yells Frank. People on the street are
already scattering at the sight of Wild Child, while others are
attracted to the interesting looking car that Sketch drew. Frank
doesn't want anyone to get hurt. If Wild Child sees him and charges
to the attack, Frank will snatch back up the hand and run for it. If
Wild Child tries to hurt Kirby, Frank will use his laser to attack
him from range and draw him away, using taunts like, "how are you
going to wipe your ass with only three hands?" or "hey, you know what
the sound of three hands clapping is?" Frank will take the hand with
him wherever he goes, and won't let go of it. It is his trophy. He
figures it will stop moving soon enough, and if it doesn't, he can
always get on TV with it.




As Frank rolls out of the car, Wild Child leaps off as well, intent
on his prey. Frank rolls to a stop and stands, Wild Child close
behind. Frank sees him coming and tries to run, but Wild Child bounds
past him, forcing him to engage, swinging knives and slinging blood
from his stump.

Frank dodges two knife cuts, but only barely, and counters by
punching Wild Child. The computer in Frank's brain corrects his aim
minutely, causing Frank's knuckles to contact Wild Child's temple
rather than his cheek bone, causing more damage. Wild Child is
slightly stunned by Frank's titanium laced knuckles on his brain
case, and attacks again but without success. Frank easily ducks the
knife cut while stepping inside on Wild Child, and delivers a solid
uppercut to the creature's chin.

Wild Child's body is lifted off the ground by the blow, and several
teeth are expelled from his mouth before he lands flat on his back.
Frank wipes his hands on his turquoise jump suit, once again thinking
he has to get a better uniform if he is going to take up super hero-
ing as a vocation.

Incredibly, Wild Child is still conscious from the uppercut, though
only barely. He stirs slightly, lifting his head groggily, the wicked
grin replaced by a confused and smash-mouthed look. Frank, having no
desire to allow this fight to continue, executes a front kick
directly to Wild Child's chin, bouncing his head off the pavement and
sending him deep into unconsciousness. Frank then gathers Wild
Child's knives and snaps the blade off at the hilt for each one,
tossing them to the ground in a pile on the nearby sidewalk.

People are now milling about on that block, the sounds of screeching
tires and Wild Child's howling having brought onlookers. Kirby walks
up and asks Frank if he is OK.

"Yeah, I'm OK. You?"

"I'm fine," says Kirby.

"So what happens now," asks Frank. "Don't the super police have to
come arrest this freak? Will they even be able to hold him?"

Kirby whips out a cellphone. "It's CAPE actually, and yes, they can
hold him. They have the right equipment." Kirby punches in some
numbers and begins talking, identifying himself. Frank looks around
the intersection where they are stopping traffic. A foot patrolman
has already started rerouting cars away from this block, and several
people are snapping pictures of Wild Child's unconscious body. Frank
turns his back to anyone with a camera, trying to attract as little
attention as possible. Few people want to meet his ugly gaze anyway.

A few minutes later, much faster than Frank would have expected,
several VTOLs land in the intersection, and men in uniforms leap out
to secure the area. They first secure Wild Child in special
restraints, then approach Kirby and Frank.

"Hi," says Frank. "I'm Frank."

"Hello," says the man from CAPE. "Are you responsible for this?"

"We are from Supers of Fortune," says Kirby, handing over an ID card.
Frank has none.

"Not even a driver's license?" asks the man from Cape of Frank.

"Nope, it's a long story. I was in an accident, and left for dead. I
don't have any ID or anything, though I used to have a drivers
license. I should be on file. I'm Frank Grism."

After several minutes of explaining his situation to the man and
waiting for verification, they are convinced of Frank's
honesty. "Seems you're dead, Mr. Grism," says the man. "You don't
look dead to me though." He tells Frank what he must do in order to
get new papers, and Frank thanks him.


A phoe call from Ms. Chesterton to Sketch, confirms the fact that Frank
is in fact legally dead. Several documents have been faxed to her office
that show that he was reported killed in an industrial accident 3 years
ago. The body was never recovered. Things like dental records and
driver's licenses have been obtained and Frank will be able to use them
to establish his identity and prove that he is in fact alive.


Later...

Frank is back at the SoFHQ, staring back at Ms. Chesterton's cold,
objective lawyer's eyes.






Frank could get lost in those eyes, and in that cleavage too, which
was only just visible behind her blouse as Ms. Chesterton leaned
forward and asked, "You want WHAT?"

Frank looked up, not knowing whether she caught him looking down her
shirt. "Super Equipment. You know, like a utility belt, or a bat-er-
ang. Come on, Wild Child could have gutted me like a fish, cyborg
skeleton or not. Don't you want to send your roughnecks into the
field properly equiped? You guys must have something like that. All
the other super heroes have them." To prove this assertion, Frank
tosses an issue of the Super Sun Enquirer, a lesser meta tabloid. On
the cover are emblazoned the words, "Special Issue: Equipment and
Gadgets of New York's Best Metas!" A picture of Huntress leaping from
a building and firing several bolts accompanies the headline, with
descriptions pointing out her communicator device, her x-bow, her
special quiver and bolts, and several items which are a little
cloudier than the rest of the picture, including a stun beam
necklace, supressor manacles clipped to her belt, a mini-jet pack on
each boot, and an "invisibility" belt which the paper explains she
rarely uses but which she most certainly possesses, based on the
reporter's personal knowledge.

"Whatever Frank. Listen, we just don't have that kind of equipment.
Those are the Guardians, THE Guardians, and Huntress is a multi-
millionaire. But I tell you what. Army surplus has lots of items you
might find useful, and here," she scribbles an address for him, "is a
place that will get you fitted for a proper costume. Just bill it to
SoF."

Frank crumbles the paper with the address and shoves it in his
pocket.

"By the way Frank, you need to come up with a name for yourself. And
nothing silly, it has to be approved by Central Accounting."

"Who runs Central Accounting?" asks Frank.

"I do."

"Well, funny you mention that, Candace," says Frank smiling. "I was
thinking about that too. And I already thought of a
name. 'Roughneck.' That's what I wanna be called."

"Roughneck?" she says, trying it out.

"Yeah, that's what they call the guys who work the oil rigs. My old
job. I figger that's as good a name as any, and it sorta pays tribute
to my old life."

"Roughneck's a fine name Frank," says Candace, smiling at him for the
first time that Frank can remember.

"Thanks. I got another problem," says Frank. Ms. Chesterton's Lawyer
Face immediately replaces her beautiful smile, to Frank's
chagrin. "I'm about to starve to death, and unless you want me to get
picked up for knocking over a McDonalds, you better take me out to
dinner. You took my last few dollars when you accepted me into SoF. I
don't have a dime, literally. So how about it? Anywhere you wanna go,
I'm easy," says Frank with a conspiratorial wink. Ms. Chesterton is
not amused.

"Here," she says, scrawling on a check. "Your first two weeks in
advance." Frank takes the check.

"So this means you want me to take *you* out to dinner?"

"No Frank. It means you better get to the bank before it closes and
cash that thing, or else you'll have to be hungry until tomorrow
morning."

"Got it," says Frank. His stomach growls audibly just at that moment,
as if to tell him to get his ass to the bank.






Frank had been standing in line for half an hour at the bank waiting
to cash his check when the woman at the teller window put out
her "Please Go To Next Window" sign. Problem was, all the other
windows are already closed, though Frank can see several bank
employees standing around doing nothing. The groans from the other
people wanting to bank are nearly as loud as Frank's stomach. He felt
truly sick at his stomach from lack of food. He couldn't even buy a
newspaper to read. He leaves the bank, knowing it would be futile to
argue with anyone there about closing time. No wonder people love to
rob banks. They piss people off.
65
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Tue Sep 11, 2001 3:13am
Subject: REcap:Turn 1.3 (SoF)
    As Frank moves out the door of the bank, a priest, a rabbi and a
Buddhist monk rush into the building.
 

As Frank muses about an old joke he had once heard about just such a
trio he  hears one of them yell "Everybody cool! This is a robbery!"
Another says "If any of you pricks fucking move, then we'll execute
every muther fucking last one of you!"

A quick glance inside the building reveals that the three holy men are
armed with handguns. The priest has two desert eagless. The rabbi has a
riot shotgun. and the monk has  some sort of machine gun, maybe an
AK-47.

The bank is still fairly full of people about 15 in all, including the
bank tellers and the fat security guard which the priest quickly
disarms.

Everyone is told to lay on the floor except one teller who is commanded
to begin loading the money into several bags the buddhist had hideden
benath his orange robes.

A little way up the block Frank sees a van idling with a nun at the
wheel. No doubt this is the getaway vehicle.



Frank looks away from the getaway vehicle and casually walks across
the street to a payphone. He picks up the receiver and realizes he
has no change. But he saw Mr. T on a billboard this morning extolling
the virtues of calling collect. Frank would call the cops, but
figures it would take too long being on hold, so he calls SoF,
dialing Ms. Chesterton's extension.

"Supers of Fortune, Candace Chesterton speaking," comes the voice.

"Hi Candy, this is Frank. I'm at the bank, and I have two problems.
First, the bank is closed, and I couldn't get my check cashed.
Second, there's a priest, a rabbi, and a monk robbing the joint with
guns right now, I'm watching them from across the street. There's
also a nun in a getaway van down the block."

"Is this a joke Frank?"

"Nope, this is for real. I gotta go, I just thought you'd wanna call
the cops for backup, and maybe Kirby if he's available. I'm goin' in,
and I'm on the clock. Wish me luck." Frank hangs up before she can
say anything else.





Frank, still dressed in his turquiose polyester warm up suit with the
yellow stripes, which is now quite dirty from his scrap with wild
child (remember, he was sprayed with quite a bit of blood...) walks
into the street and picks up the manhole cover which is conveniently
there. He then saunters down the street with it, toward the nun in
the van. When he gets about thirty feet from the van (out of sight
from the bank's windows--he doesn't want the religious trio to see
him), Frank hurls the manhole cover at the grill of the van,
intending to seriously fuck the motor up.

Assuming this immobilizes the van, and assuming the nun doesn't
attack, Frank will wait for the robbers to exit. (He doesn't want to
get into a hostage situation, and he realizes that going into the
bank during the robbery could get someone killed--he's a pragmatic
guy.) As they open the door, he says very loudly, "I've got a joke
for everyone, so listen up. Waddya get when you cross a Rabbi, a
Priest, and a Monk? Well, I don't know, but I'm about to find out!"

If you want to actually advance this a couple of combat rounds in one
post, I won't mind. To that end, here are some actions for Frank:

1a. If the nun attacks, Frank will defend himself and try not to hurt
her. If she shows evidence of super powers or uses a gun, Frank will
bust her right in the face.

1b. If the nun doesn't attack, Frank awaits the others, says his
joke, and then leaps among them, so that if they try to shoot him
they will risk shooting each other. He then punches and kicks them
into submission in as unkind a way as he can manage. If any of these
guys shows powers, Frank will focus on them. IF he gets into trouble,
he will try to jump atop the building and hide from their gunfire. Or
in a dumpster.

1c. If the robbers take hostages out with them for some reason, then
Frank will pretend he is a beggar on the street and ask them for some
change. Once they get anywhere near him, he uses his laser (the beam
is invisible--high energy ones always are in real life) to cut off
the trigger finger of whoever has the hostage. Level +5 on the laser
with that one. But he doesn't want to kill them. Or anyone for that
matter.


Frank immobolizes the van with the manhole cover. The un looks atr him
angrily, jumps put of the van and unloads on him with a MAC-10. Frank is
able to not be in the bullets path due to his computerized warning
system that plots the most likely trajectory of the bullets.  By the
time she has spent her clip Frank is on her and knocks her out with a
bitchslap.

The three holy men exit the bank just as Frank is doing this. They
immediately begin running in the other direction. Apparently they aren't
very brave.  Frank can hear police sirens in the disatnce. One of the
clerks must have triggered an alarm.

Frank immediately gives chase. As he begins running after the trio he
sees a black garbed figure swoop down onto the street in front of them. 
The figure pulls out an uzi gun and blows the three holy men to shreds. 
"justice is served..." he says while holstering his weapon.  He throws
down what looks like a business card, then fires a grappling line up to
the roof of the building he just leapt from and is quickly whisked up
the side of the building.





Frank is stunned by what he has just seen. He heard no gunshots
inside the bank, so he assumes no one was killed inside. He runs to
the three holy men now lying in expanding pools of their own blood,
money bags open and letting green bills escape on the wind. There is
nothing he can do for them he quickly realizes, and as he looks up he
sees the dark clad killer disappear over the top of the building,
gone. Frank considers trying to jump to the top of the building, but
it is 4 stories and he hasn't tried to jump that high before. He also
has a usspicious feeling that he hasn't seen the last of the dark
clad killer.

"Since when does a bank robbery warrant the death sencence?" wonders
Frank. The dark killer must be a vigilante, no better than criminals
themselves. Frank stares at the dead bank robbers, stepping back to
avoid getting their blood on his shoes. The police sirens grow louder
as police cars appear around the corner. Frank stands calmly watching
them approach. He realizes his suit is still stained in Wild Child's
blood and what that might look like to the police. He holds his hands
up as the cops drive up onto the nearby sidewalk. They exit their
vehicles with weapons trained on him, and he says, "Woah, I'm Frank,
dont' shoot. There's one of their accomplices back in that van
dressed as a nun. I didn't kill'em, some super-vigilante-dude in
black shot'em with an uzi then disappeared over the top of that
building," says Frank pointing up to where he had last seen the
vigilante.





Frank hadn't been inside a police car since he was 14, when he got in
trouble for climbing on top of the brewery in his old home town. The
cops had let him off with a warning and a scary ride in the back of
their car, thinking he was headed straight to jail. He had not been
in trouble or in a police cruiser since. Until now.

"Listen guys," says Frank. "I know you're just doing your job, but I
didn't do anything wrong. Do you always arrest witnesses?" The cops
ignore him, staring through their mirror sunglasses even though the
sun has already set. Frank hadn't told them that he was a meta, or
that he had thrown the manhole cover into the van. He didn't tell
them becuase they had neither asked nor given him time to explain
before they pinned him to the ground (which he let them do--resisting
them would have been against the law) and cuffed him.

"I know you guys probably hear this all the time, but you're making a
mistake. I don't have any ID because it's being mailed from Alaska
and hasn't arrived yet. You see, I'm legally dead."

"Riiight, legally dead," mocks one of the cops. "You sure you're not
just homeless? Fuckin' bum."

Frank gives up trying to convince them. Ms. Chesterton, his lawyer,
will have to straighten things out when he gets his phone call. He
just hopes she is still at the office this late.

Frank thinks again about the three holy men, their lifeless eyes
staring up at the sky. He can't get the image out of his mind. On the
rig, he had seen men die, even men dying horribly, caught in
machinery. But that had been different, more like an act of nature or
just bad luck. This was intentional, cold, calculated. The man who
did this has little or no regard for human life. If he had not
intervened, Frank could have captured these criminals without killing
them, he is sure. They were dead because the vigilante had wanted
them dead, and for no other reason. That was murder. Frank remembered
the man's words, "Justice is served." How could that be justice?
Frank wants very much to meet the vigilante again, and curses himself
for having missed his chance earlier. If he hadn't hesitated to check
on the three dead men, he might have been able to stop the
vigilante's escape.

Frank's new job no longer seems quite so glamourous. He can smell his
own B.O., and he is still absolutely starved. "I don't suppose I
could get anything to eat, huh guys?"

"Fuckin' bum," mumbles one of the policemen. "Why don't you get a
job?"

The processor in Frank's brain, without his willing it to, diagrams
the screen between Frank and the police, notes that three bolts are
missing, and that enough pressure applied _here_ will cause the
screen to buckle enough for Frank to reach through and grab the
driver's throat. Frank shakes the thought from his mind, a little
disturbed at the violent images the processor just showed of Frank
killing the cop. Almost like a command.

Frank banishes the thought, instead focusing on his aching stomach.
It growls again loudly, as if on cue. To his surprise, a diagram of
his entire body appears in his mind's eye, with several tiny graphs
next to the human figure showing low electrolyte levels and blood
sugar--signs of his hunger.





Frank is held for several hours at the station before he is finally
released.
Several
eyewitnesses verify his story and a videotape from an ATM camera at the
side of
the
bank confirms it. He is off the hook.

Ms. Chesterton had come down immediately after receiving Frank's phone
call and
had
raised seven kinds of hell with the police. The officers who had
arrested Frank
make a
half hearted apology to him before he leaves.

Ouside the station a big boobed blonde jumps into Frfank's arms and
begins
kissing
him. "My hero!" she sys between wet sloppy kisses. Frank might have
enjoyed it
except
that she wasn't real. It was one of Kirby's animated drawings. Drawing
or not,
the
blonde certainly felt real, just as the car had earlier that day.

The bimbo suddenly winks out of existence and frank hears Kirby laughing
voice
say,
"Like I said, they don't last long enough for any real fun."

Ms. Chesterton looks icily at Kirby who is standing at the bottom of the

stirway next
to a Mercedes and says, "Verve, that is quite enough thank you."

"Verve?" wonders frank aloud and notices that Kirby has face paint on.
It is
chalk
white with black around the eyes and lips. With his punked out hair and
makeup
Kirby
reminnds Frank of Robert Smith of the Cure or Edward Scissorhands.

"It's my new code name, " says Kirby, " Sketch was just a working title
until I
decided on something with a little more panache. The makeup is part of
the new
image.
I'm not much into masks."

On the way back to the SoF offices Ms. Chestertonm explains about the
vigilante Frank
encountered. "He has only been active a short while. He calls himself
the
Verdict and
has set himself up as judge, jury , and executioner as you are well
aware. It is
unknown if he is a metahuman or not. Regardless he is dangerous. he
always
leaves a
calling card on his victims, with a picture of the scales of justice on
it and
the
word 'Guilty' . He's a bad seed. Gives crimefighters a bad name. "

Later after Frank has showereedd at the office and changed into a clean
set of
clothes
that Ms. Chesterton sent out for the three of them go out to dinner at a
swanky
italian restaurant.

Frank is famished and eats until he feels like his gut will burst.

Ms. Chesterton drops him at his apartment in her mercedes. "See you
tommorrow
Frank. 9
o'clock sharp. We have a new case. I'll give you all the details then.
Ciao."
66
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Sun Sep 16, 2001 2:26pm
Subject: Recap: Turn: turn 1.4 (SoF)
    Frank shows up to the office on time. Ms. Chesterton informs him that
their new client wouldn't be there until later that day. In the meantime

Frank was to get fitted by a tailor who specialized in super-hero type
uniforms. Frank is given a mask to conceal his identity while the
fitting is taking place at the office. The tailor informs him that the
uniform should be ready by the end of the day. the design Frank decided
on was

[insert description here]




The design Frank decided on was. . . all black. He choses a pair of
steel toe, steel insole black boots (3/4 top) and black leather
gloves (that only go up to his wrist—not forearm gloves). The rest of
the costume is a fairly tight black body suit with a belt for
his "gadgets" as he calls them, though he has none just yet. The mask
is all black too.



As Frank is waiting for the client, the secretary pokes her head in
and says, "Two planes have just crashed into the World Trade Center
buildings! And another one crashed into the Pentagon! The news is
saying it must be terrorist attacks! Turn on your TV Candace."

Ms. Chesterton takes a remote out of her drawer and presses a button.
A wall console opens exposing a TV set, which turns on and shows news
of the incident. The newscasters don't know much yet, just that one
of the planes was hijacked from Boston.

"I guess the Guardians will be on that one, huh Candy? That sounds
like it's out of our league."




Later, after lunch their new client arrives. He is a distinguished
looking gentleman named Desmond Miller. He is the CEO of a cutting edge
technology firm called Ultratech. He begins the meeting by saying, "I
cannot emphasize enough that what I am about to show you is highly
classified Ultratech technology. What you are about to see cannot leave
this room. that is why I have come to you rather than going to the
police. I need people who know how to be discreet. "

"You can be assured of that fact, Mr. Miller. " says Ms. Chesterton.

"Good. But just to be on the safe side would you be so kind as to all
sign these confidentiality agreements?"

Ms. Chesterton looks over the documents and says that it would be all
right for everyone to do so.

After the forms have been signed, Miller puts a videotape in the VCR.

An Ultratech logo is flashed on the screen and underneath this the words

"Neural Net Team Progress Report #0822"

It cuts to a group of scientists enjoying a celebratory drink in the
lab.

" The camera's on...put that away!"

"Chill out Lisa...I'm betting Desmond Miller knows what champagne is!"

"Uh-huh. And he'll probably turn his nose up at our brand!"

One of the scientists begins talking into the camera. "We're, um.
celebrating a significant milestone in the project!"

The video now cuts to scientific diagrams as the scientist continues. "
Ultratech's research has leapfrogged the silicon and electronics of
conventional computer design in favor of a neuro-molecular data engine!
Or goal...moving bytes in a free-form model of an electronic brain! It's

a quantum surge forward in anything using computing muscle.
Appliances...medicines...weapons...the implications for the entire
Information age are staggering!"

"Our process introduces nutrient elements--Perceptrons--into an organic
environment, where the Neural Net Processor develops its subsumption
architecture... 'learning' by building a network not unlike the one our
own gray matter neurons use to communicate!"

"Quite simply, we're literally growing our prototype, using living brain

tissue as a template."

Miller stops the tape and inserts another.
It begins in a similar fashion with the Ultratech logo, though the
progress report is numbered #1102.

The video shows a dead monkey. It's eyes bulge outward it's mouth is
pulled back in a frozen rictus of horror and the back of it's head seems

to have exploded.

An off camera voice, one of the scientists, begins his report..." The
project has suffered an...ahem...disturbing setback. Implanting a
neural net 'seed' in a living host is unlikely to become the factory
model. While higher lifeforms provide a brain template for growing more

powerful neural net processors.... the production does, um...rupture the

surrounding organic tissue. The host does not survive the process. The
resulting neural net chip however , performs flawlessly."

"We have developed a field unit to neutralize the Perceptron nutrients
and dissolve the chip growth, but this is clearly a nominal measure and
provides no long term solutions toward...."

The video shorts out. But, voices can still be heard.

"How did you get in here?!'"

"Get away from that! You're not allowed..!"

"Oh, good God...look at his face! Look at his...!"

"He's killed Joey! He's killed them all! Please someone...!"

The video clicks back in for a split second showing a leering skeletal
face peering into the camera, before shorting out again.

Miller shuts off the tape. "The last happened just last night. The
neural net processor prototype was stolen from the lab and 5 scientists

were killed in the process. It's one of a kind...and in the wrong hands,

a crate of information age dynamite. I need you to find out who did
this, but more importantly I need you to recover the prototype. I'm
willing to pay whatever is necessary for you to accomplish this. Do you

have any questions?"





[Questions Frank asks Desmond Miller:]

"How far apart in time two videos? How long ago was the first one
made?



Several months had passed between the two tapes.

"I understand that these guys built a computer off of organic brains,
but how will the one prototype chip be used? The scientist on the
tape said the chip functioned perfectly, but what was it doing? Are
they just generic processors, or were they made for a particular
purpose?




It was tested as a generic processing unit and it 's performance was off
the
scale.
far beyond any modern-day computing trchnology. We beleive these chips
could be
specialized for a variety of different applications. We didn't have
enough time
to
test for it, but it is theritaically possible that they may be able to
"learn'
and
adapt to situations. Smart wepons, smart medicine, smart appliances etc.
Not
exactly
artificial intelligence, but definately a step in that direction.


"What is this about a field unit that neutralizes the perceptron
nutrients and dissolves the chip growth? Does that destroy the chip?
Neutralize it? Can we get this field unit, and are we likely to need
it? How could we use it?



It is in the form of a specilaized hyperdimic injection. It neutralizes
the
Perceptrons essential for the continued growth of the chip. The chip
isn't
destroyed
but it is essentially stuck at whatever level of growth it has achieved
before
the
Percepotrons are neutralized. It is unknown what effect it would have on
the
chip,
other than stopping it's growth. it may cause a sort of computer
retardation in
the
chip. Who knows? We never tested it, but we do know that it definately
neutralized the
Perceptrons. I can send for a few viials of the neutralizing agent.

"Who was the skeleton face? Have you tried searching government and
CAPE databases for a villain who looks like that?




Verve says, "I think I know who it is. I've heard of a super-thug called

Spectre who
can kill you just by looking into your eyes. It always appears to be
death by
natural
causes. "

Miller adds, "That would explin why three of the scientists seem to have
died
of heart
attacks, though they were in excellent physical health. But that doesn't
explin
the
others. They were literally torn apart."


"Hmm.."says Verve "I've never heard of him demonstrating superstrength.
Maybe
he had a
partner who didn't show up on the tape. "

"What could this guy use the neural chip for? Will it be implanted in
a device, or in a person? How is it used? Will it just make him rich,
or are there worse uses? We need to know what this thing can do. Can
he use it to hack into the government databases? If so, do they know?



He could sell it on the black market for millions of dollars. It couold
be used
as a
central processing unit for a device or alternately re-implnted in a
host to
continue
it's growth. Though they would need Perceptron for that. One of our
subsidiary
chemical companies are the only ones manufacturing it for our neural net

experiment.

"Who outside the 5 scientists and you know about this research? We
need a list of every person who works in your company or anyone else
who might have been privy to the research, even if they weren't on
the team. If you can narrow the list to likely suspects, that would
help even more. Candace, we need to check that list for anyone with a
criminal record or any possible link to the guy who stole this thing.
It had to be an inside job of some kind, or else how would ol' skull-
face even have known about it?






No one ouside of myself and the scientists knew about it.
Industrial espionage is unfortunately a common pitfall of working with
cutting
edge
technology. We maintain excellent security, but even with that we cannot
forsee
every
possible chain of events.

"What kind of security measures did this guy have to get through to
get into the lab? I'm asking so we can gauge what his powers are, if
any. Where is this facility? Can we visit the scene? I'd also like to
interview your head of security, or whoever has been in charge of the
internal investigation.



Yes you can visit the scene. Security would be able to tell you far
more about
the
intrusion countermeasures than I could.



Frank watches the video again. The screen looks dead to him, the
person on the film emitting none of the normal EM radiation that
people emit, because it is just a film. It gives Frank a headache to
watch, and he can't tell anything special about the skull figure.

Frank secretly wonders if these guys can build cyborgs too. He is on
the lookout for evidence of his origins, though he knows it is very
unlikely. Frank used to read lots of sci fi on the rig, those long
nights with nothing to do, and though he knows it is just fiction,
that fiction has already come to life once—in Frank himself. Nothing
is impossible, he reminds himself. Nothing is impossible. . . .





Frank listens to Desmond's answers.

"Thank you for the information. I have some requests now. First, can
you get us a supply of the perceptron neutralizer and the injection
field units? Those might come in handy. Next, I'd like to go talk to
your security people, then go to the subsidiary company who
manufactures the perceptron for you. If perceptron would allow the
chip to grow, then our enemy might want some of it. I suggest you
alert this company to their peril, and have their security on full
alert. Also tell them that we will be coming by, with your permission
of course, to help stake the place out and protect them from another
raid by these guys." They agree on a time to meet at the Ultratech
plant with security there, and Desmond leaves.

Outside the whole of Manhatten Island is mayhem. Candace is gathering
her important things, laptop and a few files, and some things she
takes from the safe. "We have to leave the building, the area is
being evacuated. I'll call you when I get the office set up, it will
be in Hoboken at a little strip mall I know. [Keith, if that ain't
Kosher, then just change it. Candace doesn't seem the type to go to
Hoboken, unless she is a Jersey Girl.]

As they prepare to leave, they watch the TV for breaking
news. "Politicians are calling this a terrorist attack, and though
law enforcement has no information to go on as of yet, the early
consensus is that this act was perpetrated by metahuman terrorists.
We go now live to Washington outside the Pentagon where our military
correspondent Susie Que has more…."

"Thanks Dick. I'm across the Patomic River, and you can see the
devastation from here. One side of the Pentagon is in flames. Early
evidence suggests that metahumans were involved in this attack,
though no specific information is available just yet. I'm here with
Jesse Brown, who works at a shop on this side of the river. Jesse,
did you witness today's attack by metahumans on the Pentagon?"

"Yeah, I did. The plane came in low, from the other side of the
river. I thought it was coming right for me, but it veered into the
Pentagon. Damn metas gotta pay for this. It ain't safe anymore cuzza
them. I say kill'em all and—"

"Thank you Suzie for that on-the-scene report. Now back to…."

"This is not good," says Frank. Kirby nods silently.

Elsewhere....

Marvin Vale awoke around noon in his dingy apartment. he starts a pot of
coffee and flips on the TV. he watches in horror as the events of the
past 3 hours are rehashed endlessly by the various news agencies.

At approximmately 9 o'clock in the morning a plane had been veered off
course by metahuman terrorists and flown directly into the south tower
of the World Trade center. Approximately 10 minutes later the same thing
occurred to another plane in the vicinity, this time being flown into
the south tower. Both towers had completely collapsed within 30 minutes.

Reports flooded in of yet another plane being intentionally redirected 
by a meta-terrorists in Washington D.C.  This time the Pentagon was the
target. A large section of the pentagon was destroyed.  The metahumans
responsible for the attacks were unidentified. The approximate death
tolls were in the thousands.



Manhattan was engulfed in a smoky haze from the fallout of the buildings
collapse. People were in a panic.

All flights in America and canada were immediately grounded.

Marvin stares blankly at the TV screen, cold chills forming on his
spine. This is how it started. This is how it all started...repaeting
over and over in his mind.






A couple of hours later, after Frank has donned his brand-spanking
new super hero outfit, they arrive by Company Car (?do we have
transport via SoF?) at the Ultatech campus just outside New York
proper. The campus comprises several buildings, including a small
chemical plant, a semiconductor fab, one office building, and other
manufacturing facilities. Security is tight, especially after the
break in.

As they drive in, Frank tries to figure out how someone could have
planned to break into this place. Immediately, a program comes online
in his mind that gives a diagram of the entire facility that he has
seen so far, adding all details of the gate security and perimeter
countermeasures that Frank has so far had a chance to notice on his
way in and several that he hasn't noticed—or didn't realize he
noticed. Cameras are noted on the diagram in his mind's eye, armed
guards, fences, buildings, power and data lines, entrances and exits.
As they drive through the gate and Frank sees more buildings and
guards, the new information is instantly integrated into the diagram.
The program doesn't give him enough information to plot an incursion
yet, but enough that Frank realizes he must have been designed for
this kind of work.

They quickly survey the crime scene, and Frank and Kirby
interview the security personnel who investigated after the break
in. They learn….

[insert what we learn if anything].

Next, the duo drive their black Monte Carlo with the 5 liter
engine (the Company Car, which sports a smart stylized "SoF" logo) to
the subsidiary chemical plant that manufactures perceptron. Security
has been beefed up here already, and the head of security does not
seem interested in Frank or Kirby's help. "We got countermeasures in
place. Nobody will get in here without us knowing about it," he says.

Puny human, thinks Frank, quoting his favorite comic book
hero The Hulk.

The perceptron lab is on the ground floor, and Frank and
Kirby decide to stake the place out, hiding in a broom closet just
outside the lab in a side passage. [Keith, if there is a better place
to hide, Frank will agree, I just made this up.]

"You know, if this guy can kill you just by looking at you,
we might be in trouble," says Frank. "You got any ideas how we can
fight that guy and not die of natural causes?"
67
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Mon Sep 24, 2001 1:21am
Subject: Recap: Turn 1.6 (SoF)
    As Verve and Roughneck look for a place to hide they receive word from
Ms. Chesterton that they case has been temporarily postponed due to the
terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. The Unknown Soldier and the

Huntress of Guardians fame along with the mayor of New York have put out

an open call for metahuman volunteers to help in the relief efforts.
The remainder of the Guardians are still MIA and they need help.
Methaumans may be able to utilize their powers to help save any
survivors that conventional methods wouldn't be able too. Desmond Miller

has been informed and he understands. In fact he was about to suggest
the same thing. Suddenly the neural net processor doesn't seem so
important.

The two eventually make their way to ground zero, though this is no easy

task getting through all the security checkpoints. It is unlike
anything thay have anything they have ever seen before. It is like a war

zone. Debris and dust are everywhere. People walk through the ruins
aimlessly in shock as Fireman and police officers try to secure the
area. Huge fires still burn in the 6 story ruin of debris that was the
twin towers. Nearby buildings have been evacuated and it is feared that
they to may soon collapse. Thier eyes burn and it is hard to breath due

to all of the smoke and dust. It was hell on Earth. It was impossible
to fully comprehend the magnitude of the horror and destruction before
them.

Verve wips out his sketchbook and begins to draw a fire engine to help
douse the flames.

[I'm writing this as if it were Tuesday night (the same night as the
attack) or early Wednesday morning. The fires were still raging then ( I

think they went all the way through to Thursday or Friday). You can
write whatever you want about the scene and any rescue attempts you do.

Also if you want to get Captain Marvel involved in any releif efforts
taht is fine too. ]



Frank helps as much as he can, lifting heavy things and even cutting
a steel gurder or two with his laser. He can't do much mroe than
normal people helping, because of the limitations on moving the
masive pile of debris from the collapsed buildings. Frank uses his EM
vision to try to detect any survivors or victims in the rubble. He
has one of those white face masks for breathing over his costume
mask. The street is littered with debris and sometimes bodies,
victims of the attack. Frank wonders who did this, and whether it was
true that metahumans were behind it. He was glad to see normal people
accepting the help of the few metas who had arrived.

As Frank takes a short break from his labors, he looks into the sky.
Smoke obscures his vision, but he filters it out. There, high above,
he sees a lone figure hovering in the air. Even with his
magnification, he can't make out the face, only a human figure
wearing a cape. The figure disappears shortly thereafter.

A little later, Frank sees a woman whom he recognized from the Meta
Enquirer--it is Huntress, accompanied by some crotchety looking old
guy wearing an outfit reminiscent of a soldier's uniform. The two
ignore camera wielding news reporters' questions and make their way
to the work site near Frank. "At least they aren't media hounds,"
thinks Frank. He looks into the sky again, hoping to catch a glimpse
of the caped figure, but sees nothing. They work long into the night
and through the next day without stopping.

[Your turn O GM.]




Frank and Kirby work throughout the night and the following day.
Frank could have gone longer without rest, his mechanical body parts
beign able to keep him going far longer than normal. But he can feel
his muscles ache in protest when he takes a break, and decides not to
test his own limits. He retires from the scene to let others take a
hand, changing from his super costume (now filthy from his exertions)
in an alley, putting back on the clothes Candace had given him.

Frank realizes that he has no place to go. His hotel room had only
been rented for two nights, and the time was up. He had not been able
to cash his check the other day, and the bank was already closed this
evening too. Again, he had no money.

Frank wandered around Central Park, thinking he could find someplace
to rest a bit before he went back to the scene the next morning.
There was an unoccupied park bench, and he plopped down on it
heavily. He read a discarded newspaper under the light of a park
lamp, published the morning of the attack, before it had occurred.
Stocks flat. Bush and his education plan. Missile defense. Frank
dozed sitting up, then finally accepted that he was a bum and
streched out on the park bench, the paper covering his face.

He was kicked awake by another bum. "Hey buddy, das' my bench you
on." Frank was groggy and sat up wiping his gummed eyes.

"Huh?" said Frank.

"Get up. Das my bench."

Frank looked around, it was nearly dawn. "I don't see your name on
it."

The bum pointed to the wooden slats of the bench which had carved
into them, "TJ's bench."

"I'm TJ. Das my bench."

"Oh," said Frank. He was done sleeping anyway. He stood up, breathed
the morning air, and strecthed. TJ standing next to him noticed his
scars.

"What happ'd to you? You get caught in a meat grinder or sumfin?"

"Something like that," answered Frank.

"Well, hell, you look like you could use that bench more'n me. I find
some place else fo now." TJ started to move away, but Frank stopped
him.

"Nah, thanks anyway TJ, but I need to get back to the accident site
anyway."

"They givin out food over there or sumfin?"

"No, I mean to help clean up."

"Yeah, right."

Frank moved off. TJ settled himself and his several large trash bags
on the bench. Frank couldn't tell what was in them.

[OK Keith, I am ready for you to post.]
68
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Wed Oct 3, 2001 2:36am
Subject: Recap Turn 1.7 (SOF)
    Frank and Kirby are finally givin a reprieve from the rescue work at the

WTC after two days of nearly non-stop work. Reinforcements had arrived
from neighboring cities and states. Even other heroes from around the
country had shown up...Americana, Shockwave, Captain Marvel,
Nightweaver, Samson, Street Justice, Gamut, Shadowdragon, Paladin and
Dynamo to name a few. Still no word on the missing Guardians. A man
dressed as a clown with several maps stuffed in his trousers showed up
from time to time, claiming to have knowledge of their whereabouts and
asking people to pull his finger, he was eventually shoed away by
security.

It had been grueling physical and emotional work. It was still hard to
fathom the enormity of wht had happened even after being at ground zero.

It was all very surreal...Manhatten being made into what apperaed to be
a bombed out war zone. Debris everywhere. People looking for their loved

ones. Rescue workers by the thousands. People didn't want to give up
hope, but the situation looked grim.

Reports had come in linking the meta-terrorists to a international
terrorist organiization. Rumours aboundeed of other mea-terrorists still

in hiding throughout America waiting to strike. There had been some
backlash incidents...Uninvolved metahumans being brutally betaen by mobs

or killed outright. people wanted someone to blame.

After some much needed rest they resume their case where they left off.

No further developments had taken place. The crime rate had been
amazingly low after the attack. As if even the criminals were in shock
over what had happened.

Frank and Kirby decide to pose as security guards in the subsidiary lab
where the perceptron is manufactured; it beeing the most likely target.
It is the graveyard shift and They are camped out in the monitor booth,
where all the security monitors are located,with a real guard named
Saul. Saul is a fat behemoth of a man who is eating his packed lunch,
which consists of baby back ribs, snickers bars, potato chips, ham on
rye, cottage cheese, barbecued chicken, and a diet coke.

"You want some?" Saul asks Frank, barbecue sauce dripping from his chin.

"Er...no...thanks..." replies Frank. he actually was hungry but the
sounds Saul made while eating had caused him to lose his appetite. Kirby

sits in the corner, sketching in his book. He was always sketching.

Frank notices something on one of the monitors out of the corner of his
eye, but he wan't sure.

"I think I just saw something on that monitor...Sector 10"

"I'll go check it out." says Saul.

[What do you do?]






"Thanks Saul, but I think we better handle this. If that turns out to
be the guys we're after, you don't wanna meet'em, believe me. Evil
metahumans, dangerous bunch. They think this guy can kill people just
by looking at'em." Frank is completely serious when he says this, all
business, so Saul won't argue. "Anyway, we need you to stay here and
watch us on the monitors. If anything starts to happen, we need you
to call the police and CAPE. Got it? We'll be on the walkie talkies,
so we can talk to you. You're our eyes and ears." Then to Kirby,
Frank says, "I hope you saved some lead for when it counts. It's
showtime."

If Saul argues, Frank tells him even more scary stories about what
will happen to him. Then Frank and (I assume) Kirby head down to
Sector 10, walkie talkies on.

[Keith, I assume sector 10 is somewhere near the lab we are
protecting. If it is on the other side of the plant, we are not going
there since it would take us away from where we should be.]





"Well. I don't know " says Saul. but then looks back longingly at his
babyback
ribs. "
"well O,K"

Frank and Kirby make their way cautiously to Sector 10 which is only a
few
halls over
from their post, but the lack of human activity and the late hour make
it seem
exceptionally creepy...All of the deserted labs and the low thrumming of
the
half-lit
flourescent corridors. They aren't sure what the'll find. if anything at
all...
maybe
Frank's eyes were playing tricks on him...looking for an excuse to get
away
from the
grotesque sounds of Saul's dining.

Frank peers cautiously around the corner of the hall that leads to
Sector 10..
Nothing
there. The duo make their way down the hall, keeping to the sides, their

footsteps
echoing eeirily down the sanitized bleach white floors.

Just then, one of the doors from the side labs opens inmward and a giant
tree
trunk of
an arm swings out and smashes Frank across the chest, he is sent flying
backward down
the length of the hall and slams into the backwall, the wind knocked out
of
him. He
hears Kirby screaming "Don't open your eyes! Whatever you do, don't open
them!"











Don't open my eyes? thinks Frank. Hell, that was easy. The hard part
would be to *do* anything with his eyes closed. Like stay alive or
catch the bad guys.

As Frank stands, eyes closed, his danger sense kicks in. Though he
has no vision of the hall, his computer brain stored all previous
information on the hallway and where Frank probably had landed. It
also took in passive acoustic signals which it used to improve its
estimates of where things were relative to Frank. It wasn't as good
as seeing, but inside Frank's mind's eye, there was a little virtual
world for him to navigate through. As Frank takes a step forward, his
perspective in the virtual world changes slightly, correcting for his
new position. Frank wonders if people will show up on his virtual
vision screen. Kirby appears where he originally stood, and Frank
suspects that info needed to be update. He calls our, "Kirby, where
are you?"

[Frank wants the villians to make noise, so his danger sense can tell
them where they are. I don't expect him to be just like he had his
eyes open, but he does have pretty damn high danger sense and a
computer brain to keep track of all the information.]

As soon as Frank gets an idea of where an enemy is, he will lunge at
them with his head down, intending to ram them. If it feels like he
hit teh big guy, Frank will risk a glance at where he suspects the
big guy's feet are to get his bearings. If he feels like he hit
someone smaller, Frank will keep hsi eyes closed and pummel whoever
it is. Frank is careful not to hit Kirby if he can avoid it.
_______

Saul sits back down on his office chair which groans in protest at
his massive bulk. He digs into the baby back ribs, lowering his face
to the styrofoam food container to limit the amount of bar-b-q sauce
he is getting on his uniform. Saul loves bar-b-q sauce. He greedily
licks his fingers after each rib, resisting the almost instinctual
urge to wipe his hands on his pants. A left cheek sneak escapes
Saul's sphinctor, filling the room with the aroma of his bowels. Saul
himself doesn't mind the smell, and does not notice it after only a
few seconds. He chugs the last half of his diet coke, stares
suspiciously with one eye into the can as though there should have
been more, and prepares to hoist his girth once again to find the
Coke machine. Noticing that he has no more napkins, Saul realizes he
will either have to put his hands on the table, getting sauce
everywhere or else stand without the use of his hands. He decides not
to attempt the latter, and smears his greasy palms all over his
desktop as he lifts himself off the chair. With a grunt, he is off
like a bovine to the coke machine. Behind him, little does he
realize, Frank and Kirby are just appearing on the security monitors.
As Saul leaves the room, Frank is attacked by a large bludgeoning
arm, and Kirby sees their enemy. The alarm goes unsounded.

Saul goes to the coke machine, and they are all out of diet coke. He
curses under his breath and decides to try diet A&W. He has never
before had it, and wonders if he will like it, or if it will give him
hiccups like normal rootbeer does.

  Message 1060 of 1067  |  Previous | Ne
69
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Tue Oct 9, 2001 3:26am
Subject: Recap:Turn 1.8 (SoF)
    Kirby doesn't answer Frank's question, but a loud thud followed by some
gurgling
noises can be heard from where Frank last saw Kirby.

Frank barrels ahead with his head down. He slams into what feels like a
human
sized
wall and is immediately picked up by the throat and slammed into the
nearby
wall. His
feet dangle above the floor as he is held in place by the massive hand
that is
holding his neck. Frank sees little spaklies behind his closed eyelids.
Never a
good
sign. He feels someone next to him on the wall, and figures it is Kirby
being
held up
by the brutes other hand. Whoever it was holding them in place was
incredibly
strong
and had incredibly bad breath. he was almost glad he couldn't breathe.









Frank grabs the arm that holds him with both hands and swigs his legs
up to wrap them around it, like he is sliding down a horizontal fire
pole. His combat algorithms and physiology algorithms tell him where
the head of his attacker should be, and where his chin is most likely
to be (though that calculation has a greater per cent chance of being
incorrect). Holding onto the arm for leverage, Frank stomps where the
chin should be, at the same time keeping his other leg wrapped around
the arm and arching his back so as to break the iron grip on his
throat.

If this move frees Frank from the grip, Frank will drop to the ground
and take a chance by opening his eyes to look at his assailant. He
keeps his field of view low, so he won't look directly into anyone's
eyes (hopefully). He intends to see if in fact Kirby is caught by the
throat too. If he is, Frank will use his laser to cut the arm of the
brute that holds Kirby.

If when Frank opens his eyes, he sees a smaller set of feet in front
of him (i.e., skull dude), then Frank won't look any higher, he
immediately shuts his eyes, and fires his laser at the skull dude's

I am using a dramatic event this turn, but I couldn't
find what the list was--none were posted for this turn. So I am just
ad libbing it. If this totally screws yoru plans, you can tell me and
I will post differently.]

As darkness begins to overtake Frank, he hears the familiar whisper
in his head, the computer core, talking to him. He normally could not
understand the core's subconscious communication, hearing it only as
vague background mutterings. But now the core's voice was quiet, but
clear. It was like Frank could see and understand the core commanding
his organic systems, his heart rate and blood flow, his breathing, to
slow. Soothing chemicals were discharged to his mind, calming him and
relaxing him. Frank felt like a voyer, witnessing something slightly
obscene that he should not be privy to, the mating of computer and
mind. The core whispered, made him understand, that even if Frank
himself died, the core would live on, not to worry. The core was
clever, it had a plan. Frank only vaguely understood this.

To the outside world, Frank went limp. He was virtually unconscious,
his body hanging slack from his neck, bent at an odd angle by his
captor's fist. His breathing was undetectable, his heart rate
nonexistent, his skin turning blue, then gray, as the cartelege in
his throat finally buckled under the giant's grip with a sickening
crunch. From somewhere far away, Frank could feel the giant shake his
body for signs of life, giving his throat a final squeeze to mangle
his larynx a bit more before releasing him.

As Frank's body crumpled to the floor, something inside Frank,
something besides the core, awoke. Frank was falling, falling into
freezing water. He could see machinery nearby, recognized it as the
oil rig. As he sank into the cold blackness of the sea, figures in
aqualungs gathered him up and took him away.

The next thing he saw he was in a lab lying prone surrounded by men
in red lab coats. They were tampering with his mind. They were trying
to enslave him. Thinking they had already succeeded, they gave Frank
power so that he could serve them. But Frank had other ideas. He took
that power for his own and killed his captors. The power was his. He
used it to escape. The power was his. He finally remembered.

In his unconscious state, Frank could see the core as a being or
entity inside his mind. The entity had access to his body and other
systems that gave Frank his power--speed, senses, and a reservior of
Frank's own stem cells modified to be directed to any part of his
body instantly through his bloodstream. Frank told the entity to send
stem cells to his mauled throat, and the entity obeyed. As it did,
Frank gained a temporary understanding, a flash of intuition. He
could see the core for what it was, in its entirety, and he
understood it. He was the core. He saw all that was truly at his
disposal, and he ordered it to respond. Adreneline. Endorphines. He
caused his heart rate to fire up like a racing engine, using the last
of his oxygen stores and then some. Though his brain was deprived of
air, the core needed nothing to function and could do without. And
the core could command his body. From this alternate control center,
Frank commanded himself to open his eyes.

Lying next to him he saw Kirby, unmoving. He saw the giant as he
walked away. The other intruder must have been somewhere else, out of
Frank's view. Still unable to breath, Frank willed himself to stand
and launched himself at the giant's back in one leap, using his laser
in mid air to drill a hole in the base of his target's skull. As
Frank's leap brought him down, he drove his spear hand into the spot
where the laser had been, using all his strength and momentum,
wrapping his other arm around the giant's neck. Again and again he
drove his spear hand into the base of the skull. He rode the giant to
the ground, his hand now bloody up to his wrist. Frank turned to look
at Kirby to see if he was still alive.
70
 From: Keith Harper  <maxxlingo@mac.com>
Date: Sat Oct 13, 2001 1:50am
Subject: Recap:Turn 1.9 (SoF)
    After Frank's brutal attack, the giant's form lay unmoving except for
shallow breathing. Kirby stands up groggily rubbing his aching throat.
The two of them hear the sounds of footsteps running away down the next
corridor.

"That's gotta be Specter. It sounds like he is headed towards the
Perceptron lab. " says Kirby. "Let's go." he says as he takes off
running toward the sound.

As the two of them round the corner, they find themselves under fire.
Bullets whizz passed their heads and smack into the wall behind them,
The two quickly dive back to safety around the corner.

Any ideas?" asks Kirby.



"Yeah, I got an idea," says Frank. "Why don't you draw up a tv
monitor and parascope for us to look through? When we saw the Spectre
on the the security tape the other day, his power didn't affect us. I
think we should look for him using something like that, if you can
draw such a thing. Hell, if you can draw a car, why not a TV?"

If Kirby complies, Frank (or Kirby) should look around the corner
with the parascope attachment (which is connected through the tv
monitor so we can see what the parascope sees on the tv screen).

If there are only gunmen, no Spectre, then Frank will roll out into
the hall and use his laser to shoot the gunmen. If Spectre is there,
we need another plan.... Frank will roll out there with eyes closed
and try to shoot spectre, while Kirby watches the TV to see if Frank
is sucessful. Just an idea.

Frank also calls Saul on the radio (I assume we have walkie talkies)
to see where backup is.





Frank radiios Saul as Kirby quickly sketches up a periscope.

The sounds of Saul chomping on his babyback ribs can be heard
intermittely
through his
response. "Oh yaeh. I forgot about you guys. I'll be there in a minute
or two."

The periscope blinks into existense as Kirby finishes his sketch.

They see the face of Specter leering around the corner at the far end of
the
hall with
a large handgun ready to shoot at anyone who comes into sight.

I've got an idea," says Kirby and quickly cranks out a sketch. A mirror
appears
in the
hallway. It is situated in the corner near Kirby and Frank and allows
them to
view the
far end of the hall where Specter is located. "If you think you are a
good
enough
shot, you could try to rerflect your laser off of the mirror to hit 'ol
skull
face
there. I'm assuming his reflection won't kill us."



"You're a fucking genius," says Frank as he aims his laser at the
image of Spectre in the mirror. He uses a low intensity beam so as
not to burn a hole through the mirror, but the beam will still be
plenty to blind Spectre. The beam spreads out in a narrow cone as it
exits Frank's hand, reflects off the mirror, and. . . .





blasts Spacter full in the face. The sounds of sizzling flesh and an
agonizing
scream
can be heard from Specter's location.

They see Specter drop to his knees in agony ,clutching his face in the
mirror. A
second later they also see a barbeque covered hand with a billyclub
smack
Specter in
the back of the head knocking him unconscious. Saul comes into view,
from
behind
Specter. He puts the brown paper bag that his lunch had been in over
Specter's
face
and quickly handcuffs him.

"I got him" cries Saul. "You guys can quit hiding now."

"What a tool." says Kirby.