Suicide Squad: Generations

Game Master LastNameOnEarth

20 years after the present era in the DC Comics universe, the Government is yet again seeking a disposable, deniable team to try and pull of an impossible mission. Who better to recruit than the incarcerated Super-Villains?

A companion Game to tumbler’s Justice League Generations campaign.


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Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

Dunwich Horror:

I know, right? =D I used to think that Imagine would always be my favorite, but this guy is starting to give her a run for her money! I know that you're taking on a massive task, giving us all our own vignette, but I can't wait to see how Frost reacts!

"FOOL! I was referring to THIS ceiling! The amount of dirt and bacteria that can accumulate in the horizontal rafters in a neglected room are BEYOND calculating in so primitive a mind as yourself! Look at those ceiling fans! They are a smorgasbord of dust and virulent bacteria waiting for the moment to be unleashed from their bonds, so they might fall, like brave yet dumb Icarus, into a pot of churning stew to force the entire thing down the drain at a massive cost of raw goods and time!

"So be it! You currently hold the winning cards so I must needs comply, instead of rending you and your archaic rules asunder! If you must needs force my hand, then I shall accept your fetters! But ensure that those brought unto me are sure of wind and limb! And they can't talk back too much! If I am forced to listen to endless prattering about the conditions in the laundry room and an endless debate about the latest public voice and who's lyrics best demonstrate their prowess to make money and slap "hoes' an' b@#!#es" then I shall get no work done at all!

"Now go forth and procure me the very elite of the general population, though such words sound the lie and a oxymoron even as I say it! And more mops! There shall be no power in the 'verse to render aid unto you if I do not have enough mops!"

Horror begins to move off, his legion of arms a whirling whirlwind doing the preparations of both cleaning the room and making it ready to make a meal for 800. But then he pauses and turns back to the guard before he departs. "WAIT! As further demonstration of the two-dimensional thinking of your species, you have stated that you have plans to pull my lackeys from the general population of knuckle-dragging humans, but soft! What if I were given a member of mine own coven?! For instance one could see if she that is known by the nom de plume of Killer Frost might possibly be free upon this hour! If you were to see to that person's availability then such might make considerations! But I care not, as I am but a cog in your primitive machine! Whatever decision you come to, make haste! Time and tide!"

He moves off. Too much talking and the quiche won't have time to rise properly.


Kalden:

"Calm down, Chatty Patty. I'm a criminal, but I'm not insane. The goal's to reduce my sentence, not extend it. Wit that said, I suggest you guys back up way the hell up. I don't wanna get blamed for any accidents."

Erik softly taps his foot on the ground and is met with a gentle POP. He stares off into the distance and attempts a small burst but comes up blank.
"Aight, aight. Up close it is."

He quickly gets to work. A short but powerful burst catapults him to the cell block's ceiling. A quick tag, and he's back down. He repeats through out the rest of the cell block's ceiling. He then moves to the next floor, and the next, tagging each corner and any weight-bearing posts.

Once done tagging the cell block, he takes the rest of the time warming up his acrobatic abilities. Kalden accents his flips and somersaults with tiny explosions that launches him about the building. It felt good to have this sort of freedom, to zip around and use his gift. His handlers walk in on him in mid-flight with the cell block still standing.


A killer GM with a killer smile.

Gratuitous apologies over the delays. Let's get back to business.

Piper:
The man stares at Piper for a few seconds, seemingly having forgotten what he was going to say. After a few awkward moments he seems to recognize the lapse, "Oh, right; the gear. He hands you a small tube, first demonstrating that when pulls from one side, a retractable sheet comes out, while a marker (a felt-tip; not a pen that might be used for stabbing) pops out of the center section.

He shows you to an interview room, adjacent to men's general population (the prison at large is not yet integrated, only your and perhaps a few other smaller units). He places an earpiece in his ear, and stands next to a door with a large red Emergency style stopper button on the wall next to it.

"Alright prisoner, when I receive the word, our distraction will be in place. You are to proceed to level 3, cell 228. Find the document as fast as possible, create as accurate a reproduction as you can, and then leave, leaving the room looking as undisturbed as possible. Return to this room, and hit the button to safely seal yourself off from the rest of the cellblock. Ready?"

"If you have no further questions, I'll be stepping out of the room. A few moments after I do, you will feel your powers return as your collar is placed on standby. Please keep in mind that if you were to do anything... unsanctioned with your powers while in this cellblock, we would have no choice but to either reactivate it, or activate one of the built in countermeasures in order to eliminate the immediate threat. I doubt I need to remind you, but this is a male unit, and having a depowered female suddenly appear among them would come as a surprise to many of the inmates, and to say that it initiate a disruption is probably an understatement. I don't think that we'd be able to guarantee your extraction free of harm. With that bit of caution, I'll leave you to it. As soon as the door opens, you are good to go."

Kalden The Bastard:
After a few hours of observing Kalden bang around the ruined section, doing plenty of damage, but still not having brought the place down, a loudspeaker kicks in, "I thought you were supposed to be some sort of destructo-genius? Time is money, prisoner; hurry it up, will you?"

Demoniac:
Heading back, Demoniac does not really see anything other than the kind of items that are supposed to be there. This is a drainage tunnel for fission reactor runoff after all, so except for the occasional workman, there is not much of a chance for anything besides water to get in here. You spot a few loose pieces of metal, items that might be made into a pretty good shiv, etc., but nothing more interesting than that.

The walk back to the access port is pretty boring, and once allowed through, back into the habitable sections of the prison, the look you get from the guards, safely in their encounter suits, gives you a good reminder of exactly what they think of you.

From there you proceed to decontamination, as even though you are immune to radiation, most of the others in your cell block are not. You are stripped down, blasted with water, and scrubbed nearly down to the bone, only to repeat the process repeated again a half hour later. By the time you get back to your cell, most of your cell mates have retired for the evening.


Kid Alchemy:
After completing your job for the day, you are taken back to the cell block fairly early. With most of your cell mates out on work assignments, you are left with pretty much total run of the place, as even though the Grandmaster's still form might serve as rather silent company, you're otherwise alone for a few hours after your return.

All the cells are locked, not that you'd mess with another inmate's stuff, but your curiousity was a bit too intense not to at least check the doors and see if you could poke your head in.

By mid-afternoon, some of the inmates start trickling in, though a couple (such as Demoniac and Roulette) seem to still be absent, even after lights out.


Demoniac:

Jimmy endures the abysmal treatment from every guard that he comes across, regardless of how many times he has been scrubbed previously. All that work and nothing to show for it makes Jimmy a grumbly supervillain, if he can even be called that. Regardless, he makes a point to chat up the guards assigned to scrub him down from head to toe as much as he can. Or rather, as much as they are willing to talk during the process. He asks about anything he can possibly think up, from their home and family life to their aspirations to what got them into this job to what they watch on TV. Anything to get a bit of information on the lot of them.

Feel free to ask for diplomacy/bluff/gather info checks whenever! No idea when you'll be wanting them, is all.

After his work is done and he is able to head back to his cell, he goes straight for Lance's to go through the motions of their usual insomiac chatter. Most likely with Piper in tow.


How CSI: Cyber thinks hacking works:

Lance cracks his neck.

"All right, enough playing."

He flexes his mental muscles, imposing his will on the machine.

Give me everything. Full Administrator rights and access.

FORFEIT YOUR SOUL: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26

The computer, presumably, yields under the onslaught of Lance's nano-enhanced digital connection, yielding its secrets.


Kid will stick to his boring routine leery if the power that be have something odd in mind for him.


Kalden:

"Pft, what do you guys know about money? This place probably pays trash. I did my job. Trust me. It'll go up once I'm far enough away." Kalden says to the guard. "Safety precaution," he adds with a cheeky smile and wink.

Like clockwork, at 1000 feet away from the structure, explosions go off where ever Erik tagged. "I'm a pro!"

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

In exchange for promises that he'll need no more, but that it is the key ingredient for a dish to serve 800, The Dunwich Horror is delivered as single fresh, living, lobster.

Unlike other cooks, he doesn't bother with a slowly boiling pot, but simply holds the thing aloft and then dismembers it and its many limbs. This leavens the stuff with the flavors of Fear and Impotent Rage.

Prisoners like it those emotions, right? Perhaps it will enhance the experience if he reminds them that lobsters, related to cockroaches, are functionally immortal, and this one was slain on a mere whim because he wanted it done.

Surely their spirits will be raised when they are reminded that their lives are but leaves in the tumult of forces beyond their comprehension.

Probably.


A killer GM with a killer smile.

Roulette:
The man in the fine suit and bearing the question topped cane smiles as he dons his hat, and stands. He accepts an envelope likely containing the buy-in cash from each of tonight’s participants.

”I thank you, gentlemen. A pleasure, as always. Pass my regards onto Amanda; let her know I’m wishing her a speedy recovery.”

He moves off from the table, presumably through a door that can’t be seen from your present angle. As he walks, he leans heavily on the question mark cane, clearly requiring it to walk effectively.

After he’s gone a few minutes, one of the men left in the room signals with a hand that the room is clear.

The man next to Roulette turns on her, his face almost instantly flushing red, ”What the HELL was that? You were supposed to… ’jinx’ him, or whatever. Why the hell did he win then?”

He listens to the denials spouted by the indignant prisoner, sort of, whether she bothers telling him she doesn’t have powers or not. He starts off about how her file clearly indicates a de facto confirmed ability to alter probabilities in close proximity, and an expertise in nearly all known games of chance. After a moment of yammering, his speech starts to get more and more defensive in tone, until it starts to appear that while he was initially angry with the prisoner, he is increasingly more and more concerned with the heavy gaze of the other men in the room staring him down.

Once his voice starts to peter out, cracking at times, the Captain finally kicks in with a response, ”Listen Hoskins; you said you had an in - a secret weapon, so we should up the stakes. We doubled the buy-in, and we’re lucky Nigma went for it. Now, every man at this table is out, thanks to you. You’re gonna have to dig real hard to get yourself out of that hole, ’new-guy’, but for most of us, it ain’t the end of the world. Less than one paycheck. A definite hiccup, and it’s going to be more than a little blow up with my ol’ lady when she finds out about this, but we’ll pull through. You, however, are going to be on shit squad for a looong looong time if you can’t figure out a way to backpedal us outta this.”

The first guard, the guy that brought Roulette in, turns on her, his fists pumping at his sides, his face turning red with embarrassment, which quickly transitions to anger. He starts moving towards Roulette, a fist raised not to threaten, but to strike.

The Cap speaks back up, ”You mess her up, it’s gonna be worse for you than being on shit patrol; we aren’t cleared for that. I got this little work-project cleared on your say so. We bring her back black and blue without permission, Warden will have your ass in a sling, and ours too if we don’t finger you quickly enough. You seem like a nice kid, but as a Rookie, you ain’t going to be getting the ’I am Sparticus’ routine from any of us. So, simmer down, or you might as well turn in your gear now. You read a file, got an idea. File was wrong, you didn’t read it right, or she just found a way to screw us, just because. Some of ‘em are like that; don’t realize when a little favour might get you one back later down the road. Anyway, get the inmate by to her cell. Unmarked, understood? Singh, Chavez, walk ‘em back, would you?”

The trip back is uneverntful, if quiet, and filled with rolling sensations of unspoken anger flowing off the guard called Hoskins. As you are returned to your cell, only a few other prisoners are in attendance, with a surprising number still out on their work details.


Hero Points: 4 Def: 17 FF Def:10 KB:15 |Saves T: +3/+9 F: +10 R: +14 W: +5 |Init:+3 |Notice: 9

Roulette's mind reels as she tries to extract herself from danger. [i]What's with this guy? He thinks I'm some sort of witch who can hex people? How ridiculous...
"Guys, your problem isn't your luck. Your problem is that you are all open books to Edward. Your tells have tells. Not to mention that you are playing a game that is incredibly easy to grasp the mathematics of. This is a man who spent his life befuddling the world's greatest detective. You guys aren't likely to give him much of a challenge."


A killer GM with a killer smile.

Dunwich:
The functionary looks around the old kitchen, taking the time to look up at the rafters for a minute. After a second he turns his gaze back to the extra-dimensional horror before him. His posture shifts as his back straightens up, and his voice takes on an edge of bureaucratic pride, knowing that at this point in time he has power, and that this is effectively his domain.

”The kitchen meets state and federal guidelines for sanitation and cleanliness, so I’m afraid time to do a deep cleaning will have to happen at a later date, if at all. If you’re concerned about the dust… that’s touching, but just avoid using the ceiling fans if you like, and don’t let anyone climb in the rafters and you should be fine. If someone does and you get a little dust in the pot… just don’t serve it rare and I’m sure everyone will live.”

”As for your help… I’ve been informed that the full population of unit AA23 has been deployed on various work details; so ’Killer Frost’ as you call her, or Dr. Louise Lincoln as she’s known on the outside, or 1123-061 as we affectionately call her here, is unavailable, as are all the rest of your block-mates. So, I’m afraid it’s going to have to be 'knuckle draggers', one and all.”

”Supplies will be arriving momentarily. And before you start bemoaning the quality of the ingredients or the lack of fau gras, keep in mind you’re being tasked her to manufacture sustinance for inconcerated prisoners. If whatever slop you cook up doesn’t kill anyone, or make them sick, that’s sufficient. Have fun. Your knuckle draggers will be here soon. Make sure they wear hair nets.”

Kalden:
Although the sudden series of rapid explosions sets everyone on edge, immediately seeing that all personal are accounted for and uninjured seemed to relax them just a touch. Then, as all the tags locations start to break apart, and each load bearing junction collapses in perfect series, leaving a textbook implosion in its wake, postures change, and it may be that you even see a look of respect on a few of your escort's faces.

Escort back to your unit goes smoothly, but with a fair number of your cell mates still out on 'work detail' and Horror definitely being one of the absent, it is unclear from where you are expected to get your evening grub.

Gravewound:

Once you make your way through the usual mundane levels of interface, deigned for keyboards, mice, and other infuriatingly slow conventional input devices, you are able to get a bit of a better idea of what is going on with this system. Stripped of its cumbersome user interface trash, it appears to be little for than a basic database, with various security pathways that might be followed into their respective security zones, encryption, and ICE. Mapping out the system along all available avenues, you are able to determine that the system before you is essentially a dummy system, more or less designed to keep any interfacing with the device confused and confounded, while making achieving any specific goals or tracking any particular system component inordinately difficult. Long story short, the network is set up to watch you mundanely stuble from one security measure to the next, analyse, record, and generally break down the method that you use to circumvent the security measure, all while holding you hand, and eventually revealing to you the location of the file you’d been sent to retrieve.

Stripped of it’s input/output and human interaction protocols, you are basically sitting behind the scenes, with a bird’s eye view of every electronic trap set out before you. Now all you have to do is decide what to do about it. Fail on purpose, so they underestimate you; slog through each challenge as intended, beating them the old fashion way, just to assure them you can pass their test, or just bypass the whole thing, and either rewrite the programs to suite your whims, or produce the supposedly missing softwear with no observable explanation as to how you did it.

System-wise, the computer is not tied a network, but it appears that at the other end of the cables leading out of this room, there is merely a similar set up (guessing based on computing power and such), with an external user actively entering data in real time. In other words, there is another computer set up in the next room over, and they’ve got a computer geek in there set up as your opponent; the intention being to find out if you can crack his security in real time, and how you go about doing it.

Basically, it’s just a big useless test of your abilities, and you just have to decide whether to blow it, so they leave you alone, make a good showing, but get beaten by the other guy, kick his nerdy ass, or circumvent the system, so thoroughly destroying their test, that they need weeks to figure out just how you kicked their asses at all, let alone that quickly.

Decisions, decisions.


A killer GM with a killer smile.

@ Roulette:

The captain replies back to the prisoner, "Thanks for the advice, Carrot-top. This game is a regular thing, and some of us have gotten lucky with Mean-Green before, and if you want to know, more than one of us has played on the circuit before. We got no illusions about the odds about beating him. You'll notice he walked right outta here while you're going back to a cell. Full pardon, sealed record, and good enough security clearance to walk in and out of an international Ultra-Max prison; even after all the shit he pulled against the flying rat! You ever manage anything half so impressive, and I might just start listening. In the meantime, make yourself useful. If you got hard tips, fine, but I don't think a small-timer like you is gonna have anything we haven't figured out ourselves when it comes to Nigma. The big-hustle here was the rookie's idea. I play the guy to get better. The money I lose to him is well spent."

"Now, if we're done? Hoskins? Take her back; I'm tired of talking."


Lance's pride wars heavily with his desire to keep his head down and serve his time. He mulls it over for a moment, and as he does so he begins to seethe.

This is really all they think I'm capable of? They think I'm some two-bit hacker?

With a thought, Lance pulls up the needed file, and sets it to the side for now.

And now for a little fun.

He spends his time determinedly f@~@ing with the guy on the other end of the computer, turning his own "challenges" against him even faster than his so-called opponent can manufacture them. Lance always leaves him just enough leeway to code his way out of the problem, but never lets up, producing more errors, layers of security, and other measures every time the man tries to do something.

Once he feels the man has been punished enough (or, more likely, he gives up or phones the guards), Lance smugly procures the file as commanded.

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

The Dunwich Horror frowns in resignation and sets to re-creating the kitchen in a more optimum configuration. When the first of the normal assistants arrive he reflexively wraps a tentacle around each limb and the poor man's neck and begins to pull.

Fortunately he remembers that he's supposed to serve man lunch, not serve man -as- lunch, and he remembers that this distinction seems to be important to these soft, squishy humans.

He puts the man down, pats him thunderously on the head, and commands that he put on a hair net and start the over preheating.


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A killer GM with a killer smile.

Gravewound: when you finally hand off the drive to the officer standing a few steps away from you, he accepts it without even a flicker of anything unusual in his eyes, either he expected you to pass the test, or he wasn't in on the trick of the whole setup, and just didn't know any better. Either that, or he just happens to have the cold stone cop/poker face down to a T. There are no congratulations, no high fives, and barely more than a nod of acknowledgment. You are brought to your feet, your shackles resecured, and the inhibitor field brought back up to full strength. As you are being led from the room, you see someone else moving in, his hands already reaching for gadgets in his pockets that no doubt are not there, given your presence. Everything about him from his clothes to his posture, to the way he seems gravitationally drawn to the terminal behind you says, 'IT Abalyist.' No doubt his job is to review the records of what you did to the system, and how you managed it. He looks far too fresh and eager to have been the guy on the other end of the network though.

Dunwich Horror: your fears are realized as you see your helpers led in to the old decominshoned kitchen. Almost all stock humans, most look like the types that make up the enevitabke throngs of thugs surrounding every thematic villain/wanna-be crime boss. Out of the eight, two might even have been solo jobs, like the type of Gotham city wackos that been coming out of the woodwork for 40 years or more. None have obvious powers or features that might otherwise distringuish them from the other homogenous meat bags that presently surround you. Knuckle staggers and mouth breathers, one and all.
The men prove too dense for the most part to grasp more that minimally difficulty. A mass serving Macaroni Casserole is the scheduled meal this evening. Far that anything else that had been inflicted upon you since your humiliating capture, the list of ingredients on the list before you is by far the most upsetting thing you have had inflicted upon you thus far. Apparently, the administrator was not kidding… and for these prisoners, he expects that any bowl of slop will do.


Kalden enters the commons with a pep in his step.
"Bada BOOM! Realest guy in th-- oh" he pauses when he notices no one's back yet. "Damn. Took out a whole block, snuck in a solid workout and I'm still here before anyone else. Hah, they got nothin on this Bastard! Squigglepuss better hurry it up though, I could really use some good food right 'bout now."

Dark Archive

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Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

The Dunwich Horror lets out a sigh. It is the sound a world makes as it sees it's star go super-nova, and there is no force or phenomena left in the universe to save it from obliteration.

"I HAD ASKED FOR AT LEAST MEDIOCRITY AND I SEE I DREAMED TOO GREATLY! NO MATTER! I, LIKE THE ETERNAL BLACKNESS OF SPACE, SHALL ABSORB THAT WHICH IS DELIVERED AND RETURN ALL THE THAT CAN BE SQUEEZED OUT FROM THE FRAGILE STUFF CONVEYED!

YOU!!"

He points to the nearest thug among them. "SINCE YOU ARE OF COURSE TOO BUSY CONTEMPLATING JUST HOW MANY OF YOUR MOLECULES HAVE BEEN USED IN BODIES THAT WERE BORN, LIVED FULL, LONG LIVES, HAD HOPES AND DREAMS NOT UNLIKE YOUR OWN, AND THEN DIED HORRIBLY AND INEVITABLY TO BE DECOMPOSED AND REUSED IN THE CIRCLE OF LIFE TO THEN UTILIZED IN BUILDING YOUR OWN INADEQUATE FORM, I SHALL GIVE YOU THE HERCULEAN TASK OF BOILING WATER!

USE THAT MASSIVE KETTLE AND TELL ME WHEN IT GETS TO A RAPID BOIL!

YOU!!" Another tentacle points to the next one in line.

"YOU HAVE THE LOOK OF ONE WHO REALIZES THAT THEIR VERY BEST EFFORT HAS ONLY LEAD TO MASSIVE FAILURE, AND THAT THE ENTIRE SUM OF YOUR EXISTENCE HAS LESS MEANING THAN THE DROP OF INK A RULER OF STATE MIGHT USE TO SIGN AN IMPORTANT PAPER.

YOU WILL POUR THE MACARONI INTO THE WATER WHEN IT REACHES A RAPID BOIL. BUT NOT BEFORE! WOE BETIDE YOU IF YOU POUR IT IN BEFORE IT BEGINS TO BOIL!

YOU!!

YOU ARE QUITE PREOCCUPIED THINKING ABOUT LOVED ONES AND HOW THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN YOU EVEN EXIST IN PREFERENCE TO THE TINIEST MINUTIA IN THEIR OWN DAILY LIVES! YOU ARE WONDERING IF ANYTHING YOU HAVE EVER DONE REALLY MATTERS TO ANY OF THEM, OR IF YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN TRUE LOVE, OR IF THE EMOTION YOU HAVE KNOWN WAS BUT A DELUSION YOU FOOLED YOURSELF INTO BELIEVING!

YOU WILL POUR A FULL SACK OF CHEESE-FLAVORED POWDER INTO THE THE MACARONI AFTER IT HAS BEEN DRAINED! LET NO POWER OR MOTIVATION CAUSE YOU TO POUR IT IN BEFORE IT HAS BEEN DRAINED! THEN WE SHALL HAVE TO START OVER AND WE HAVE NO TIME FOR SUCH!"

And so it goes. He helps each person with their own burdens and gives them a detailed task, so that at least the bare minimum of sustenance can be prepared.

OMG, I accidentally hit 'Back' and I thought this WHOLE post was lost! I almost had all of my efforts suddenly count for nothing, and everything got a whole bunch too real! ^_^


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I truly love the Horror, he makes the game for me.


A killer GM with a killer smile.

Over the course of the evening, each of the inmates makes it back to Cellblock AA23, save one. So far, there is no sign of Piper. For whatever reason, she remains absent long after everyone else has eaten their dinner, and started to get ready to settle in for the night. The Horror of Dunwich having been occupied elsewhere until well after supper time, the unit was supplied with food from the general population's kitchen; a rather bland, but surprisingly digestible, macaroni casserole, as well as various fixings.

Horror returns last, looking his grumpiest since he and Killer Frost signed off their paperwork and disappeared into her chamber. He had reemerged a time later with several injured tentacles. He’d been instructed to return to his room, where firstaid had presumably been applied. He'd sported bandages on those tentacles for a couple days while waiting for the parts to heal/grow back. The next morning, Frost had been locked out of her room while two characters in dangerous materials suits had rifled through her room. She had had a fit, screaming and pounding on the door to her cell. This prompted a lockdown, which led to two guards in mech suits dropping into the unit through the roof to restrain her while the rest of the inmates were kept back from her by transparent walls that had likewise dropped from above. Frost had taken quite a beating to reach insensibility, all the while yelling about how, “those are mine!” “I need those!” and “Those are personal appliances, for my personal use, you can't take them!” After she was pounded into unconsciousness, the hazmat crews could be seen removing three frozen chunks of tentacle, placing each within a container of liquid nitrogen, before carting them out. Killer Frost spent two days on lockdown after that, and returned eye contact to anyone that looked at her thereafter with a look that would make you believe she was still fully capable of freezing you solid where you stood.

After their work details, each returning inmate was able to grab a plastic tray and do their best to enjoy prison food at its finest, each tray kept warm with an insulated top.

Late into the evening, after the interior lights get dimmed, indicating time for the inmates to return to their rooms for evening lockdown, but before most have had the chance to do so, Piper’s cell door clicks shut and a loud snap indicated the locks engaging; empty though the cell may be. The window into the chamber, which like the viewport in each room can switch from clear to solidly opaque for privacy, is presently set to transparent. A moment later, the lights in her cell come back on at full brightness, and one of the modular walls that allow security direct access to each room from outside the regular bounds of the block, slides open, and two prison personnel in Hazmat suits step in. Each are carrying a nondescript plastic fibre bag, and as they begin to move about the room, they start to pile all of Piper’s personal effects into the bags. They don't react to any questions, threats, or calls, and continue removing items as though they can't hear anyone. In short order, they have anything non-prison issue in their bags, and the and moving back to the invisible sliding door, they disappear from sight as it opens and then shuts behind them. A moment later, the entire room fills with spraying water. Though the source can't be seen, the effect on the chamber’s viewport is not unlike seeing the spray of a car wash from inside a car window. The wash down cycle lasts perhaps 5 minutes, and the water is apparently quite hot, as every surface steams up as an astringent chemical smell fills the air. The water cuts out suddenly, revealing a sodden, dripping room. Blowers kick in a moment later, and blast the room for a few solid minutes, after which a dry but barren room is left behind. The bed and toilet fold back out of the wall, each with a fresh set of covers.

The click of the speakers that precedes the voice can be heard, ”Prisoner 1138-611 will not be returning to this cellblock this evening. There was an unexpected outcome to her work detail outing. No further updates will be provided regarding this prisoner. Cell 19 will remain vacant for the time being, and as such will remain locked down in order to remain sterile until a new occupant is assigned. Please complete moving to your cells now; lights out will commence in 74 seconds.”


Kid Alchemy wrote:
I truly love the Horror, he makes the game for me.

Agreed.

At dinner:

Lance seems much more relaxed now that he's had his "fix".

"Seem weird to anyone else that they're using us for stuff like that? Seems almost like they're trying to see what we're capable of."
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance heads to his bunk without a fuss. Plenty of time to ask questions tomorrow.


"Yeah, I'm sure it ain't just for cheap labor. They got something in mind for us, they have ta."


Hero Points: 4 Def: 17 FF Def:10 KB:15 |Saves T: +3/+9 F: +10 R: +14 W: +5 |Init:+3 |Notice: 9

"Well, they don't know what they are doing. They asked me to use my 'powers' to magic some cards or something. I let them know how poorly qualified they were to evaluate talent. "


Overhearing the conversation, as he eats by himself, he breaks with his normal tendencies and walks over "Umm, they had me doing stuff too. I didn't understand it at all. Everything I did could have just been done in an incinerator. "

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

"INDEED!"

The Dunwich Horror has been saying 'indeed' a lot. Sometimes, after his "encounter" with Frost, it seems like the only thing he will say. But for now he seems to have enough facilities to add something.

"THEY HAD ME DOING NOTHING THAT A HIGH-SCHOOL DROPOUT MANAGING A MCHARDEESKINGBELL COULD DO! PERHAPS THEY THOUGHT THAT THE ENNUI AND SELF ODIUM OF HAVING THE CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT OF YOUR LIFE BE TO ORDER ABOUT HARDENED CRIMINALS IN MAKING SUSTENANCE WOULD PROVE TOO CRUSHING TO SO SOFT A PSYCHE!

STILL, ONE WONDERS IF SUCH TASKS ARE TO BE MY LOT FOR THE NEXT MILLENIA?"


Masiatto once again distances himself from most of the inmates and eats at a table where no one dares speak to him. He watches as John Desmond attempts to integrate himself.
"He's a good kid" he mumbles to himself from behind his paper.
A tinge of sadness flashes by him as he remembers his days of being green, when he was a good kid making bad decisions. Fresh from marriage and with a daughter in the way... The idol interrupts.
YOU DWELL TOO FAR IN THE PAST. YOU SEE FACETS OF YOURSELF WITHIN THAT COWARD. DO NOT COMPARE YOURSELF. ACKNOWLEDGE WHAT YOU ARE NOW, AND FULLY REALIZE YOUR POTENTIAL. LEAVE THE PAST BEHIND.
John sets his newspaper down, and looks around the room feigning bewilderment. "The pigs must be flying. Did you just try to console me?" The idol remains silent, yet it's otherworldly pulse still beats faintly within him.

"Odd."


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A killer GM with a killer smile.

Dunwhich Horror (Potentially scarring adult subject matter):

So, the story I'm picturing here (not too vividly, as it'll either make me sick or start laughing to myself inappropriately), is that The Horror discovered that while the inhibitor field in the prison keeps everyone's powers from acting externally, the same is not necessarily true for their internal physiology. Killer Frost maintains a body temperature well below freezing, and if the inhibitor field affected her strongly enough to halt that, it would possibly cause her body to rapidly overheat, and thus likely kill her.

While the encounter started typically enough (for an encounter between a mass murdering sub-zero psychopath and a nihilistic many tentacled monstrosity from beyond the barriers of human comprehension), it went significantly sideways. When Frost reached an appropriate level of excitation, anything presently within the boundaries of her person was subjected to a wave of cold only fractionally warmer than absolute zero. Thus three of Horror's appendages were flash frozen, and almost instantly broke off, which sort of spoiled the mood.

If you want to know why three, it's because I have an uncompromising eye for detail which in this case I think borders on psychologically masochistic. Not getting that image out of my head easily...

Anyway, feel free to do with those details what you wish. I figured Horror being who he is, it might make curiously comedic fodder...

I noticed that technically he does not have the Regeneration (Regrowth) power that would usually be required to regrow limbs, but I figured that as a mollusk-type creature, saying that these would grow back is only a mild embellishment that make any injuries non-permanent.


Rigor Rictus wrote:
** spoiler omitted **

I just laughed SO friggin hard. Wow, great job


A killer GM with a killer smile.

So... Demoniac... You still game? She is if you are. Do you have Regeneration/Regrowth?


Deacon's definitely still game! He hasn't met anything that can actually kill him yet.

However, while Deacon doesn't have Regrowth, he does have the Vampiric extra attached to his claws. So technically, he could just give as good as he gets and come out fine. If he doesn't/can't, either leave him be for a day to recuperate or put a bullet in his head and let him start over fresh. The perks of being functionally immortal.

Deacon settles down with the others at dinner, a slight scowl written into his features. At least he was able to get a long, hot shower in after the day's work; his hair is still slightly damp as he picks at his food. When the others get around to griping about their jobs, he stays uncharacteristically quiet. At least until Dunwich starts howling about his cooking.

"'Least you didn't have to go wading through radioactive sewage. If this is what we're doing for the next millenia, I'm putting in for a transfer to your department, Dunwich. Because this is some bullsh*t."

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

The Dunwich Horror's many eyes fix on a single point that is Demoniac. Many moments pass when it seems there should be words, but the Horror goes on not speaking. At last, something happens.

It's not the most terrifying thing that Demoniac has ever seen, but it's in the top ten.

The Horror begins speaking normally.

Demoniac:

He holds up a single tentacle that is clearly chopped off at a stub. He wriggles it around and says, "This used to be longer."

His duty to forewarn discharged, the Horror goes off to clean the various dinner pans. Alone.


Deacon stares back at Dunwich for a long moment, his eyes set in a thousand yard stare. It takes a moment for the connotations there to set in, but he does manage to puzzle it out. Between that and the way that the cosmic horror said it though, he probably looks shocked and startled. Or, at the very least, stunned to silence.

But his silence never lasts and he shakes his head to clear it, looking at the others. "What'd they have you all doing, anyway? Roulette and Dunwich are the only ones that actually said."


"They had me hack into a 'secure system'. Trying to evaluate my abilities, apparently. I tormented their lackey for a while and then gave them the file they wanted. Think they're still trying to puzzle out what I did."


Kalden lets out a cocky chuckle. "Psh, they wanted me to level a cell block. Told 'em I'd get right to it. Took my time and squeezed a real work out in. They came back for me a few hours later complainin' that I ain't do anything... They got a surprise while we were walkin' back. BOOM! DAMN did I f*** that block up hahaha."


"Well, that just isn't the least bit fair. They drag us all off and you two have a grand old time. While the rest of us..." He pauses and frowns thoughtfully, glancing around the mostly empty cafeteria. "Well, two of us hated it, one of us couldn't do it, and the last one disappeared. So, who's got bets on what their plans are? Super circus? Super IT guys? Super architects?"


A killer GM with a killer smile.

The intercom clicks before a voice kicks in, "Enough chit-chat inmates. Lights out."

The lights flash a few times before settling down to a dull glow, signalling all inmates to return to their rooms. The procedure is like any other night, though you do catch notice that the signal has come 7 minutes early tonight.

The staff lock down and clean Piper's cell, as previously described, as well as the vague intercom announcement reporting that she would not be returning.

The rest of the night goes by silently, as it usually does, with the bright daytime lights kicking on at 6 am as usual. The bolts on the doors snap sharply as the guard controlled evening lockdown is released, allowing prisoners to move about the block should they choose to do so, and the occupant controlled privacy lock remaining engaged for those that don't.

About 20 minutes after the hour, the external access door to Piper's cell opens, and a prisoner is enters.

The intercom pipes in, "Cellblock AA-23; prisoner 1138-744 has been transferred to this cell. Prisoner 1138-744, this will be your assigned cell. No other inmates are allowed in another inmate's cell without approval; attempting to enter another's cell without pre-approval will result in sanction. Daily duty lists for this cellblock are available on your cell monitor, the common area display screen, or the kitchen monitor. AA-23 is a mixed gender unit; however, keep in mind any interpersonal contact requires signed consent from both parties, and supervisory approval. If you have any other questions, you can input them on your cell monitor, or ask your fellow inmates. AA-23... fresh meat."


Male Meta-Human

'Damn m***er f***ers, don't they know who I am?!' Jack Carter -also known as ShockJock during his time as a DJ- thought to himself as the was led into his new 'home'. 'F***ing pigs, cartin' me off like some kinda p***y. And they f***ed up my powers!' Mentally raging, he waited until he heard the clicking of his door lock before giving a cruel smirk. Cracking his knuckles, get gave trying to activate his powers a try before crying out in pain. It was like the world's worst migraine mated with the world's worst hangover, and their child had a child with the world's worst drug crash before that last child decided to take up river dancing inside his skull. Nothing hurt like that, not even getting shot, and he couldn't stop himself from collapsing onto the floor. "What the f***ing...f**k...F**K!" he yelled out as he rolled around.

As the pain slowly died off, he crawled over to the bed and pulled himself up. Jack gently shook his head before opening his eyes to the blessed darkness of his cell. "Right, don't f***ing do that again," he quietly told himself before staring at the ceiling. "I'll find some way to fix my powers before frying all you bastards!" he declared. With a goal in mind, and a faint hunger for his favored treat gnawing at his mind, he settled in for the long haul.

Wasn't sure how you had the power inhibitors working, so I went with severe pain. ShockJock will be very confrontational, though he isn't an idiot and won't actually pick a fight if he knows he won't win. Looking forward to seeing how he works in the mostly laid-back group!


"Well, that's hardly a good way to greet your new neighbors," Deacon mutters in idle amusement as he raps on the frame of ShockJock's door. With his fingers curled into a fist, it is practically impossible to tell that his fingernails are gnarled and jagged like monstrous claws. With how quickly he talks, it is difficult to see the rows upon rows of needle-like teeth.

"Hi there, neighbor. Everything going all right in here? Need anything? Another towel, some toothpaste, maybe a little aspirin?"


Male Meta-Human

Startled by the knocking, Jack jerked up on his cot and looked around wildly before looking towards the door. "What tha f**k you want, you tha damn cleanin' staff or sumthin'?" he asked irritably as he rubbed his temples.


"We were just wondering abut the first inmate stupid enough to try and use his powers with the collar on!" Lance calls, and waves.


Male Meta-Human

"What, you think some punk ass place like this will hold me?" Jack asked with a derisive snort. "If it wasn't for them b***h ass sci-pigs I'd'a done fried my way outta this joint. It all just a matter of time. You may like being someone's little toy but I got plans."


"Plans for what? If you're in here, you already f&!*ed up. They know you now, you're on the radar. You bust out and all the 'heroes' are on you before you make it out of the county. And if you do manage to get away, they still have countermeasure for your powers now. Anything you try better be damn creative, because you've only got one shot before it's right back here. Except next time it won't be such comfortable accomodations. They might put you in a glass box and leave you to rot alone."

"May as well relax, serve your time, and get out early for good behavior. Then you can slowly drift under the radar again and carry out whatever plans you have when nobody expects it."


"Ya better chill out over there, hot shot, before one these guards come over & scramble your dome real good. You're fresh meat, bottom of the barrel. You think you got plans, but trust, ya ain't got shit. Play it real cool and maybe they'll take a liking to yous. Or keep actin like a prick & get fried again."


A killer GM with a killer smile.

The morning's greetings to the block's newest resident are interrupted by a exultant cry;

"YESSS-S-S-sss!

The bellowing word is followed by half a dozen "s's," sounding eerily like a salivating madman trying to suck in his frothing mane. Even El Tigre stops what he's doing, a spoon of cereal half way to his mouth but seemingly forgotten.

The voice is not one anyone recognizes, and it comes from a part of the ward everyone had long become accustomed to being dead quiet. The last cell down the hall, where the ancient, and yet curiously young skinned Asian man self-styled The Grandmaster has been sitting lotus style in deep meditation for more than three weeks. In that time, not a person has seen him blink, eat, drink, or even get up to use the toilet. Given that most men would be dead inside three days without water, even the prison guards have at times seemed concerned. Med-techs have gone in a few times in order to assess his vital signs, but had always seemed to leave still looking confused. In the end, as he was clearly still alive, and did not seem to be in immediate danger, the powers that be seemed to settle into a routine of checking his vital signs occasionally, but otherwise just letting him be.

"FINALLY!"

A flicker of motion is seen for a second as a figure approaches the closed door, but then the whole unit (some sort of nigh-indestructible laminated polymer, supposedly able to stop light to mid anti-tank weapons; a genuine necessity in here) bucks outwards, becoming detached from the servos that secure it, and flying down the hall like a bowl shaped piece of mosaic art. It stays together, all in one piece, much like a piece of bullet proof glass, except for a few flying shards that spin off, clinking down the hall like fractured crystal.

In the doorway stands the dimunitive man. Standing next to the massive and well muscled form of El Tigre, whose head scrapes the room's 8ft ceilings, the image of this tiny man, who might well stand shy of 5 ft tall, is rather jarring. However, besides the confidence in the set of his features, his eyes blaze with white energy, and strands of his bone white hair, which looked so neatly arranged while he sat in silence, now float strangely around him as though amongst a massive static field.

The door to the next room next to the Grandmaster's opens, and the blonde woman, the one that had been hooking up with Tiger when you first arrived, stands in her doorway. Her face registers a look of irritation, which is quickly replaced by surprise seeing the old man before her. You'd learned her name was Vector, or Rebecca, of you wanted to get technical. Her powers relate to imparting momentum to otherwise stationary objects, and thereby sending them hurtling away at ridiculous speeds, effectively with out the need to accelerate. She had a reputation on the outside for being brutal, but fair. She always gave the cops a warning first, but those who didn't make way for her could end up with a piece of gravel passing through them at 5000 ft per second, being crushed by a parked car suddenly moving 200 mph, or simply being launched bodily into the air, into objects, or even straight threw wall are barriers.

The Grandmaster's gaze turns to her, and he quirks his head at her. To her credit, she does not blanch, but rather lashes out towards him with a swift finger strike towards the small man's throat. Unfortunately for her, he catches he strike on it's way to him, looking as though he was merely accepting a handshake. However, he snaps her wrist down to his waist, drawing a scream from her, and a half dozen different sharp *snaps,* *Cracks*, and sickening shredding sounds from her arm. As her body catches up to the tremendous forces involved in the action, she leaves her feet, smashing into the opposite wall of the hallway, with enough force to break many more bones.

"Out of my way, insect!

The first to react is Mantis, flying out of a doorway just slightly further from Vector's.

Even as she does, the internal com clicks on yelling, "AH... Shit, holy... Ah, Code White in AA-23. Repeat Code White in AA-23. Lockdown, lockdown, lockdown!"

Mantis takes a swing at the Grandmaster, but her blades being manacled to her wrists, the blow is bound to be ineffective at best. As predicted, he sidesteps the clumsy blow, instead slipping behind her and wrapping an arm around her mandibles head, pulling and crushing all at once. Since her bones are on the outside, they break first, and once shattered, a single twist brings her whole head free of her neck, with a shower of greenish yellowy bloody goop.

The Grandmaster tosses the head aside with derision. "More insects. Literal insects. I'll crush you all beneath my heel."

Initiative? Actions?


John will try to find somewhere to hide since he's just a normal human without his equipment.


Lance is basically in the same boat, but just sits calmly where he is.

"Why are you people trying to STOP him? Follow the man or get out of his way, this is THEIR problem." he says and points at one of the cameras.

I am confused by this out of character as well. Did I miss something in the original briefing where the inmates were supposed to stop breakouts? I suppose we could try to follow him out (which would be fun to me), but it would ruin the whole Suicide Squad game idea.


Male Meta-Human

Sticking his head out of his cell at the noise, Jack took one look at the midget tearing people apart and said, "Nope, f**k that. Long as he don't f**k with me, I ain't f***ing with him." Taking the better part of cowardice, he went pack into his cell and tried to figure out how to close the door.

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

"INDEED! I HAVE BEEN PAID NO COIN, EITHER PHYSICAL OR EPHEMERAL, TO MOVE UNTO ACTION. LET THOSE THAT PLACED ME HERE BE MOVED TO PLACE HIM BACK. I SAY GOOD LUCK UNTO THEE, AND LET THY UNAVOIDABLE DEATH AS THE FULL POWERS OF OUR CIVILIZATION COME DOWN UPON YOUR BRIEF MOMENT OF FLIGHT BE NOTEWORTHY!
ALAS, LIKE POOR ICARUS, I DO NOT SEE SUCCESS TO BE THY BOON, BUT NOW YOU MAY AT LEAST DIE WITH HONOR!
WE SHOULD HINDER EACH OTHER NOT!"

The Horror goes back to scrubbing the plates. These things are just NOT getting clean and after the guards kill the Grandmaster they might be hungry.


The Bastard watches from the entranceway of his cell with a wide smile of excitement. "Yo Deac, did you see him take 'em out like that! Those guards are screwed! More power to ya, guy. I'd give you an explosive send-off but not all of us can 'transcend' this collar and all."


"I did, as a matter of fact, Kalden. I could use a man of his talents. Or a big bowl of popcorn," Deacon replies as he glances across to Dunwich. "How about it, big guy? What do we have in the way of popcorn?" For his part, Deacon makes no effort to stop the Grandmaster unless he comes toward the rest of them. He does crack a wicked grin that bares his maw oF fangs at the sight of Mantis's head being torn clean off, though.

Should the tiny man start toward any of them, Deacon is not the least bit shy about stepping up to put himself in the way. "You don't want to pick this fight," is the first thing he says, and if the way he shows off those inch long claws is any indication.

Dark Archive

Injury: 0 | HP:3 Perception +5 | Initiative +12 | Fortitude +8 | Will +4 | Dodge +8 | Parry +8| Toughness +8| Atk +8, DC23, multi.

"FOOL! Popcorn is a proscribed nutrient since it's creation requires the application of heat, and we have not been allocated a hot-air popper.

However we have these," the tentacled amalgamation says at it cleans three plates, mops the floor, re-stocks the canned-goods pantry, and puts away clean silverware. Another tentacle places a massive iron salad bowl filled to the brim with pretzels in Domoniac's lap.

"You may enjoy these, since their twisted, mangled forms are meant to bring pleasure in their consumption, just as our own twisted, mangled fate brings a veneer of bliss to those that would watch idly by as we slowly live to death! We also have honey mustard for dipping, if you require such!"

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