PiebaldWookie

"Your personal effects are still in our possession. A leather jacket and a thirty years out-of-date haircut will need to be enough for this one." "As for you, Miss... Frost, you will be not only on mission to provide backup, but you will be psychologically evaluating our latest recruit, Feral. She is your charge, and she is worth more than the rest of these sorry sacks of shit combined. I would appreciate it if she made it back safely."

"Mr Park, the particulars of how we track you and the judgement we exert is none of your concern. You are roughly on the level of an attack dog in this partnership, am I understood? You take orders, you follow them. If you don't..." Waller sticks a hand into her pocket, and pulls out a small switchboard. With a push of a button, the implant in your brain begins to hum. "Suffice it to say, we will know if you step out of line." "Tactical concern will be laid out by Colonel Flagg at the appropriate time." She motions to the man standing behind her. But you see past the bluster and bravado. National security is the least of Waller's concerns. She has a dog in this fight, a hint of something unsaid that has her worried. She's keeping something from you... Something that is causing her concern. About Abernathy specifically; her jaw clenches slightly when she says his name.

And I am sorry too - I've been on jury duty this week, and it has not been fun. Posted up just now, let's keep the ball rolling!

"This is Lester Abernathy. The name might be familiar to you, Mr Ohm." Waller throws a sneer at Johnny with that remark. "The rest of you might have heard of his grandfather, Albrecht Krieger; Captain Nazi." The acetate is swapped out with one showing old newsreel cottage of a powerfully-built man in a military-style uniform, bearing a massive swastika on the chest. "Krieger was part of the Third Reich's supersoldier program; their only success. He was killed at the height of the war during a secret operation, but his descendants lived on, moving to the States. They didn't inherit his powers, but did have the unique biological markers that made it possible to activate said abilities. As of last week, we believe Abernathy has done so, using his grandfathers old notes and possibly a sample of his blood. He is holed up in a farm somewhere outside of San Francisco, recently rechristened "Aryan Acres"." Waller rolls her eyes. "We believe he has a small militia with him, around 20 or so men, and Abernathy is a metahuman with currently unknown strength and abilities, though we suspect he'll be like his grandfather - classic flying brick. You will be delivered into the city to meet with a local reporter, under cover of being a villain group with a grudge. Ensure the reporter survives and gets everything on tape." Waller clicks her fingers once again, signalling the assistant to bring the lights up again. "Abernathy is a threat to this country's stability, and our democracy. I want him deader than disco, and I want you to make a show of it. You will be given your full equipment, arsenal, costumes, the whole nine yards - show these racists that even the worst people in the world hate them, and we might have a win in our hands." She stands and crosses her arms over her chest. "Any questions?"

"We are still working with the justice system to establish your sentence. If we get an update, we'll let you know. Until then, you're off everyone's books but mine." Waller's face twists into a cruel little smile. "And we don't do appeals here, Mr Ohm." "Very observant, Park. Your movements and vitals are tracked through the implant - privacy is not a luxury for you. If we lose the signal, we will detonate the explosive for safety's sake. As for rewards, let's see how well you perform in the field before we start putting in expense claims?" "For your mission objectives, each mission will have it's own parameters laid out; for some, we require stealth, information gathering, or a very specific skill set. For others, we require villains; for instance..." Waller clicks her fingers at the assistant; you see the man standing beside her looking uncomfortable at the rude gesture. The assistant loads an acetate into the projector, fires it up and dims the lights.

From the rear of the auditorium, you hear the *click click click* of kitten heels on lino flooring tiles. As they increase in volume, you also head the squeak of heavy boots, seemingly a dozen men out in the hallway. You hear the door open, and in steps a short, stocky woman with close-cropped hair. At her side walks a well-build man, wearing a t-shirt and an open holster. The other men, all dressed in full riot gear, file in behind them and stand at the rear wall of the room. The two walk to the front of the room; the woman stands at the front of the auditorium, clearing her throat to speak, while the man stand behind her, arms behind his back. "Good afternoon. Some of you know me already - for those of you who don't, my name is Amadan Waller. I am the warden of this facility, and for all intents and purposes, I am the only thing keeping you alive at this moment." From a side room comes a slim, harried-looking assistant. He wheels an overhead projector to the front of the room. "Each of you is here for the same reason - somewhere along the line, you f*cked up. That brought you here, and I aim to let you take a shot at a second chance. You can take on a mission to defend your country from threats that we cannot manage without your particular skills. In exchange, you can earn time off your sentences for good behaviour. But it's not a free ride - each of you have been given a micro explosive device, implanted into your skull. You go off-mission, you try to escape, you say something I don't like - your head goes *pop*. Am I understood?"

Aye,m already sent out invites to the two other ones!

So, we are still waiting to hear from a few folks...

"Up and ready!" Each of you hears a clatter at the door of your cell. Each cell is 6ft by 8ft, with drab olive peeling paint, a slit that could be charitably described as a window, and a half-mouldy lumpy mattress. Those of you who are new to the Squad are muzzled and bound as you are removed from your cell. You are taken to a small operating room, and are prepped for surgery; a cold needle scraping against bone as something is injected into the back of your neck. Those of you who have been on missions previously are treated slightly better - a group of guards come to your door and escort you out. The lead guard clicks a small button on a remote in his hand; you feel a warm pulsing as the implant in your head is activated once more. Each of you are led to a small auditorium, one by one, and told to wait. Armed guards line the sides of the room, fingers resting on their assault rifles.

Nope, should be good!

To be fair, I can let you spend actual LPs to do it if you are low of juice, or to find a suitable power source...

OOC Thread added! For starting, not sure, we probably have enough players, so we could start this weekend?

For adding your character sheets, questions, banter and general use!

Honestly, it's starting to feel a little too complex at this point. I think I might feel better with just having a Bolt as a weapon, a Weakness that you can only redirect energy you have absorbed, and roll for a lot of that sort of stuff.

Yes, that seems like a reasonable tweak to make to your skills. I think I ended up calling that Super Theory in the rules, but you can make it whatever you please!