Fortunately you have certain talents all your own. Granted you can't shoot fucking lasers from your eyes; but maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to get you out of this blighted mess.

>Tell that hulking piece of shit to get off his ass and kick this faggot's teeth in. (Minion Power Set)
>Hurl the crumpled remnants of the vault door at the flying twink in tights. (Force Power Set)
>Activate the drones you hid throughout the bank, slip out in the ensuing confusion. (Tech Power Set)

>>39142474

The drones. Have them target indiscriminately (except for me) so that the police concentrate on taking them out in an attempt to save civilian lives.

>>39142474
>Hurl the crumpled remnants of the vault door at the flying twink in tights. (Force Power Set)

>>39142474
>>Hurl the crumpled remnants of the vault door at the flying twink in tights. (Force Power Set)
Throw it at something more squishy and innocent, instead!

>>39142474
>Activate the drones you hid throughout the bank, slip out in the ensuing confusion. (Tech Power Set)

>>39142678
>>39142603
Did you just post twice?

>>39142470
>Hurl the crumpled remnants of the vault door at the flying twink in tights. (Force Power Set)

>>39142474
>Activate the drones you hid throughout the bank, slip out in the ensuing confusion. (Tech Power Set)

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>39142640
>>39142661
>>39142722
>Use the Force, Luke.
1

>>39142603
>>39142678
>>39142744
>Emulate the US military.
2

I'll roll for it. It's not exactly a huge deal, since you'll have a secondary power set.

>>39142696
>two posts say the same thing, must be samefag

Get fucked.

>>39142838
No, the poster count didn't change, actually.

>>39142867
Nah, it is a new quest. Everyone here is OP in different devices.

A vein bulges on the side of your head, pulsing rapidly as you focus your intention on the vault door you're crouched behind. It begins to shake, only slightly at first. Then all at once it leaps from the faux-marble bank floor, sailing through the air towards the caped crusader pestering you. There's a metallic clang as the vault door makes contact.

The vault door's momentum carries both it and your intended victim through the bank. It smashes through the glass doors at the front of the building, flips over as the bottom half clips the pavement, and flattens two cop cars as it finally comes to a stop. The fairy no doubt received the brunt of the blow, laying trapped beneath several tons of solid steel.

You make a break for the fire exit, no doubt you'll have company waiting for you but you imagine it will be less defended than the front door. As for the weepy asshole you hired as muscle, he can get fucked for all you care. Not like you ever shared any identifying information with one another. He doesn't even know what your face looks like.

Pops of gunfire echo through the street, bullets impacting all around you. Since you've no desire for your budding career as a supervillain to be aborted by a lucky shot from some fat cop you project a shield of force along your left side, bullets scattering in every direction as they ricochet off its surface. It's a draining task, but you'll manage.

You burst through an emergency door just as a helicopter soars by overhead, its tail pitching downward as it slows to a halt. You're surrounded, three cop cars arrayed along the street in front of you and twelve cops leveling shotguns at your chest. A loud speaker calls out from above, a masculine voice calling down to you from the helicopter above.
(1/2)

“We have you surrounded! Surrender peacefully or we will use lethal force!”

You'd politely point out that they've already proven themselves quite willing to use lethal force, but now hardly seems the time.

>Crash the helicopter into the cop cars arranged around you. (Pure Force)
>Set off the explosives you planted around the area. (Secondary Tech)
>Blink forward, just to the alleyway on the other side of the cop cars. (Secondary Jump)
>Vanish from sight and slip away in the confusion. (Secondary Invisibility)

>>39143326
>Blink forward, just to the alleyway on the other side of the cop cars. (Secondary Jump)

>>39143326
>Blink forward, just to the alleyway on the other side of the cop cars. (Secondary Jump)

Blink OP

>>39143326
>Set off the explosives you planted around the area. (Secondary Tech)

>>39143367
>>39143382
>Blink

>>>39143396
>Boom

Writin'

I go to eat some chicken and miss a vote!? FUCK!

Well, I saved some for you guys.

if you want to trace my IP and come pick it up, anyway.

>>39143563
uh, maybe if I was a mod and could see it.

what toppings?

>>39143326
>Vanish from sight and slip away in the confusion. (Secondary Invisibility)

>>39143637
It's chicken, anon. Like all of my screen names, it's chicken.

There was some toast too, but I ate it.

Ever heard of "Raising Canes"? Fucking delicious.

>>39143697
I don't know why, but the first time I read your post I thought you wrote pizza.

You really, really hate doing this but you don't exactly see any alternative. You close your eyes and will yourself forward, the sound of rushing air deafening you. For an instant it feels as though your body is tearing itself apart, your every cell screaming out in pain. The next you come to a lurching halt, your stomach roiling violently. You're in an alleyway on the other side of the police barricade, flash drive still clutched in your hand.

You stumble forward, shoving the flashdrive into a pocket and dropping the gun. You're wearing gloves, so you shouldn't have to worry about finger prints. You hear someone calling for the officers hunting you to fan out, and search the surrounding buildings. You're too busy trying not to spill the contents of your stomach in a dirty alley to particularly care at the moment.

You turn a corner, a busy sidewalk coming into view. You tug off your balaclava and tuck it into the crotch of your jeans, taking a moment to straighten out your clothes and generally make yourself presentable. Slipping silently out of the alley you join the crowd, a squad of gun-toting police officers following you only a few seconds behind.

You walk for several blocks, keeping your head down, before hailing a cab. You don't think you're being followed, but that helicopter is still circling the area and your heart is beating a mile a minute. Not to mention you've got a migraine which could kill God.

>Head directly to the dead drop, no sense delaying.
>Return to your apartment and lay low for a few days.
>Write-in

>>39143720
Nah, tomorrow is pizza day, no joke, every sunday is pizza day.

Happy second birthday(?) Jesus! Have some food from the descendants of the people who murdered you.

>>39143748
>>Head directly to the dead drop, no sense delaying.
We can rest when we're dead.

>>39143748
>Head directly to the dead drop, no sense delaying.

>>39143748
>Return to your apartment and lay low for a few days.

>>39143785
>>39143876
>Straight to the drop point

>>39143894
>Back to the apartment.

Writin'

>>39143905
Still there Orph?

>>39144266
Yup, just doing a lore dump. Apologies.

You give the cabby an address a few blocks away from the actual drop point and try to relax as the taxi accelerates away from this particularly corner of Blackbay, Virginia. You moved here about three years ago after getting a job offer at Richardson & Associates, a financial consultation firm with its headquarters located downtown. After the market crash of 2039, Richardson & Associates shut its doors and you found yourself out of a job. Sure, your savings kept you going for a while, but to be frank you had neglected your rainy day fund and the crash had robbed you of most of your remaining assets.

Fortunately, you were provided with an alternative. One morning last year you woke up to find every bit of furniture in your apartment floating through the air, and not only that but you found that you could move them as you pleased. You along with hundreds of thousands of others around the globe had experienced what has come to be called the First Awakening. Ironically, the First Awakening was the ultimate cause of the market crash and responsible for you losing your job as a consultant.

The world descended into chaos, the middle east especially. Iran, after acting as the primary peace keeping force in Iraq for decades, simply declared the Iraqi government dissolved and its land the rightful clay of the reformed Persian Empire. It went on to declare Jihad against Saudi Arabia, vowing to bring Mecca into Shiite hands.

The United States initially joined the war on the side of Saudi Arabia, but quickly withdrew its forces when faced by rebellions at home. Suddenly just about every anarchist cell, militia, and gang in the country had some schmuck who could hurl boulders with a thought or couldn't be killed by any obvious means. Crime was more rampant than ever, the average citizens only struggling to stay alive maintain some semblance of normalcy.

(1/3)

As the months went by, the police adapted. It was quickly discovered that an awakening gave off a measurable surge of energy which could be traced with some degree of certainty. Those who Awakened after that first, initial outbreak of chaos were tracked down and either strong armed into the police force and military or forced to register with the government, tracked twenty four hours seven days a week to ensure they remained law abiding citizens of these United States of America. A perpetual state of emergency was declared, the President becoming a glorified tyrant.

As one of the first superhumans to awaken, you've managed to avoid registration. Initially you'd played the role of a hero, protecting your neighborhood from those who'd indiscriminately slaughter your neighbors. However, being a superhero doesn't exactly pay well and considering you were an unregistered superhuman you constantly had to avoid the police, lest you find yourself facing life in prison simply for desiring some modicum of privacy. You turned first to petty crime, robbing gas stations and knocking over store fronts. This was your big break, your first bank heist.

The cab rolls to a stop in front of a pizzeria you've eaten at a few times. You pay the man and step out, waiting for the taxi to drive off before jogging across the street and walking calmly along the sidewalk. It's only a few minutes walk to the corner of Fifth and Rogers. You dig the flash drive out of the pocket of your jeans and deposit it in the mail chute.

(2/3)

Digging a burner phone out of your back pocket you press the call button. It rings twice, before someone on the other end answers and hangs up without saying so much as a word. Your phone, your actual phone, chimes a moment later to indicate that a deposit has been made in your offshore account. You pull out your real phone, navigating to your bank account and checking your balance. Two million dollars, the rest to be deposited after they retrieve the flash drive and confirm its contents.

>You're a multimillionaire baby! Time to burn money like it's going out of style.
>Finally, head back to your apartment and take a nice long nap. You're absolutely exhausted.
>Get a hotel room out of town for a few days, text your girlfriend and tell her your uncle is sick or something.
>Write-in

>What is your name? (You're a twenty-nine year old male)

>>39144788
>>Finally, head back to your apartment and take a nice long nap. You're absolutely exhausted.

>What is your name? (You're a twenty-nine year old male)

I'll support the first name to come up (I'm shit with names.

>>39144788
>Finally, head back to your apartment and take a nice long nap. You're absolutely exhausted.

John Dough

>>39144788
>Finally, head back to your apartment and take a nice long nap. You're absolutely exhausted.

>What is your name? (You're a twenty-nine year old male)
Cesare Monti, son of first generation Italian immigrants.

>>39144871
I'll second this.

>>39144846
Why not Yon "East" Dough?

Get it, Y-East and Dough?

Fuck me, I'm lonely.

>>39144871
This, I guess. Maybe we'll have mob connections.

>>39144871
>22:48:48
>>39144890
>22:49:49
Make it less obvious, man.

>>39144788
>>39144846
Oh I just can't resist this.

>>39144788
>>Finally, head back to your apartment and take a nice long nap. You're absolutely exhausted.

>>What is your name? (You're a twenty-nine year old male)
Marcus Maybourne

>>39144871
To be fair i like this one too

Heading back to the apartment seems more or less agreed on.

I'll go with Cesare Monti, if only because I like it fits the tone better than John Dough.

Writin'

>>39145024
Here I was hoping my Yeast play on the name would work, damn.

I swear I'm not an idiot.

File: Rosamund Blanc.png (4.25 MB, 1800x2549)

4.25 MB PNG

You walk a few blocks away from the dead drop point and wave down another cab and climb inside, giving the cabby the address of your apartment on the outskirts of downtown. It's not a particularly long drive, and you're not nearly as nervous as you were before dropping off the flash drive. You can't start spending your money yet, that would draw attention, but just having it is surreal in a way.

Ten minutes later you're sliding your fob into the electronic lock on your apartment door, a tiny LED turning green. Twisting the handle you step inside, calling out to your roommate and girlfriend. “Rosa, I'm back from work!” Rosamund Blanc, though she prefers to be called Rosa. You've been together roughly six months. You've only recently moved in with one another, in fact she still hasn't finished unpacking. Granted, you still have boxes from your move three years ago so you're not really one to talk.

She appears from around a corner wearing a baggy hoodie, one of yours, and a pair of gym shorts. She's on the shorter end, even for a woman, and not particularly large in the bust, but she has a cute face and a toned body. Not to mention she's sharp as a whip. The only real issue is that she's seven years your junior, having only just graduated college. You can't help but feel at times she's immature.

The two of you met at the birthday party of a mutual friend and hit it off. She doesn't know you're a superhuman, so of course she's unaware that you just committed a bank robbery that left one of your accomplices dead and another no doubt arrested. She thinks you still work in finance.

You hear a movie playing in the other room and the lights are dimmed. She leans against the doorframe, folding her arms just below her breast. “Hey Monti, how was work?”

(1/2)

“Dull, to be honest. Bob was a right cunt as usual. I've got a headache that would kill a horse so I think I'll take a nap.” No doubt she's wasted the day watching Netflix. It seems to be all she ever does. Well that, go to the gym, and hang out with you. It's hard to find employment these days after all.

Rosa frowns, her concern evident in her tone and expression. "You've been getting these headaches more and more lately. You should think about visiting a doctor or something."

You sigh. "We've gone over this, Rosa. It's just a migraine. I'll take a nap, wake up right as rain as I always do." You can't exactly go to a doctor, they'd run test and find out you're superhuman. Then you'd be forced to register. You can't let that happen.

The two of you share a brief kiss before she wanders back into the den. You duck into your shared bedroom to change clothes. Unbuttoning your shirt you quickly slide it off and undo the Velcro securing your bullet proof vest. After all, even if you're a superhuman getting shot hurts. That done you hide it in the false bottom of your dresser and pull on a t-shirt.

Shedding your jeans you fall back onto your bed, your head hitting the pillows. God you're tired, your head hasn't stopped hurting since you jumped from the emergency exit to that alleyway. You close your eyes, swearing you'll only nap for a moment, and the next thing you know your alarm clock is blaring next to you.

You reach out a hand to hit the snooze button, the alarm receding into blessed silence. You feel Rosa curled up in your side, head rested on your chest. You've somehow found yourself beneath the covers. Did she tuck you in? You don't recall.

(2/3)

You grab your phone of the dresser and check your messages. You've got an email from your father, the only man in the world still using email. Apparently one of his friends from the old country might be able to get Rosa a job as a secretary, if she wanted it. You also have a text from your friend Eli. He's one of the few people who knows that you're a superhuman. Apparently he saw a report on the news about the heist and wants to know if you got paid. Then there's a missed call from a private number. They left a voicemail.

>Text back Eli, ask him if he finished that project he was working on for you.
>Call your dad and hand the phone to Rosa.
>Check your voicemail.
>Fuck that, make breakfast.
>Write-in

>>39146155
>>Check your voicemail.

>>39146155
>Check your voicemail.

>>39146155
>Check your voicemail.

We can talk to Rosa about getting a job later today.

>>39146155
>>Fuck that, make breakfast.

>>39146155
>Check your voicemail.

>>39146180
>>39146247
>>39146253
>>39146292
>Voicemail

>>39146260
>Too early for this shit.

You tap the call button on your phone to bring up the keypad, holding down one to bring you to voicemail. Tapping in your password, your hold the phone to your ear. At first there's silence, then you hear some shuffling in the background. Something rubs against the speaker, cloth probably, and finally you hear a voice which is obviously filtered through one of those little voice changers, its tone and pitch warbling.

“Package was delivered. Payment has been sent. Meet at 962 River Street. Eighth floor. Room eight-zero-two. Four PM.”

The message ends and you promptly delete it, ending the call. Six million dollars, and it's all yours. You don't even have to split it amongst your accomplices. One of them ditched you, another bought it, and the third was presumably arrested. You suppose you don't actually know, but he didn't really seem in any state to make a daring escape.

Despite the payout, you're not entirely sure you want to do a job of the same magnitude as a bank heist ever again. For a moment there was a very real risk that you might have gotten caught, or worse. Still, it's not until four in the afternoon and it's only eight AM. You've got plenty of time to think it over.

Rosa stirs next to you, nuzzling her head into your shoulder and sleepily mumbling. “Who was that?” At least, you think that's what she said.

You set your phone down on the dresser. “Just my boss. I might need to go into the office later. We'll see.”

She whines as you slip free of her grip, clinging to the hem of your shirt. You sigh, ruffling her hair briefly. “Just sit tight, I'll bring you breakfast.”
(1/2)

The promise of food seems to win her over, as she lets go of you and rolls over onto her back, twisting the covers around herself. You pluck up your phone and make your way out of your bedroom and across the narrow hallway into the kitchen.

Whilst pulling out the ingredients you'll need to make a cheese omelet, you consider the voicemail your recent employer left you. You can't deny you're curious as to what they'll offer, but on the other hand it might be a trap. Even if it isn't the bank job was a little more than you can comfortably handle.

>You'll go to the meeting.
>You'll blow it off.

>Text Eli and ask if he's finished the project, swing by his place later if he has.
>You probably shouldn't draw much attention to yourself, but you want to do at least a little shopping later.
>Write-in

>>39146839
>You'll blow it off.

Can't get in too deep, six mil lasts a long time if you dont blow it.

>Text Eli and ask if he's finished the project, swing by his place later if he has.

>Write-in
Bring Rosa the breakfast we promised!

>>39146839
>>You'll go to the meeting.
>>Text Eli and ask if he's finished the project, swing by his place later if he has.

>>39146839
>>You'll go to the meeting.
>Call your dad about that job.

>>39146839
>You'll go to the meeting.

>Text Eli and ask if he's finished the project, swing by his place later if he has.
Do some quick research of that area. See if we can find some escape routes just incase things go sour.

>>39146905
>>39146894
>>39146887
>You'll attend

>>39146874
>Screw that

Writing for attending the meeting and texting Eli. Well, you won't be immediately attending the meeting but, yeah.

File: Elijah Banfield.jpg (154 KB, 800x992)

154 KB JPG

What's the harm in just going to the meeting? Not like you'll have to take whatever job they offer, and they've been upright with you so far. You don't want to be overly paranoid. You'll go, but you'll do some research on the area beforehand so you have an escape route ready should the need arise.

The great thing about being telekinetic is that you can multitask like nobody's business. While simultaneously cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, setting a pan on the oven, getting salt and pepper from the pantry, and shredding cheese you fire off a text to Eli. You tell him the money's in the bank and just ask him about the project you've had him working on for the past while.

Eli is your oldest friend here in Blackbay. Once, the two of you were coworkers. Then for a few months you were roommates. Now you're partners in crime. Well, not necessarily. Eli works freelance for anyone who'll pay him, and never takes part in any criminal activity himself. He just supplies the tools necessary for said criminal activity. He gets a pass because he works with heroes both independent and government sponsored as well.

He's lucky in that his awakened powers aren't quite so obvious as yours. He's the smartest man you've ever met, with a real gift for technology. You're damn near convinced that he could turn a paperclip and a piece of string into a thermonuclear bomb given the inclination to do so. He doesn't get out much these days, he tends to prefer the relative safety of his apartment to that uncertain realm known as the outdoors, but he still stays in touch.

In record time you've fixed and plated two simple omelets. You added some chopped onions and bell peppers to yours, but only put a little cheese on Rosa's. Her taste don't seem to include most vegetables. You find Rosa still twisted up in the sheets when you return to the bedroom, and it takes more than a little coaxing to get her into a sitting position.
(1/?)

You hand her the cheese omelet and a fork before climbing into bed next to her, setting your own plate on your lap. She bumps you with her elbow to get your attention. “We should go out tonight, if your meeting doesn't go too long. It's been ages since we had a date night.”

You shrug your shoulders. “That could be fun. You have any place in mind?”

She eats in silence for a short while, glaring at the wall while no doubt contemplating her options. “What was that good tapas place we ate at with Arnie and... the fat chick?”

You shake your head. “Nah, he's still dating the fat chick. That was the crazy chick.”

Rosa snaps her fingers. “That's it. Anyway, we should go there again.”

“Well, if I don't have to go into work we'll see about it. No promises though. One of our clients in New York is having an apoplectic fit over something or other. It's looking like I'll probably end up getting called in.”

You choose then to broach the topic of her getting a job. “Actually, speaking of work my father sent me an email. He says one of his friends could get you a job as a secretary, if you wanted one.”

She seems hesitant. “Well... what does your father's friend do? I mean, I sort of planned on doing more than with my degree than working as some old dude's personal assistant.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It's a foot in the door, at least. I started off working in the mail room. Anyway, I don't really know what my father's friend does. I'm just telling you. We can call him later, if you're interested.”

She seems to like the idea, and the two of you pass the rest of breakfast engaged in small talk. Once you've both finished eating you take both of your plates back into the kitchen and rinse them off before wandering into the bathroom to shower and generally make yourself ready to face the day.

To your mild surprise Rosa comes bursting into the bathroom a few minutes later, shedding your t-shirt and her boyshorts to join you. This isn't the first time this has happened. Sure it starts off innocent enough, just a ploy to save water. The next thing you know you've got her pressed against the tile shower wall and you're pushing yourself gently inside of her, your mouth pressed against hers.

The two of you only part after the hot water dries up and the freezing cold manages to subdue your erection. Even then you go for a second and a third round in the bedroom. Which, really, defeats the purpose of taking the shower in the first place. Not that you're complaining.

With Rosa asleep you check your phone, finding that Eli has texted you back. He informs you that the project is finished and tells you to swing by when you can, so crawling carefully out of bed you pull on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. You write a note informing Rosa that you've left for work, then grab your keys and head out the door.

The drive to Eli's apartment takes you about ten minutes and when you arrive you find that the building is even more rundown than you remember it. Most of the windows are boarded up, and the grille that once protected the front door has been torn away. The brick facade is crumbling and it probably needs a new roof. Eli insist that it's best to remain low key.

You park on the side of the road and climb up, ascending the stairs to the third floor. Nobody stops you, or ask who you are. The building seems abandoned except for Eli's apartment. He's replaced his door with a massive slab of steel, though you're not sure what good it does. If the police really wanted to drag Eli off to prison they'd find a way to do so.

(3/4)

You ring the doorbell and an alarm sounds, a bolt sliding away from the door to allow you entry. Putting your shoulder into the door you manage to get it open just enough to slip inside. Eli greets you on the other side, dressed in oil-stained pajamas and wearing an old ratty jacket. His beard is untrimmed and his hair wild, but he looks better than the last time you saw him. It seems like he's actually been sleeping.

He pulls you into a half-hug, clapping you on the back. “I've got it over here.” Is all he says before leading you further into his vast, heavily fortified apartment. You come to a stop in front of a work bench, on which rest your commission.

>A gauntlet which ought to allow you to better control your telekinetic power.
>An armored suit, with a few added stylistic choices of course.
>A sleek helmet which should reduce the negative effects of blinking from one place to another.

I'm going to call it here for the day, my head is killing me and it's late. I'll probably run this again... next Saturday. It's something I started just to do while I'm out of town and don't have my notes for Banished.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Quidam_Asinus

>>39148193
Oh shit, Soma? Fuckin' A, man! Haha

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Criminal%20Negligence%20Quest
Archive here.

>>39148235
Yep. Been reading capeshit lately and wanted to try my hand at the genre. Not sure I'm liking the product so far, but we'll see. Like I said, this was mostly just something I threw together in an hour because I was terribly bored.

>>39148193
>A sleek helmet which should reduce the negative effects of blinking from one place to another.
Could we also have it mask our face as well?

>>39148269
Hey I thought it was pretty cool, wouldn't mind seeing more of this floating around.

>>39148193
>A sleek helmet which should reduce the negative effects of blinking from one place to another.

>>39148193
>>An armored suit, with a few added stylistic choices of course.