Homeless Mutant Quest 1-25.Docx
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HOMELESS MUTANT QUEST Threads 1-25 By Crusty Jones X-men was created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and are owned by Marvel (pls don’t sue him Mickey) Thread #1 Thread #2 Thread #3 Thread #4 THREAD #5 THREAD #6 Thread 07 THREAD 08 Thread 09 Thread 10 Thread 11 Thread 12 Thread 13 Thread 14 Thread 15 Thread 16 Thread 17 Thread 18 Thread 19 Thread 20 Thread 21 Thread 22 Thread #23 Thread #24 Thread #25 Thread #1 Sometimes you like to just pretend that the day has gone by already. If you curl up tight enough, it can feel like midday already – like you’re in bed, at home, under a ceiling, and all the indignant screeching of the city is a whole window away. Sometimes, though, it’s just that bit harder to pull off. You pull yourself up, brushing a thin layer of snow from your coat. It’s gotten deeper overnight. You slept under a fire escape, which kept you mostly alright, but everything else is under maybe an inch more snow than yesterday. Soon alleys like this one will be too cold at night. You’ll have to chance a shelter, or find some dickwad’s unused shed or something. Neither option strikes you as particularly appealing, but the alternative likely involves third degree frostbite. In the street outside the alley, early-morning New York is already a flurry of random noise. You can smell hot dogs sizzling nearby, and there’s a guy peddling today’s Daily Bugle. That’d probably be you if hiring a genefreak wasn’t sorta like shooting yourself in the foot. >[X] Try to find some honest work >[X] Grab a paper You’re feeling uncharacteristically good about yourself today. Maybe something legit’ll come up – something you can rely on to pay some bills if you ever scrounge up the kind of lifestyle that includes them. You stride out into the street and drop $1.50 for a paper. As expected, there’s some shit about Spider- Man on the cover. The following pages cover some additions to the MCA – apparently certain private institutions have the right to bar you entry now, in addition to public ones. Shiny. That Xavier doctor guy that shows up on the news has made a few comments on it, but once you’ve read one ineffectual speech you’ve read ‘em all. There’s also an article about an escapee from SHIELD custody on the loose somewhere in upstate NY. Nearby there are a few café’s opening right about that might have you, and there’s a pizza place on the corner. Then you could see if the Bugle needs people throwing papers at folk. >STEALTH SET picked >You have the advantages of , >INVISIBILITY: Lvl1 (chameleonic). Highly effective in darkness or when still. Less effective in motion or against careful eyes. No heat-masking, retains shadow. >ENHANCED SENSES: Lvl1. You have perfect night vision. Your hearing, smell, and touch are just above peak human. >The STEALTH SET has the potential to level up these abilities or branch out into secondary mutations. >You have the disadvantages of, >MULTISPECTRAL EYES >POINTED EARS >PSEUDOSCALES AT JOINTS, HANDS, AND COLLAR >[X] Bugle You decide that the Bugle could always use more people. Maybe after a few months of peddling papers you might be able to move up to taking pictures, pictures of Spider-Man. God knows you need some kind of mutant juju to get a good shot of that creepy dude. You make your way towards the nearest underground station, but grind to a halt when you notice a new sign hanging over the entrance, declaring that mutants found utilizing the services could face prosecution. >[X] Walk You take a moment to make sure your shades are in place, and like any semi-self-respecting hobo you have a hood to draw over your head during cold nights. So a short walk among the good folk of NY shouldn’t be too eventful. As it happens, it isn’t. People are busy most times of year, and with the Christmas lights popping up all around town, they’re getting extra distracted. You fade into the background without the help of your mutant powers. Eventually you arrive at the Daily Bugle, feeling just a little worse for wear. There’s no bigass sign declaring that you can go take your mutie ass elsewhere, so you edge on in. The lobby is semi-bustling with people heading in to work, but there’s a lady at a desk that looks relatively unoccupied. You gulp, and – >Hunger Level: 7/10 Roll a D20 to attempt to hide your more visible mutant traits (assuming you're hiding). With your shades on and hood up, this is a DC10 test. Without the hood, DC12, and without the shades, DC18. Rolled 18 >Success! "Excuse me Miss, if it doesn’t trouble you may I ask if there're any job opportunities here?" She looks up from whatever’s on her monitor and gives you a long stare. There’s no particular revulsion there, so you’d guess that your homo superior (yeah, right) status has gone unnoticed. The general wear and tear of the streets, however, has not. You can see the pity flaring up in her eyes. Thank God you’re the young type of hobo, not the crusty Santa type. “Sure, honey. We always need people selling papers. It’s not steady, and today’s issue’s out, but I can sign you up for a spot tomorrow. You got a name?” >[X] Take the job. “John… James… Green.” She mouths the words as she scrawls them down amongst a group of other names. “There you go, John. Check in early tomorrow morning and we’ll have something for you.” You thank her and make for the exit, your name on the register and a somewhat renewed sense of self- worth in your chest. Some dweeb with glasses and a camera gives you a quizzical look on the way out, but otherwise nobody seems to notice that you’ve finagled your way into a bit of honest work. Your waltz across the city took a fair bit of time, but it’s still just before midday. You're getting kinda hungry. >[X] Or at least a Macky D's Welp, oddly enough, there’s no McDonalds in sight. But there is a Burger King, which is fine by you. You slink on in and join the queue. The place is bustling with big eaters, a fact that sends a nervous shudder down your everything. You’re not a fan of crowds. You’re especially not a fan of the little sign over the top of the counter stating that Burger King reserves the right to turn away mutant customers or potential employees. But by the time you’ve noticed it, you’re up, and there’s a spotty kid grinning at you and asking how the King can help you today. >Roll to hide your mutation. Same DC as before. Rolled 15 >Success >[X] Large meal. Your hood is secure, and with it, your identity. You order a large meal and hand over a bunch of the grubby notes in your wallet. You don’t have to wait long before a teenaged squawk announces that your meal is ready, and you bundle it up. The place is actually filtering out a bit now, the crowds becoming a little more tolerable – you’d guess a whole bunch of people just realized that their lunch break is over. There are a few empty tables. Or there’s the streets. >Current Funds: $16.50 >You still have that newspaper rolled up in a jacket pocket. You decide to take a chance and sit down at one of the nearby booths. Nobody’s noticed you so far, and if they do, you can always just fade out and bolt it. You start ploughing through your meal. It’s warm, it’s greasy, it’s Burger King. It fills a hole. As you eat, you get the chance to read a little more of that paper you’ve got tucked away. There’s been an admonishment from Captain America on the latest MCA addendums, which is pretty cool. People tend to listen to that guy. A little subsection near the back seems to be implicating that The Kingpin is involved in the recent flood of mutant-targeted drugs on the market, but as usual, there’s nothing concrete. >Hunger Level: 3/10 >Roll a D20. Random event chart, yo Rolled 4 >4 >For future reference: As they’re not really rated from ‘good to bad’ via highest to lowest number, but rather full of totally random outcomes, Random Event rolls take the first roll, no exceptions. You lick the last specks of burger-grease from your semi-scaly fingertips, recalling vaguely how your mother used to strictly forbid that you succumb to the seductions of fast food. You fucking hated that, back then. All the other kids had their stupid McDonald’s parties (hey, that’s something you don’t see no more), while you sat out and munched on celery, silently fuming at the matriarchal injustice of – Something beyond the nasal muck of grease and ketchup and meat trips your sense of smell up. It’s this sterile something, almost like nightshade, or cyanide, and flecked with that queasy-clean hospital smell. Not Burger King at all. It clings to the trail of four men that have sat down at various tables around the restaurant.