Um , hello all. In the admittedly unlikely event you're accepting signups from new members, I'd like to propose the following cape:-

[hider="World domination is such an ugly phrase. I much prefer 'world optimization'."][b]Character you have created:[/b] Amy Reynolds

[b]Alias:[/b] Amis

[b]Speech Color:[/b] [color=orchid]Orchid[/color]

[b]Character Alignment:[/b] Walking The Line, but not in an edgelord "I only follow my own personal definition of morality and everyone else's can go hang because the prevailing right-wing American overculture indoctrinated me with the belief that symptoms of sociopathic disorders actually constitute moral fortitude" kind of way.

[b]Identity:[/b] Secret to the general public, though key figures in various national governments have no choice but to know her identity.

[b]Character Personality[/b]: Amy is... well, it varies. Sometimes she's a bubbly, vivacious, and outgoing sort of girl. Other times, she's brusque to the point of outright rude, particularly when she's focused on a difficult task or problem. Indeed, she's so changeable, at least to an outside observer, that it can feel like they're talking to completely different people. One could reasonably suppose it stemmed from her upbringing; grammar school in the south-east of England, on to Cambridge to read History, and always struggling with the glass ceiling put above her. It gets into your head, having to be all things to all men (and quite a few women as well) in an environment where feminism is something that happened to other people. People, people, people. It all comes back to [i]people[/i] in the end, doesn't it? That's where the power is. Society. Civilization. [i]Paperwork[/i]. What good's flinging laser zap bolts about the place when you could have some forms to fill in?

That's the biggest thing about Amy's personality, and by far and away the most consistent: she's very keen on systems, on order, on everything being in the right place at the right time. Whether it's forms or supplies or, yes, even people, you have to make sure everything happens promptly, smoothly, and according to plan. The trick to power, of course, is being the person who makes the plans in the first place.

[b]Uniform/Costume[/b]:-
[hider=General Work Uniform][img]http://harperandharley.com/wp-content/uploads/bfi_thumb/harper-and-harley_black-suit_versus_street-style_outfit_2-mlx4tmm5y3ah2wi91391zetsyyzcm496x63fhhuoqk.jpg[/img][/hider][hider=Field Uniform][img]https://i.imgur.com/KBvXJvY.png[/img]Apologies for the crapness; HeroMachine is... lacking in a lot of respects[/hider]

[b]Origin Info/Details:-[/b]
We all know about twins, right? And how that works? Good. Glad we're on the same page. You'll also, therefore, be aware that sometimes one twin can be absorbed into another prior to birth? Oh, you weren't? Well, [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanishing_twin]it's a thing[/url]. Sorry about the picture, I hear it can be quite upsetting for people who aren't used to it. Anyway, fetal resorption occurs (per that article) in roughly one in eight multi-gestation pregnancies. Since every pregnancy has about a one in two hundred and fifty chance of containing identical twins, that means one pregnancy in two thousand has a chance of producing this phenomenon. What a curious phenomenon it is, too. Foetal resorption. What might it mean for the mother?

Let's also think briefly about what drugs a mother might be taking. A working-class mother, estranged from her family and the father of her child, struggling to survive, struggling to earn enough to eat for one, much less two - or possibly even three. Let's suppose she receives word of a drug trial, run by a famous pharmaceuticals company, specifically looking for pregnant women. Unsurprisingly - for such trials always have an incentive - there is the prospect of considerable financial recompense for taking part in the study. The program has been rigorously probed by the government and found to be beyond reproach in terms of ethics. Let's imagine this desperate mother, poor as a church mouse, huddled under a couple of thin blankets in the middle of winter, light bulbs unscrewed so she doesn't accidentally turn them on. Let's imagine her scrape together a bus fare and reply to the program.

Let's imagine her taken to this anonymous-looking facility, out on an industrial park somewhere in the Home Counties, shoved between a small brewery and a cut'n'shut garage. Let's imagine her led through the facility, injected, and monitored here for the remainder of her pregnancy. Let the dizzying array of chemicals ferment in her blood and in her children's blood. Let the time come when they see that a foetus has been absorbed back into the womb, let them tell her it's entirely normal, that this can happen to a mother, that it's not her fault and that she's to continue with the trial. Let her swell and swell like a dead whale rotting on a beach. Let her be taken for an emergency birth. Let her last thoughts be looking upon her daughter with a smile and wishing her the happiest life she could have.

Let that daughter be adopted by a couple in the civil service down in Kent. Let that daughter grow, with her parents' friends from work popping over with a sweetie to see how she is. Let her doctor be located on an industrial estate, an odd place for a doctor, between a little local brewery and a vacant warehouse where there used to be a cut'n'shut garage. Let her be monitored for powers from the age of four. Let her manifest them at the age of nineteen, in her second year at Trinity College, when the weight of tradition feels like a concrete overcoat and a woman's work is twice as hard for half the credit and ten times harsher grading. Let her come into her own after that, with a double First in History and English Literature. Let her set off on a grand adventure in the Service. Let her run with bulls, swim with sharks, work in an office, join a private security firm, learn a dozen martial arts, learn Mandarin, learn Russian, learn Ancient Hittite, learn how to kill a man with a ballpoint pen, learn the truth over and over that she is one of many, and that the many are one.

Let her be les Amis.

[b]Hero Type:[/b] Grey Matter/Psychic

[b]Power Level:[/b] C: World

[b]Powers:-[/b]

[i]Black Goat Of The Woods[/i]: Amy can split herself off. The process works similarly to budding and takes a couple of days, during which time the original party does little but eat and sleep. Unlike the clones generated by, for instance, the kind of spiky-headed imbecile who thinks an ideal colour for stealth is fluorescent orange, the clones are permanent and, while initially having the same personality, grow over time to be variations. They are, for all intents and purposes, completely independent; they have their own lives, their own loves, their own little worlds. Of course, they're not [i]completely[/i] separate...

[i]Group Learning Outcomes[/i]: The network of clones - the titular Amis - share a kind of pseudo-hive mind. The knowledge of one is known by all, including where another clone is at any given moment. It's tremendously useful for undercover work, information security, espionage, and the like. Amy Prime's (as the clones call her) natural intelligence is only boosted by this phenomenon; she also has a genuinely flawless memory, enabling her to keep a weather eye on hundreds of plots and schemes at once, and adjust plans accordingly at the speed of thought. This is at its most useful when...

[i]Headhunting Tribe[/i]: There are Amis in major companies around the world - banks, manufacturing concerns, arms companies, you name it - and they get headhunted by corporate bigwigs all the time. Not only that, but there are clones in local government positions across the UK, as well as at the national level in several roles. One is currently polling quite well for leadership of the Labour Party, and is looking like a pretty good shout for PM at the next general election. Y'all can keep your powers. The Amis have [i]power[/i]. Of course, they also have other strengths...

[i]Look, Sir! Amis! Thousands Of 'Em![/i]: Each clone is capable of budding off another clone of her own, though the process does take longer the further removed she is from Amy Prime. This fractal cloning means that the Amis are a distributed network of roughly twenty-eight thousand individuals. Be afraid. 

[b]Attributes (Select one at each category):[/b]
[indent]
Height: 5'6"
Weight: Varies between clones, generally between 8 and 12 stone.
Strength Level: Normal Human
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human (albeit a very well-trained one) 
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human (again, albeit trained)
Agility: Normal Human (I'm sensing a pattern here)
Intelligence: Super-Genius
Fighting Skill: Trained
Resources: Extreme[/indent]

[b]Weaknesses:-[/b]

[i]The Spirit Is Willing...[/i]: Despite having a lot of training, the Amis are (barring quite rare exceptions, most of them in various training facilities) a parade of twiggy women from south-east England. We are not talking people with the physique of demigods here. We are talking the contents of a slightly crap step-aerobics class housed in a converted toothbrush factory in Stevenage.

[i]Rabbit In The Headlights[/i]: Having access to a supercomputer at all times - because that's pretty much what the Amis are - means you have a tendency to overplan, overprepare, and overthink. It also means that when one of your overplanned, overprepared, and overthought schemes goes awry in the field, the operative in question can get a bit stuck. Dithering is the enemy of any serious field agent, and though they've been taught to fall back on instinct, that's a very difficult thing to do.

[b]Supporting Characters:-[/b]
Dr. Richard Collins: Amy Prime's family doctor and one of the people who ran the Neptune Project (so named after the industrial estate in which it was based).
Prof. Bernardette "Bunty" Alford: After Amy Prime graduated from Trinity, she elected to do... well, several courses, actually, but Amy Prime did an MA in medieval Russian history at SSEES in London. Professor Alford was her tutor there, and the two have remained very close since.

[b]Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:[/b] [img]https://i.giphy.com/media/PYEGoZXABBMuk/giphy.webp[/img]

[hider=Sample Post]The rain hammered down on the deck of the ship. It also hammered down on the girl outside, the one hunched over out of the wind, desperately trying to light up a cigarette in defiance of the gale. Water and wind against earth and fire. The girl smirked at the thought. Wasn't that basically the plot of a kid's TV program? A quick check and yes it was, almost. Someone was watching it right now. Somewhere. It paid to keep abreast of modern trends-

A shadow passed over her head, which (once she pulled back the hood of her raincoat and looked up) resolved itself into an umbrella. A young woman stood at her side, holding the curved metal handle in a vice-like grip against the wind. The girl was a girl and still felt like one, despite her life's experiences - another little inward smirk at that - but the way this woman stood with an umbrella made her a [i]woman[/i]. Poised and powerful as a dagger to the heart. Dressed to kill, too, in a fashionably-tailored business suit that said the wearer had money, taste, and lots thereof.

"[color=orchid]I don't know where you picked up that habit,[/color]" the woman said as the girl finally lit her damp cigarette. "[color=orchid]Or when, for that matter. I'm amazed you had the time. You [i]certainly[/i] didn't get it from me.[/color]"

"[color=orchid]What can I say, Amy,[/color]" the girl replied through a cloud of bluish smoke. "[color=orchid]I have an addictive personality. That or there's fuck all else to do on board ship when no-one knows you're here. One of those.[/color]"

The woman smiled. Perfect Cupid's-bow lipstick, as always. The girl couldn't stop looking at her white, white teeth. "[color=orchid]Just as you like. It's not me getting cancer, after all.[/color]"

That got a laugh out of the girl. "[color=orchid]You sure about that?[/color]"

They stood on the deck as the laughter died away.

Finally, the woman said "[color=orchid]I know it's been dull, being cooped up in the stateroom all this time. I'm sorry you missed the spa. The truth of it is, well... I needed you. And the others. I'm going to need a lot of help in this venture and the three of you are going to be very useful. I do hope you'll forgive me once we're on dry land. Losthaven really isn't all that bad once you get to know it.[/color]"

"[color=orchid]Yeah, you're right. I know you're right. Someone's there now. In a - yup. Knew it. They're in a fucking spa. Did you bloody put her up to that?[/color]"

"[color=orchid]I find this line of questioning offensive and shall refrain from commenting further on such aspersions as to my character.[/color]"

"[color=orchid]We [i]both[/i] know that's a yes. You [i]cow[/i].[/color]"

"[color=orchid]Oh, she's at the good one now. The best one. After quite a while of searching. I just asked that she be discreet when she was visiting the crap ones. You deserve the best, you know.[/color]"

"[color=orchid]... Thanks, Amy.[/color]"

"[color=orchid]You're welcome, Amy. Now get some rest. There's not many of us here and we'll need everyone on top form to get what Prime wants from this place. We dock in twelve hours, and then?[/color]"

The two women smiled the same smile, on the same face.

"[color=orchid]Then we [i]spa[/i].[/color]"[/hider]
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