super-powered version of the FAHC is an awful, unstoppable thing.
Powered humans are rare, sure, but not unheard of; the Fake’s aren’t
the only group out there defying reality in broad daylight. What
makes them so remarkable, so formidable and distressingly hard to
combat, is the way they use those powers. The way each member has
taken their gift and twisted it, pulled and torn and stretched it to
unforeseen territory, used their powers in ways no one else has even
dreamed. Ways most could only imagine in their worst nightmares.
might be the most obvious example, the clearest illustration of the
perversion of abilities, power turned on its head and used against
its intention. He’s inspired them all, one way or another, to push
their powers to the limits, into shapes they don’t belong in,
powerful and strange and noticeably tarnished. On anyone else Ryan’s
gift would be one of healing, of hope and restoration, empathetic and
inherently altruistic. Its not a power most would associate with a
life of crime, outside perhaps a medic, definitely not one most would
pick for a mercenary, for the infamously deadly Vagabond. Ryan
though, he’s never been one to let a little thing like reason set him
back, never felt constrained by expectation, and he wasn’t about to
let his powers derail his goals. Ryan has taken the ability to heal
and broken it down into stages, approached inexplicable magic like a
scientist, methodically identifying how to extract the exact elements
he was after. He has the power to heal, yes, but what can be healed
may also decay, that which can be stitched back together may just as
easily be disassembled; it is no more difficult to displace blood
than it is to correctly route it. With a touch Ryan can stop hearts,
can rend tissue and implode organs. He can push natural reactions
into overdrive, can encourage minor ailments into unstoppable
disease, convince various systems to shut down without exposure to
extreme circumstance. The only limit is Ryan’s own bountiful
creativity, and while it might not be what people expect from the
Vagabond he wouldn’t swap his abilities for anything.
can change his density at will. Becoming immensely dense has some
obvious uses in their world; bullets literally bouncing off his skin
and fists that can shatter bones with a single punch, but becoming
unnaturally light has just as many applications. Jeremy can change
his weight mid-jump to achieve inhuman distance, can fall from great
heights without a parachute, can climb sheer walls and hold his
entire body up on the tip of a finger. There is no weight Jeremy
cannot lift, no wall or door that can keep him out, let alone cuffs
or bars to contain him. If Jeremy does not want to move there is
physically no way to make him, and if he sets his sights on
destroying something little can be done to stop him.
can communicate telepathically. This comes in handy when getting a
hold of his crew, so long as they are within his range he can speak
to them comms or no, but they are not the only ones he can speak to.
All it takes is some connection, long term emotional links allow for
greater distance but as long as Geoff is looking at someone he can
get into their mind. Can sneer at police officers, whisper threats to
rivals, force unsuspecting strangers to have the most peculiar
thoughts and terrify anyone who tries to stand in his way. While
Geoff can only really scrape through the top level of someones mind,
more emotion and direct thoughts than any deep secrets, it is no
great difficulty to convince people that he sees a lot more. Let them
feel him poking around, quote a few stray thoughts back at them and
suddenly not only do his victims believe he sees all but they are
much more likely to think loudly about the very things they hope he
doesn’t notice. Geoff can push images as easily as word, useful when
sharing a story but even more so as a form of torture; he can fill
minds with his darkest thoughts, plague dreams with images from his
nastiest nightmares, provide a personalised hell that is impossible
to escape from.
controls heat. It’s a power people tend to fear, think it synonymous
with mastery over fire, imagine sparking fingers and raging infernos.
Which, to be fair, isn’t wholly inaccurate, but is hardly the extent
of Michael’s power. He can create fire sure, can raise the
temperature to extremes in pinpointed locations to ignite a room, but
he doesn’t need to. Michael can press heat straight into a body, can
warm someone up or cook them from the inside out, can burn slowly or
kill in an instant. His powers extend to objects too, he can melt
metals, boil water, absorb and deflect heat, and set off explosives.
While people don’t associate it with him the way the do fiery rage,
what can go up can of course also go down. Michael can drop the
temperature, can produce dangerous frost and sharp ice shards, freeze
someone in water and induce frostbite with a simple touch. Michael is
completely unbothered by extreme temperatures, can render himself
undetectable on thermal imaging cameras and change the temperature of
objects so suddenly they shatter. Even those who flee aren’t safe;
careening into danger as roads are suddenly coated in black ice or
bubble and melt beneath flaming tires.
can multiply himself, a series of duplicates capable of drawing fire
and completing simple tasks. They were once mere mindless echoes of
his actual self, near translucent and noticeably different if you
looked closely enough, quickly giving birth to the term Ghost Ray
when describing them. They didn’t stay that way though, Ray quietly
practising and practising until they not only solidified but he could
split his conciousness between them, could act as all bodies
simultaneously and be in half a dozen places at once. It’s
disconcerting, the way they all look real now. The way they all are
Ray now, will fade away like
they were never there when Ray lets them go, or when they die, but
until then he can be in any and all of them at once. It bears
thinking about, considering some die. Considering one stays.
Considering the way Ray doesn’t like to talk about it, practises late
at night and sends his selves off on private missions, laughs and
deflects and fades away.
can manipulate the wind; her jets are always boosted and her cars
caught and righted before they can ever spin out, while any who
pursue her find themselves shoved off the roads. She can deflect
bullets, catch plummeting bodies and stir up various weather
phenomena. As though this was not enough Jack’s power over the air
allows her to create small vacuums, granting her the ability to suck
oxygen from a room. To steal it right out of lungs, suffocating her
opponents without lifting a finger to touch them. Alone she is more
than dangerous, but Jack has always worked best with others. Her
powers are particularly effective when combined with Michael or
Jeremy; catching Jeremy up and hurling him like a canon ball and
taking ice or flame and whirling them into deadly tornadoes. She can,
just as effectively, force them all to calm down when things start
getting out of hand; wind separating fights, extinguishing fires,
airless pockets keeping anyone from storming away in a huff, and
being sudden drenched by rain provides a wholly undignified end to
any petty squabbles.
power is all about luck. It’s not the most exciting power at first
glance; he can see probabilities, split-second calculations that
manifest in inexplicable feelings, knowing just when to duck, when to
take a detour, when to blow off a meeting and stay home instead. It’s
not a power most people would associate with violent crime, rather
imagine lotto winnings and effortless celebrity, but most people
aren’t Gavin. It was simple intuition at first; shoot now, trust him,
buy the ticket, check your phone. But Gavin, being Gavin, pressed for
more. Worked out how to manipulate his own luck instead of relying on
chance, concentrating on what he wants so his powers bend around him,
gift evolving from simple suggestions into something else all
together. When Gavin assures himself that all he needs in the world
is to shoot his way out of a situation there is no way he will be
unlucky enough have a gun run empty, when he needs to make a purchase
he will never have the misfortune of running out of money, when he
settles himself as the frontman of the FAHC none will be lucky enough
to resist his charms. Now that he knows how to push, the limits of
Gavin’s power are completely unknown – the least visibly impressive
and yet the possibilities are as astounding as they are impossible.
He needed a worthy crew, so he found one; they desired power, so they
got it; it would be unlucky to die, so they don’t.
“Here’s the thing about when, uh, a group of guys play UNO… over and over and over and over and over again.
The second time it plays, your immediate thought is not ‘Hey someone’s playing UNO again.’ It’s ‘Hey, UNO is a lot longer than I first thought’.
The third time it plays you’re thinking ‘maybe someone’s playing UNO again’.
The FOURTH time it plays you’re thinking ‘WHOA. Someone just played UNO FOUR TIMES or at least, someone played it TWICE, and it’s just a really long game!’”
You know the FAHC would wear those ridiculous Tron suits on a heist, set to blink on and off, and call it hard mode. Even more visible than the time they ran a job decked out in neon yellow there is no way to hide, not even the darkness can disguise them and the constant flickering thoroughly ruins their own night vision. The whole ordeal is made ten times more difficult by the way they all crumble into helpless laughter every time they catch sight of one another, utterly childish and hopelessly entertained even as bullets fly all around them.
So i had an Idea but I can't think of anything past the concept (+ yr writing for this kinda thing is like 200% better than mine) but what if the Lads founded the Fake AH crew and recruited the gents?
that’s fun – i’ve seen versions where they were two little gangs
who combined into the FAHC but the idea of the actual Fake’s starting
as the Lads is definitely interesting.
were a lot of names tossed around at the start; it’s the part of
forming a crew no one really talks about, the vaguely embarrassing
period of building an image, choosing a name, defining yourselves.
Like band names there is a lot of bad before the good. Like band
names ‘good’ is wildly subjective, particularly when determined by a
pack of teenage boys. The humour behind ‘Fake Crew’ isn’t
particularly high brow and not a single soul outside the original
four Lads, including and especially their future members, have any
idea at all what the AH could possibly stand for. Most think its
mysterious, assume something clever or at least meaningful, but the
shifty looks the boys shoot each other when pressed tell a different
they’ve made something of a name for themselves in Los Santos – the
FAHC, who pull off unbelievable stunts, who lack any semblance of
respect, dangerous in the way of feral animals, of wildfire. In the
foolhardy way of children, who care far more about making sure you
hurt than they do about protecting themselves. It’s enough to keep
other gangs wary, to buy themselves a little breathing room with
reckless gestures and bared teeth, but not exactly the glory they are
looking for. Not quite the trembling respect they’ve dreamed of.
that, it seems, they’re going to have to think bigger, smarter. Be
clever not just in the tricks they play and jobs they pull but in the
way they twist their image, they way they recruit, build their crew.
Just being more won’t do it, added thugs for the sake of numbers; it
would take an astonishing amount to really match the size of some of
their rivals and the Lads don’t exactly play nice with strangers. No,
they have to be strategic, have to select a few choice additions who
can help them rise, and after much discussion they settle on three
names they’d like to pull in; Ramsey, Patillo and the Vagabond. Lofty
goals to be sure, but then, delusions of grandeur or not, the Fake’s
have always considered themselves to be rather magnificent.
who’s anyone knows about the Vagabond; none of them will admit it
(Ray will admit it, Ray doesn’t give a fuck) but the Lads all have
hearts in their eyes every time the Vagabond slinks around, all
follow every rumour, gossip over every job. Something between hero
worship and healthy respect, without any of the fear normal
self-respecting individuals feel, is the perfect cocktail to have the
four of them plotting outlandish ways to pull in the mercenary.
Patillo has an incredibly solid reputation for someone with no real
ties, invariably thought to be smart, dependable, one of the best
drivers in the country and definitely not a woman to be trifled with.
That she and Ramsey seem to have some kind of relationship, worked
together back in the day and while going their separate ways don’t
appear to have had any kind of blow up, will hopefully work in the
Lads favour. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Geoff Ramsey; the
rouge Rooster who’s been traversing the country, constantly on the
move and pulling all kinds of jobs from hilariously wacky to darkly
perverse. Maybe the Lads are looking a bit outside their paid grade
but with Ramsey reportedly looking to build his own crew they can’t
not try, not after realising that their crew is unfortunately in need
of a proper leader.
none of the Lads are leaders, not really, especially not back then.
They aren’t incapable, are clearly wildly talented and loyal enough
to one another to defer a certain kind of leadership to whomever has
the best idea or the most experience with whatever task they’re
facing, but no one individual is capable of being the permanent boss.
No one individual actually wants that role, not really, they’re all
too young, too impulsive, too eager to abandon necessary goals at the
drop of a hat.
who has arguably the least interest in being the boss of all, is less
leader than lone wolf; when he’s taking point a lot of his orders
tend to involve stealth, hanging back while he picks off targets,
only charging in when long-distance is no longer an option. Necessary
for particular jobs, and it’s certainly not an easy task keeping the
other three in line until it’s their turn to burst into action, but
it’s not a method that works for every task.
makes a magnificent leader, fierce and fearless and unwaveringly
loyal, protective of his crew until the bitter end. He is,
unfortunately, utterly devoid of tact, of the patience to put up with
any kind of shenanigans from anyone he doesn’t personally like, the
ability to create and maintain necessary relations with anyone
outside his crew. Michael himself knows he makes a far better
Lieutenant, busy with duties he actually cares about, walking the
line between following orders with absolute obedience and
unapologetically calling out anything he disagrees with, reliable and
relentless in equal measure.
is meticulous, when he’s in charge he plots and plans and double
checks, the very image of the perfect boss except for one flaw; more
often than not he’s easily swayed. Will put together the perfect
stealth plan only to agree when Michael makes a convincing argument
for the importance of rocket launchers, conduct an ideal heist until
Gavin begs to go after something shiny or Ray inquires about
abandoning the sensible get away car for hilarious motorised
Gavin is on his game he is fucking glorious, a flashbang of reckless
laughter and terrible ideas none of them can resist, the promise that
come hell or hand-grenades they will all be going home with a story.
When Gavin plays leader he needs a lot of faith, needs the others to
trust in things that don’t seem remotely feasible, but the payoff is
always worth it. Except for the days when his words are too sharp,
his eyes too cold, when he wants nothing more than to pick a fight
with the most dangerous crook in the room, to swagger around the
LSPD’s station unmasked, jump from a plane without checking his
parachute; dancing with death just to see if he can. If
they’re not careful on those days, if they missed the clues, the rest
of the Lads would follow him down, unable discern between Gavin’s
usual absurd genius and those streaks of genuinely aimless apathy
until they’re all careening towards destruction.
as grating as it seems, there is an undeniable argument for a
permanent leader, someone to keep them all on course, to take the
responsibilities they don’t want, someone who can captain their ship
without trying to push them all overboard. Still, you can’t just walk
up to one of these infamous criminals and hand them an invitation;
selling yourself – your dream, your crew, your city – takes time,
takes planning, so in the end the FAHC’s first recruitment isn’t even
one of those big three.
pure luck when Michael meets Lindsay; finds her twirling a
nail-studded bat in the wreckage of a bar, sipping a cocktail like
she hadn’t just caved a man’s head in, and really nothing on earth
could have stopped Michael from offering her a place in the crew.
From talking them up in a way he’d never really bother with normally,
because honestly how could he not. It doesn’t take much to get the
other three onboard, Lindsay was a perfect fit, a seamless addition,
and with her the FAHC is unquestionably more efficient.
the Vagabond is actually far easier to get on board than any had
anticipated. After they start actively seeking his attention Ryan
can’t help but watch the Lads. Not because their jobs are impressive
(they are, actually, but Ryan’s in high demand, so very many crews
out there are impressive enough) but because they are endearing
eager; nothing like the pathetic begging of so many others, no
attempt to convince Ryan he should be desperate to work with
them, just genuine enthusiasm to prove themselves worthy of
his time. They’re funny, something akin to a pack of reckless
puppies; certainly capable of outrageous damage but equally likely to
trip over their own oversized paws in their excitement, and in this
business Ryan really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. They
take to leaving him all kinds of gifts; generally intriguing , often
amusing and near always utterly gruesome, and after a month or so of
hanging around the city toying with them they manage to get a former
Rooster onside to run the show and Ryan’s run out of reasons to
the one they sent after Geoff, when the Lads decide they’re ready to
try to bring the notoriously creative, fortuitously
crew-seeking man into the FAHC. Gavin’s first approach, full of
deferential respect playing to Ramsey’s ego, is a complete bust; Geoff
thought he was sweet, called him kid, laughed in his face and
sent him out the door with a crack about coming back when he was old
enough to drive. The second approach involves pulling a full blown
job on Ramsey, one that starts with the man unknowingly buying Gavin
a supercar and ends with the priceless tailored suit he’s wearing
being pinned to the wall with a nail gun, Gavin grinning away like a
particularly bloodthirsty shark, and all of a sudden Geoff can’t say
he isn’t tempted. Deigns to finally listen to the recruitment spiel,
as though he’s got any other choice right now, and despite himself is
quickly sold on the whole crew.
goes out one day and comes back with a handful of people, some they’d
been discussing as a group, some the others hadn’t heard of, but all
perfectly capable of holding their own agains the Lad’s disgruntled
dissent. Steffie, who takes a look at their set up, rolls her eyes,
then pulls out her phone and starts making a list, talking dealers
and bases and possible new hires. Trevor who immediately sets to
soothing ruffled feathers, sidling up to Gavin and gushing about some
ridiculous theft, questioning Michael about his preference in heavy
weaponry, ignoring the way Ray is skulking around behind him. Matt
they’d all agreed on, welcoming the chance to push off all
computering nonsense onto someone else, and Mica assures them all
that she’s got no interest in sticking around, will work contracts as
requested but isn’t about the stationary crew life. In the end no
blood is spilt, no tempers flare too badly, and Jeremy is reasonably
sure he isn’t going to wake up with a gun to his temple, so all in
all it goes pretty well.
The last missing piece, Jack, is actually tracked down by Ray in the end; he wanders off one day and
comes back with a very amused woman in tow, decked out in a hideous
Hawaiian shirt and driving an obscenely nice Lamborghini. Apparently
after finding her, not particularly difficult considering she wasn’t
trying to hide, Ray simply told Jack all about Geoff’s fumbling
attempts to simultaneously familiarise himself with the mess that is
Los Santos, integrate himself into, and begin to take control of, an
already close-knit, functioning crew, and do it all while pretending
he’s not at all rattled by the Lad’s unwavering fascination with the
horrifically notorious assassin who insists on sticking a straw
through his mask to pound down a truly irresponsible number of diet
cokes. It took a while for her utterly joyous, completely
uncontrollable laughter to die down, but when she finally calmed Jack
immediately started packing.
I have seen a few post about Summer Weapon. All of them were about her having this over the top mega weapon with a combination of 3 or more things.
But I have a better theory. I theorise that Summer Rose was the most Powerfull hunter alive, a master of Aura and of Silver eyes. Her level of strength was greater than Ozpins. So what could her weapon be? I think that her weapon a knife. Not a Knife that turned into a mini-gun a gernade, a sling shot or what ever this is.
No, I think that Summer Rose was the exception to the Gun rule because well she was a badass and didn’t need one. She had such precision and skill on the battle field that she was just as deadly if she had a gun. I think Summer was something like the black widow or something like her. and for some reason is getting an Annabeth Chase vibe from her.
She had beauty and grace and if you crossed her she will carve out your face
Criminals of the FAHC’s caliber hardly need tangible christmas presents - when you spend all year taking whatever you want whenever you want it the idea of requesting something then patiently waiting around to see if someone else steals it for you seems utterly laughable. That said, the Fake’s have their own take on Kris Kringle; they all draw a name out of a box, and on Christmas they deliver that person a head.
Not always a literal head mind, they aren’t actually all bloodthirsty enough to want to deal with decapitated parts, and Geoff swears he’s going to kill the next person who leaves corpses around the penthouse, but vengeance on a platter is the name of the game.
It might come in the form of the bank details of a sworn enemy, or the keys to their shiny prize car. It might be the disappearance of a problem or the unwilling reapperace of someone who owed a debt, might be the news that that one annoying gang has been run out of the city or a video presentation of CCTV footage displaying the moment a particularly aggravating detective got his comeuppance. It all depends on who is doing the giving; the more technically inclined go for digital displays, the smooth-talkers cheat and swindle, the bruisers break, maim and murder and Geoff overcompensates.
There are many strengths in the greater FAHC but they are all, to a fault, showboaters of the highest order and the Christmas bonanza is their biggest chance to show off. The Kris Kringle was born as a way to give gifts their crewmates would actually enjoy but over the years it has devolved, like most anything the Fake’s are involved with, into a glorified pissing contest. A talent show as much as an exchange of gifts, everyone competing to come up with the best present of the year, the most impressive undertaking, the most appreciative recipient.
For citizens of Los Santos the period running up to Christmas is basically a hellscape, members of the FAHC running around on a a dozen different completely bizarre missions, serious and driven in a way that comes only with fierce competition. For any enemies of the crew the period running up to Christmas is more or less open season, the possibility of attack as high as it is unpredictable, standard revenge tactics abandoned in favour of elaborate plans and ingenious traps. For the FAHC the period running up to Christmas is the most high stress, hectic, entertaining internal arms race of the year, rife with secrets, subterfuge, red herrings and, invariably, at least one headless corpse.