TEXT:  
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
  2 
   
  In the Hideout… 
         --Scott Casper— 
   
      
  Our last issue had a focus 
  on fan fiction and, while 
  there were no complaints, 
  there was no 
  encouragement either.  
  Fan fiction will continue to 
  play a big part in Hideouts 
  & Hoodlums.  Bear in 
  mind that, while some 
  heroes of the Golden Age 
  are still published in new 
  interpretations today, 
  many, many characters 
  only appeared in a mere 
  handful of 
  published appearances.  
  Continuing their stories is one of the great things we can 
  do here in The Trophy Case and it will continue in this 
  issue with more of David Brashear’s Madam Fatal.   
       The biggest news, of course, is that Supplement IV: 
  Captains, Magicians, and Incredible Men: Part I: Ace-
  Fox came out in December.  There were some obvious 
  changes made to the supplement since it was talked up 
  last issue.  The number of heroes and villains it would 
  cover had grown so large, and the research for the 
  volume had proven so time-consuming, that the 
  supplement would have been grossly delayed if it had 
  been kept all in one book.  So it made sense to split the 
  book in half and release it with the publishing companies 
  divided between them.  If you want to read about Blue 
  Beetle, Captain Marvel, or Skyman now, you can 
  purchase Part I today.  But if you want to read about the 
  Black Hood, Captain America, or Daredevil…well, you 
  will probably have to be patient, but you also might get 
  sneak peeks here in The Trophy Case or on the blog of 
  Fan Supreme Steve Lopez before Part II is ready. 
       Although this Editor is allowing himself a bit of a 
  break now before tackling the rest of Part II, I have still 
  had to keep reading plenty of Golden Age comic books 
  to catch up!  Sometimes this gives me good ideas for 
  things H&H still needs, like this issue’s article on 
  expanding the options for the Magic-User class.  But it’s 
  not just me writing everything; I have guest contributors, 
  including our very first art contribution by Fan Supreme-
  in-Training Allen Trembone.   
       The second biggest news item here is a new long-
  term project for Great Scott! Games that is just getting 
  its start here.  It seems I’ve been waiting my whole life to 
  make my own superhero comic book, but I’ve never had 
  the pro-level art skills to pull it off.  So I’m just going to 
  go ahead and do it anyway with mostly text stories, 
  supplemented with art – both my own and Golden Age 
  art.  The character debuting here – Major Magus -- 
  should seem familiar to anyone who knows their Golden 
  Age superheroes, or has read SUPP IV PT I.  This is 
  going to be my version of that character.  I hope it’ll be 
  as much fun to read as it’s been to write so far.   
  My last big announcement I’ve put off until the end 
  because…well, we’ll see how well it sits with everyone.  
  After this issue, I plan to release only two more all-free 
  PDF issues of The Trophy Case before making them for-
  sale items – at the reasonable rate of 50 cents per digital 
  copy.  Will enough of you stick with TTC even if you 
  can’t get it for free?  I hope everyone sees it has evolved 
  into too useful a resource to continue just giving away 
  for nothing.  And I would like to start paying contributors 
  something, even if it is such a pittance that they will 
  literally be working for pennies.  It would be nice if, by 
  the end of 2013, TTC was seen as a semi-professional 
  zine, with regular columnists, fan art, and advertisers.  
  Well, a fella can dream, can’t he? 
  Editor:  Scott T. Casper 
  Art:  Scott Casper (after C.C. Beck), George Tuska, Will 
  Eisner, Allen Trembone, Sam Cooper, Walter Frehm  
  PUBLISHER'S STATEMENT 
       THE TROPHY CASE is published quarterly 
  by Great Scott! Games, 6300 Church Road, Apt. 
  112C, Hanover Park, IL. 60133.  Paper copy 
  distribution is available by subscription at the 
  rate of $6.00 per four issues.  Electronic copy of 
  every issue that is released for free will remain 
  available for free online.  Mailed paper copy is 
  only available in the U.S. and payments must be 
  made by check.  Publisher must be informed of 
  change of address at least two weeks in 
  advance of the first day of January, April, July, 
  October, as applicable.   
       All material posted herein becomes the 
  exclusive property of the publisher unless 
  arrangements to the contrary are made.  
  Unsolicited material cannot be returned unless 
  accompanied by a stamped return envelope or 
  sent by e-mail, and no responsibility for such 
  material can be assumed by the publisher in any 
  event. AlI rights on the entire contents of this 
  publication are reserved, and nothing may be 
  reprinted in whole or in part without written 
  permission of the publisher.  
  Copyright 2013 by Games by Scott Casper 
   
  Table of Contents 
  SPECIAL FEATURE:   
  Major Magus Pt. 1…………………………….. 
   
  3 
  Silver Age Superhero Subclasses 
  by Walt Jillson and Scott Casper……  
  8 
  Madam Fatal Pt. 2: Birth by Dave  
  Brashear……………………….. 
   
   
  9  
  History Corner………….. 
   
   
  11 
  “I Challenge You to a Contest of Wills!”… 
  12   
  Fan Art by Allen Trembone…………………  
  13 
  New Race: the Undead………… 
   
  14 
  
  3 
   
  Green Mask………………….. 
   
  15 
  Hero Record Sheet by Megan 
    
  Griffin……………………………. 
   
  16 
     
   
   
   
  MAJOR MAGUS #1 
  “Invasion of the Scorpions from Space” 
  Story and art by Scott Casper 
       It was a beautiful day in the summer of 1941 
  when the spaceship came. 
       No one could say who was the first to spot it.  
  Arthur Greaves of Hamilton, New York later told 
  his family that he was birdwatching as early as 
  1:30 in the afternoon when he happened to 
  glance straight up and saw it in the sky through 
  his binoculars.  He could tell at once that it looked 
  like no plane he had ever seen.   
       Regardless of who saw it first, word of the 
  mysterious object in the sky spread quickly and 
  was easily confirmed because the object in the 
  sky remained there, seemingly motionless. 
       It was still before two and young Bobby Bauer 
  was sitting in the bedroom of his apartment.  In 
  some ways, it was a typical bedroom for a 14-
  year old boy.  Sports pennants were tacked onto 
  the walls beside a tennis racket that hung on 
  pegs.  An autographed poster of boxing great 
  ‘Buddy’ Baer hung on the wall by the bed.  More 
  unusual was the telecaster sitting on the table.  
  And the fact that Bob lived alone and this 
  respectable apartment on the Lower East Side of 
  Manhattan was leased in his name. 
   
       When the telecaster started up, Bobby looked 
  up from the latest issue of Whiz Comics he had 
  been reading.  He sat it down, rolled off the bed, 
  and strolled over to the telecaster for a look.  As 
  he read what was printing out on the ticker tape, 
  his interest turned from curiosity to concern. 
       “Holy moley…” Bobby mumbled half-out loud 
  as he pondered the news.  Sightings of a UFO 
  over New York?  That could only mean Dr. Skala 
  was back. 
       “Mazash!” Bobby said.  Outside, a lightning 
  bolt appeared in a clear blue sky with a peal of 
  thunder.  Inside, Bobby Bauer was gone.  He had 
  magically transformed into Major Magus.  Major 
  Magus knew what Bobby had known and he 
  knew where to go next for answers.  A second 
  later, the door of Bobby’s apartment had opened 
  and closed.  A second after that, the roof access 
  door of the Parker Apartment Building was left 
  open.  Less than a second after that, Major 
  Magus stepped off the edge of the roof and was 
  airborne over 8th Street. 
       As Major Magus levitated higher and faster, 
  the Lower East Side and then all of Manhattan 
  spread out below him until he could see Long 
  Island Sound stretch out to the east.  It was 100 
  miles along the length of Long Island to Southold 
  and the Custer Institute Observatory.  As Major 
  Magus leveled out lengthwise in the air and 
  gathered speed, he knew he could make that in 
  10 minutes.  
       The Custer Institute Observatory could have 
  passed for any brick home in the suburbs if not 
  for the big white dome towering over the back of 
  the building.  At the front entrance, facing 
  Bayview Road, a crowd of people had already 
  gathered at the entrance.  The man Major Magus 
  wanted, Terrence Weston, was trying to block the 
  door with his small, round body from his eight 
  colleagues pressing towards him. 
       “Gentlemen!  We can come up with some 
  reasonable rotation for the telescope!” Weston 
  was saying when Major Magus literally fell out of 
  the sky into their midst. 
       “Mind if I use it first?” Major Magus asked. 
       Weston’s colleagues fell back or slunk off 
  under the Major’s withering gaze.  One of them, 
  too intimidated by the Major’s towering presence, 
  took off his thick glasses to see if he was less 
  intimidating while blurry. 
       “Major!” Weston cried.  “I know why you’ve 
  come.  Come in!”  He waved invitingly with pudgy 
  fingers while holding the door open. 
       The Major moved through the foyer quickly 
  and down a hall towards the observatory room.  “I 
  thought we had an understanding,” the Major said 
  as they walked.  “If anything was seen coming 
  from Venus, you would contact Bob Bauer and he 
  would relay it to me.” 
       “Oh, b-but it didn’t come from Venus!” Weston 
  protested as he followed along.  “And there was 
  no sign of it in the sky until it just appeared here 
  today!”  
       Weston’s assistant stepped away from the 
  telescope as Major Magus walked up to it to take 
  a look.  Sure enough, the scope was trained right 
  on the ship.  Not elegant and streamlined like 
  Skala’s rocket ships from Venus, this vessel 
  looked clunky and blocky.  It had stabilizing fins 
  for atmosphere re-entry, but looked too ungainly 
  
  4 
   
  to land. 
       “How high is it?” the Major asked as he looked 
  for any outward clues as to its exact technological 
  level.  
       “About 60 miles.” 
       The Major checked the magnification on the 
  telescope and did a quick calculation.  “That ship 
  must be a half-mile long!  But we have no idea 
  where it approached from?” 
       “None yet,” Weston said, shaking his head.  
  “We could call other observatories and check for 
  earlier sightings.  If we could chart a string of 
  different sightings, we might be able to postulate 
  a starting point.” 
   
       “Assuming it took no course corrections,” the 
  Major said, nodding.  “No, I think the only way I’m 
  going to get answers is by going up there and 
  paying our new neighbors a visit.”  Without 
  discussing it further, the Major levitated up into 
  the air and passed through the opening in the 
  dome to leave. 
       “Good luck!” Weston called out from below. 
       Once outside again, the Major’s loose sleeves 
  and the tails of his long waistcoat flapped in the 
  breeze as he soared higher and faster. 
        
  Miles above him, aboard the spaceship, Major 
  Magus was observed on a viewscreen.  
  “Tajenka,” a gravelly voice commanded.  A green 
  hand pointed.  Another turned a dial on a control 
  panel. 
   
       As soon as Major Magus was in the 
  stratosphere, he doubled his speed and broke the 
  sound barrier.  The space ship, at first no more 
  than a dot in the sky, slowly loomed larger and 
  larger.  By the time he could make out surface 
  details of the ship, he could see a giant hatch 
  open on its underside.  Something – no, some 
  things were flying down from the ship to intercept 
  him.  Six of them.  Unlike their dull, boxy mother 
  ship, these smaller shapes were round and sleek, 
  their reflective surfaces gleaming in the sun.       
  They were shaped like oval saucers, each with 
  what looked like a long tail extending from the 
  back.  These tails were prehensile and as they 
  turned to face Major Magus, looked suspiciously 
  like they ended in guns. 
       When the thin beams of light began streaming 
  down towards Major Magus, one of them caught 
  him in the shoulder.  It didn’t hurt, but his 
  shoulder felt hot.  Glancing at it, he could see a 
  scorch mark on his coat.  The magical cloth of his 
  uniform was fireproof enough that he could take it 
  off and throw it into a furnace without hurting it.  
  And the ships were not even at close range yet.  
  This was cause for some concern. 
       The Major started dodging the light beams as 
  the two sides converged.  The ships – now 
  resembling legless scorpions at this range – 
  zoomed in but spread out as well, obviously 
  intending to outflank him.  The outside scorpion-
  ships were flying in the fastest – but how were 
  they flying?  They had no visible means of 
  propulsion.  Magnetic repulsion?  The Major 
  smiled and let the outside ships flank him.  Then 
  he poured on another boost of speed and 
  zoomed up past them into the midst of the slower 
  ships.  At times he took a few hits, felt hot stings, 
  and saw his uniform singed further.  He took mad 
  risks dodging the heat beams at close range, 
  trying to line up the ships so two would shoot 
  each other.  He wanted to see what would 
  happen, then was disappointed when he finally 
  succeeded, but found their heat shielding was 
  sufficient to block their own beam weapons.   
       Tiring of playing with them, the Major swooped 
  down at one of the lower ships, power diving fist-
  first.  Up close, he could hear the hum of the 
  ship’s internal machinery, or perhaps it was 
  coming from its magnetic field – either way, they 
  ran remarkably quiet, these ships.  At the last 
  moment before impact, this close to it, he could 
  now make out a window in the side of the ship 
  that looked almost exactly like the hull from this 
  side.  He could see the outlines of moving 
  humanoid forms through the slight opaqueness of 
  the window.  Whatever the hull was made from, it 
  crumpled under the force of his punch.   His 
  momentum carried his body through the struts, 
  machinery, and empty space inside the ship and 
  then out the other side before he could try to look 
  better through that window.  He leveled off and 
  spun around to take a look at the effects of his 
  handiwork and saw bright flashes of arcing 
  electricity in the open rent he had left in the ship.  
  The humming stopped from the ship and it went 
  into freefall. 
       The Major had to hope that the pilots had 
  parachutes or some technologically advanced 
  analog, because he still had five more scorpion-
  ships to contend with.  He still was not in pain 
  from the cumulative hits of their heat beams, but 
  he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.  He 
  
  5 
   
  picked the next closest and zoomed towards it.  
  The scorpion-ship tried to veer out of his path, but 
  was too slow.  The Major connected with his fist 
  against the edge of the ship, causing it to flip 
  through the sky, out of control, like a giant wink in 
  a game of tiddlywinks. 
       The other four ships hung back now and it 
  took the Major a moment too long to realize why.  
  A wider beam of light struck him from the mother 
  ship and the Major felt his every muscle turn rigid.  
  Paralyzed, he could only watch as the ships 
  closed in around him again.  Scorpion leg-like 
  appendages telescoped out of the bottom of the 
  nearest ship and the ends of them opened up into 
  pincers that closed around the Major’s body.  
  Once secured, the ship transported the Major 
  back up towards the mothership and its open 
  hatch. 
   
       The scorpion-ship landed gently in a large 
  hold with metal, mostly smooth walls and 
  rounded corners, beside four other scorpion-
  ships.  The hold reverberated with the ‘boom’ of 
  the ship’s magnetic field clamping to the floor. 
       Footsteps were coming his way, but since the 
  Major could not turn his head he had to wait for 
  the source to come into his field of vision.  It was 
  a group of seven men – no, not men, though man-
  shaped.  They wore some sort of armor with 
  dome-like helmets, but inside the clear helmets, 
  their heads were bald, green, and wrinkly, with 
  their faces pushed in and half-featureless.  They 
  held long metal poles with handgrips and, as they 
  formed up around the Major, the pincers of the 
  scorpion-ship let him go.  He started to fall 
  forward, but he was caught by some sort of 
  levitation field being generated between the 
  seven poles.  He could only float there, mostly 
  sideways, and stare at the floor as he was moved 
  across the hold.  As long as the hold was, it took 
  them two minutes to cross it.  Then a sliding door 
  opened for them and they moved into another 
  room. 
       It was a small room, likely an airlock.  The light 
  was darker in here, with a green cast coming 
  from the light sources embedded in the ceiling. 
  The air smelled of something unidentifiable, but 
  vaguely like cabbage.  Another sliding door 
  opened and they moved into a third room. 
       The Major saw them putting something on his 
  head.  It immediately gave him a headache – the 
  first Major Magus had ever had.  Then he was 
  tilted upwards so he could face a television 
  monitor embedded in the wall facing him, just five 
  feet away.  One of the same aliens, but without a 
  helmet on, was looking at him through the 
  monitor. 
       “Vooshlanka proxultaria.  Etad being?” the 
  alien on the monitor asked.  “How many 
  biological weapons like you does Earth 
  possess?”   
       Thinking quickly, the Major realized the helmet 
  was helping his mind translate the alien speech.  
  He also realized that he could suddenly move his 
  face, lungs, and diaphragm, the Major bluffed and 
  answered.  “Hundreds.  And if Earth was full-out 
  attacked, we could quickly mobilize thousands.” 
       The alien on the monitor touched its fingers to 
  its nose, perhaps symbolically, like how 
  Earthlings will scratch their chin to show they are 
  thinking.  “We do not wish to decimate your 
  people in a senseless war,” the alien said.  
  “Would your people not accept defeat once they 
  saw how overmatched they were by us?” 
       “No, sir.”  The Major said, pulling his stiff face 
  into a defiant look.  “It would only make us resist 
  harder.” 
       “A pity, then, since any resistance will come to 
  nothing but death and destruction.  We 
  Proxultarians already hold the world you call 
  Mars.  Earth will be next.” 
       “I don’t think so.” 
       “And why not?” 
       “Because your paralysis ray has worn off 
  already.” 
       Before anyone could react to that, the Major 
  reached out, snatched two of the levitation poles 
  around him with his hands, and snapped the 
  poles in half like matchsticks. 
       “Stop him!” the alien on the monitor shouted. 
       Four of the guards obeyed by adjusting dials 
  set above the lower handgrip on their poles to the 
  next setting.  Electricity arced through the air 
  between poles, striking the Major from each side 
  and making him grunt in pain. 
       One of the guards, Poolsa, late of Vorlux 
  Trana, decided he was not earning nearly enough 
  retirement credits for this.  He dropped his pole, 
  turned, and fled. 
       But the Major ignored the pole-wielding guards 
  remaining around him.  He flew forward and 
  punched his fist through the monitor screen.  The 
  screen went blank as his arm passed through the 
  machinery behind it and wrecked it.  The Major 
  paused only a moment to consider the matter, 
  then decided to press right on through into the 
  wall.  Crashing through knocked the helmet off 
  
  6 
   
  his head.  He paused and reached back out to 
  pick it up.  It was a tall, conical, metal hat with 
  blinking lights and two short antennae sticking out 
  of it.  The Major tucked it under his arm for 
  safekeeping and went back into wrecking his way 
  through the wall. 
       Once the Major was out of sight, the guards 
  just stood around staring at each other.  Without 
  orders, they were unsure of what to do, but what 
  Poolsa had done was beginning to seem even 
  more like a good idea. 
       On every floor of the ship, the same results 
  started happening.  Systems started shutting 
  down or losing power.  A Proxultarian would be 
  standing there, wondering what was happening, 
  when Major Magus would come crashing through 
  the wall, fly across the room, and crash through 
  another wall.  In both directions would be a tunnel 
  of destruction, sparks flying from loose cables, 
  and pieces of broken machinery – all gorgzoi-
  capacitors and a zramsha assembly, as well as 
  numerous memshoi relays, all scattered over the 
  floor. 
       The Major was finding that more of the ship 
  was solid machinery than rooms or even access 
  tunnels.  How much of this ship was automated?   
  Major Magus crashed through one more wall and 
  came into a small room with only one blinking red 
  light.  One whole wall was covered in what looked 
  like giant printed circuit boards, like one could 
  find in some English radios.  Across from this wall 
  was a wall-embedded monitor screen, with a 
  button pad and a speaker mounted below it.  
  Before busting the circuit boards, the Major found 
  himself more curious about the monitor.  He went 
  over to it and started pressing random buttons to 
  see what would happen. 
        The monitor did nothing at first, but when the 
  Major turned his back on it to go smash the circuit 
  boards, the monitor turned itself on and the image 
  of the same Proxultarian who had interrogated 
  him appeared on it. 
   
        “Gelstoldo eln ot frelya, Earth merji,” the 
  Proxultarian said. 
       “Hold on a moment,” the Major said, putting 
  his confiscated helmet back on.  “Say that again.” 
       “You are accomplishing nothing, Earth man,” 
  the Proxultarian repeated calmly and politely. 
       “Really?  Because it looks like I’m taking your 
  ship apart.” 
       The alien wrinkled up its little face, which 
  seemed like it would be difficult given how wrinkly 
  it already was.  “True, the ship cannot make the 
  trip back to Mars now, but you have surely also 
  noticed by now that the crew is small.  Twenty-
  two crewmen are acceptable losses and you are 
  not the only one capable of shutting down 
  systems on board.” 
       “You—you’re going to crash your own ship?” 
  the Major asked in surprise. 
       “You keep calling it mine, but I am not on it.  
  And it will be a nice…opening salvo, if I 
  understand your idioms correctly, on your world 
  to crash it into one of your largest cities.” 
       “Why you!” the Major shouted as he punched 
  his fist through the monitor screen.  The image 
  winked out just as it broke into shards.  “I’ve got 
  to stop this thing!” 
       Major Magus did some quick calculations.  It 
  would take too long for the ship to fall out of its 
  geosynchronous orbit into freefall.  Most likely the 
  rockets, or whatever made the ship move, were 
  being fired remotely right now.  The ship’s 
  propulsion system would also be the only way to 
  aim the ship towards New York City before letting 
  it fall. If the rockets were in use, there was no 
  time to spare.  The Major crashed right through 
  the circuit board wall and dug through the interior 
  of the ship. He dropped the helmet he had been 
  carrying so he could punch his way through walls 
  two-fisted.  Instead of navigating around within 
  walls, he crashed his way in a straight line 
  through the ship to the outside hull. He knew he 
  reached it when the wall did not yield at his first 
  punch.  How thick is this? The Major wondered, 
  as he had to punch it twice just to make the wall 
  buckle.   
       Soon, the light of day was making the Major 
  squint as he stared out of the dark interior of the 
  spaceship and down on the New York 
  countryside from about 60 miles up. He could 
  hear the metal hull stress and groan from gravity 
  taking hold of it, but he heard no rockets.  If they 
  had already been fired, it was just a short burst to 
  knock the ship out of orbit before the rockets 
  were powered down with the rest of the ship.  The 
  Major could feel the ship lurching.  It was now 
  way too late to hope that the alien had just been 
  bluffing.  As soon as it went into freefall, he would 
  have maybe five seconds before this spaceship-
  turned-meteorite hit New York City.  That left no 
  time at all for his preferred plan of figuring out the 
  
  7 
   
  controls for the ship and restarting the propulsion 
  systems.  Even his Plan B of destroying the ship 
  was not feasible now.  If he had to kill less than 
  two dozen aliens to save millions of Earthlings, 
  he might have done it.  But now all that was left to 
  him was his Plan C. 
       The Major flew outside and circled around the 
  ship.  The last of the lights visible within the ship 
  winked off, section by section, as the ship 
  completely powered down.  It was little more than 
  a mountain-sized rock now, ready to fall and 
  crush and destroy. 
       The location of the ship’s target, if it was New 
  York City, presented the most obvious solution.  
  New York City was right on the coast.  If he could 
  just angle its descent a little more, he should be 
  able to pitch it into the ocean instead.  But 
  missing the coast by a little would not be enough – 
  there was the danger of a tsunami swamping the 
  coastline then.  He had to angle this thing at least 
  100 miles out to sea, and as bulky and un-
  aerodynamic as this ship was…well, it was going 
  to be like trying to get a thrown boulder to skip on 
  water. The ship must have weighed tens of 
  thousands of tons, way beyond the Major’s lifting 
  capacity. The Major came up underneath one of 
  the ship’s stabilizing fins.  He pressed his back 
  into it, and willed himself to fly in reverse.  It 
  seemed to be just in time too, as the Major could 
  suddenly feel more and more of the ship’s weight 
  crushing down against him.  He gritted his teeth 
  and kept pushing back.  He could hear the fin 
  bending at his back under the terrific pressure.  
  But the good news was that the tableau below 
  him was starting to shift a little.  In the direction 
  he and the ship were facing, he guessed he might 
  be able to splashdown in the bay…or maybe wipe 
  out Coney Island if he was a little off.   
       He needed to push much harder and pivot the 
  ship more, but when he tried, the fin he had 
  already bent out of shape snapped off 
  completely.  Without anything there to brace 
  himself against, the Major would have zoomed 
  way past the ship and lost precious time, so he 
  dug his fingers into the ship’s hull as it rocketed 
  past him to slow himself down.  Once he had 
  good handholds on the ship’s surface again, he 
  resumed flying up to pull on the ship. 
       It was clearly helping.  Major Magus could not 
  keep it from falling, but he could keep the ship 
  from reaching its terminal velocity.  Five seconds 
  came and went and the ship and the Major were 
  still falling.  The friction with the atmosphere was 
  horrific.  Major Magus could hear nothing but the 
  terrible roar of the wind against his ears and 
  could barely hold his eyes open. The air ripped at 
  his uniform, as if trying to tear off his clothes.  But 
  had he pulled the ship far enough off-course?  He 
  could not see the coastline from his vantage 
  point.  Below him was only the wide expanse of 
  ocean – waves growing larger by the moment as 
  they zoomed closer to impact. 
        The metal under the Major’s fingers was now 
  painfully hot and the Major felt like he was on fire, 
  but still he kept tugging at his heavy load.  He 
  was right on top of the ocean now.  One second 
  to impact.  Praying for the best, the Major let go 
  and zoomed away.  Behind him, the ocean 
  exploded into a mile-wide, two hundred foot-tall 
  water plume at the site of impact. 
        Though the Major had tried to veer up at the 
  last moment, even he could not level out in time 
  to keep from hitting the water.  He assumed the 
  form of a diver to reduce surface impact and went 
  under deep.  When he finally stopped himself, he 
  found himself swimming naked – the last tatters of 
  his uniform floating away from him. 
       Unconcerned, he swam upwards towards light 
  and broke the surface of the ocean.  He could 
  hear the rush of the waves instead of the roar of 
  the wind now and the salty tang of the seawater 
  was strong in the air.  Rising back out of the 
  ocean, he followed the waves from above them in 
  the air.  The waves ahead of him were enormous 
  – large enough to swamp the coastlines of New 
  York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania with ease.  
  But were they far enough out?  Would the waves 
  subside enough before hitting the shore?  
       Flying higher, the Major could see the 
  Manhattan skyline rising above the horizon.  The 
  waves were shrinking as they drew nearer, but 
  they were still high – awfully high.  There was 
  bound to still be some flooding in the Bayside 
  Area, though the damage was going to be much 
  less now than a direct hit would have caused. 
       For the first time in a while, Major Magus 
  allowed himself a sigh of relief.  Then he 
  remembered he was naked!  Up ahead was a 
  Coast Guard tugboat 
  that had managed to 
  ride out the worst of 
  the waves without 
  capsizing.  Major 
  Magus slowed down, 
  flew in low to the 
  waves, and shouted 
  “Mazash!” 
       Bobby Bauer, fully 
  clothed in what he had 
  been wearing earlier, 
  appeared in the sky 
  and hit the water hard.  
  He kicked off his 
  shoes and struggled 
  his way up to the 
  surface.  “Help!  Help!” 
  he called out to the tugboat crew.  He could see 
  the man at the railing getting ready to throw him a 
  life preserver. 
  
  8 
   
       “Who are you?” an officer asked once Bobby 
  was up on deck and wrapped in a dry blanket. 
       “Bobby Bauer, sir, reporter for American 
  Communication Radio?  And have I got a story 
  for you…” 
  Next issue:  Skala’s Paralyzing Gas! 
   
  Silver Age Superhero Subclasses 
  By Walt Jillson & Scott Casper 
  [This is the last submitted article about tweaking 
  H&H for Silver Age campaigns.  At the time I 
  accepted this article, I was unaware how much of 
  the article was borrowed from the classic game 
  Superhero 2044.  I am going to go ahead and 
  publish it anyway because I feel we have made 
  significant enough changes, but I did want to 
  make sure we cite the original source material. 
  ~SC/Ed.] 
       Just to give Superheroes a little more variety, 
  all Superheroes in a Silver Age campaign may 
  choose a sub-class.  The subclasses are:  
  Gadgeteer, Specialist, and the Achilles. 
  Gadgeteer: This is a character who relies on a 
  gadget of some type to gain his powers.  It might 
  be technological, like Iron Man's armor, or 
  magical, like Green Lantern's ring, but it gives 
  him a wide variety of powers, and can be tinkered 
  with to provide different powers each day. 
        The Gadgeteer, because of his versatility, can 
  draw from a wider range of powers that includes 
  Magic-User spells.  The Gadgeteer still gains 
  powers/spells at the same progression as a 
  regular Superhero. 
        Further, the Gadgeteer has all the abilities of 
  a 1st-level Scientist. 
        The drawback of the Gadgeteer is that these 
  powers/spells are dependent on one item (a suit 
  of armor, a magic ring) that can be lost, stolen, or 
  even destroyed.  If this happens, the Gadgeteer 
  can make a replacement, but it will take 1d20 
  days and 1d20x1000 dollars to finish the task. 
  Specialist: These Heroes sacrifice flexibility for 
  more power.  The Specialist has some unique 
  power granted to him in a manner not easily 
  duplicated, or something the Specialist was born 
  with (such as the X-Men) or from a radioactive 
  accident (such as the Hulk). 
        The Specialist gains new power levels at the 
  same rate, but the number of powers at each 
  level is halved, rounded up.  So, a Superhero 
  always has just one power of each level until he 
  reaches 9th level, and all those powers have to 
  be thematically linked.  Someone playing 
  Cyclops, for example, would have to pick powers 
  that could relate to the explosive beams that 
  shoot from his eyes, such as Wreck at Distance 
  and Bulls-Eye, but could not pick Outrun Train.  
  The upside of all this is that the Specialist can 
  use all his powers as if 2 levels higher.  None of 
  this affects the ability to wreck things. 
        The Specialist also advances in level using 
  the experience point progression of the Fighter 
  class at the same levels. 
  Achilles: This is the mightiest of Superheroes, 
  though he also suffers from some powerful 
  drawbacks.  Like the legendary Greek warrior of 
  the same name, or like Superman or Thor. 
        The Achilles gets a +1 bonus to all his 
  attributes, and this can take the attributes to 19, if 
  he is lucky.  Further, the Achilles advances in 
  acquiring powers as if one level higher and 
  performs those powers as if two levels higher.    
       If the Editor does not normally allow 
  Superheroes to use powers without choosing and 
  preparing them in advance, the Achilles is not 
  bound by this restriction, but is able to choose 
  powers as soon as they are needed.  If the Editor 
  does not use this requirement for other 
  Superheroes, then the Achilles has a 1 in 6 
  chance of being able to re-use a power after its 
  duration expires. 
       However, the Achilles always suffers from a 
  strange drawback, rolled for by the Editor at the 
  time of character creation. 
  Achilles' Heel (1d10) 
  1. Magic 
  2. Mind control 
  3. An element normally alien to Earth, but now 
  fairly commonly found by criminals 
  4. Negative universe energy 
  5. Heat 
  6. Cold 
  7. Daytime 
  8. Being separated from a magic weapon 
  9. Being in water/being away from water 
  10. Having one’s hair cut off 
       In any situation where the Achilles has to face 
  his Achilles' Heel, all attacks against him have 
  double effectiveness (hit point damage, duration, 
  or whatever the Editor thinks appropriate), and 
  also causes all of his powers, including wrecking 
  things, to fail until the exposure to his Achilles’ 
  Heel is removed.  Note that the Achilles Heel can 
  be built into a death trap, a raygun, imbued into 
  the armor of a robot, or whatever the Editor likes.  
       The likelihood of an Achilles Heel showing up 
  in any encounter is based on the highest level 
  enemy encountered, as follows: ultra-mad 
  scientist or level 7+ evil magic user 25%, mad 
  scientist or level 5-6 evil magic user 20%, 
  Genghis Khan 15%, Napoleon 10%, other villain 
  of level 6+ 5%.  If the news of the superhero's 
  Achilles Heel is somehow reported to the 
  underworld at large, the chance of it appearing in 
  
  9 
   
  any specific encounter increases by a permanent 
  +15%.  Note, however, that most mastermind-
  type villains will not report a known super's 
  Achilles Heel, as their egos demand that no one 
  else be able to defeat their arch-foes. 
   
   
   
  Madame Fatal Pt. 2 
  “Birth” 
  By David Brashear 
       “Dat bird better not be loud!” The building 
  manager hadn’t stopped grousing since Stanton 
  and Hamlet had arrived to rent a room. “I don’t 
  want any complaints!”  
       “He’ll be plenty quiet,” Stanton said. He’d 
  changed into an old set of clothes, mussed his 
  hair, thrown on a pair of glasses and added a 
  makeup scar down the side of his face. Squinting 
  and roughening his voice completed the effect. 
       “He’d better be.” The manager stopped in front 
  of a door and stabbed the key into the lock. After 
  fighting the lock a second, he swung open the 
  door. “Rent’s due on the first. Bathroom’s at the 
  end of the hall. There’s a phone in the lobby and I 
  do charge for calls.” The manager handed the 
  key to Stanton and left.  
       Stanton closed the door and looked around 
  the small room. A bed sat against the wall beside 
  a battered dresser. In front of him was a window 
  which glowed with neon from outside and 
  doubtlessly led to the fire escape. A small 
  hotplate and an icebox sat against the third wall 
  with a rickety table and chair provided for eating. 
       “It looks like this is home for now, Hamlet,” 
  Stanton said as he set the parrot’s cage down on 
  the bed and opened the door. Hamlet hopped 
  onto the metal rail at the foot and watched as 
  Stanton locked the door and closed all the 
  windows. Stanton pulled down the blind and 
  smiled. “Time to go to work.”  
       Stanton quickly removed his makeup and dug 
  through one of his suitcases. He pulled out a red 
  dress and shoes, which he donned. Careful 
  makeup application and a gray wig changed his 
  appearance to that of an elderly woman.  
       Stanton smiled. “What do you think, Hamlet?” 
  he asked in a voice that was higher and crackly. 
       “Frailty, thy name is woman!” Hamlet replied. 
       Stanton chuckled. He walked back to the bed 
  and picked up a cane. He twirled it in his hand to 
  judge the weight. “It looks like all that fight 
  training I went through is finally going to pay off,” 
  he judged in his normal voice. He put on a pair of 
  glasses and walked toward the door. “Don’t wait 
  up, Hamlet,” he said. “I’ll be late.”  
       “Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go 
  with thee!” Hamlet called as Stanton closed the 
  door.  
   --------------- 
       Miles away, things were not going as well for 
  Daniel Dyce. He’d been notified of the fire and 
  raced to the scene, fearing the worst. He’d 
  arrived as the firefighters finished spraying down 
  the skeletal remains of Stanton’s home and now 
  he stood in the ruined living room. 
       “Why did you do it?” he muttered. “We would 
  have found Mary.” He looked around and 
  remembered Stanton’s state of mind the last time 
  they’d talked. He looked down at the place where 
  the couch had stood and his eyes opened as he 
  noticed something. Beside the couch there 
  should have been a mound of melted metal, the 
  remnants of Hamlet’s cage. There was nothing.  
       He turned and walked out of the room as 
  quickly as he was able and grabbed a firefighter 
  by the sleeve of his coat. “Where did you find the 
  body?” he asked.  
       “Body?” the firefighter repeated with a 
  confused look on his face. “We haven’t found any 
  bodies. Looks like nobody was home.” 
       Dyce let the firefighter go and stared into 
  nothing, wheels whirring in his head. If there was 
  no body, then Stanton had to be alive! The 
  absence of Hamlet’s bones in his cage confirmed 
  it. Stanton would have never let any harm come 
  to the bird. 
       Dyce walked out of the house’s ruins and 
  stepped onto the manicured lawn with a sinking 
  feeling in his stomach. He knew why Stanton had 
  staged this. “He’s going after Carver himself,” 
  Dyce muttered as he walked to his car. He 
  started it and drove out of the driveway as he 
  realized that he had to find Stanton before he got 
  himself killed.  
  --------- 
       The disguised Stanton made his way through 
  the streets of the city. He made sure to stick to 
  the dark alleys as he searched for anyone who 
  could lead him to Carver. 
       It didn’t take long for his hopes to be 
  rewarded. A thug stood in front of him with a knife 
  exposed. “Hey, granny,” he said. “Hand over the 
  purse and you don’t get hurt.” 
       “Come get it,” Stanton said in his disguised 
  voice. The thug charged him and Stanton whirled 
  around, spinning the cane like a staff. He struck 
  the thief’s arm with the cane and heard bone 
  snap. As the thief grunted and his knife fell to the 
  ground, a second blow to the back of the thief’s 
  neck sent him sprawling.  
  
  10 
   
        The thief rolled over and looked up to see the 
  old woman holding the cane to his throat. “Don’t 
  kill me!” the thief begged. “I got a family!”  
       “I find that doubtful,” the woman said, “but I’m 
  letting you live because I need you. I want you to 
  tell every one of your hood friends that I’m on 
  patrol for them, and I’m going to keep coming 
  after them until I find a man named John Carver.” 
       “Who are you?” the thief asked. 
       “Madam Fatal,” the woman replied and ran 
  into darkness as she laughed. 
       From high above, two eyes narrowed behind a 
  dark mask and a caped figure moved to pursue 
  Madam Fatal. 
  --------- 
       Across town, wealthy heiress Brenda Banks 
  was at dinner with the man she loved, Police 
  Chief Hardy Moore. Her green eyes sparkled and 
  her red hair shone like fire under the restaurant’s 
  lights. Moore sighed with happiness as she 
  laughed at a joke he’d just finished.  
       “Oh, Hardy,” Brenda said. “You’re so funny.” 
  She took another drink from her wine glass. 
       Hardy smiled. “I’m just glad to be spending 
  time here with you,” he said. “It seems like I’ve 
  had to spend so much time in the office lately I 
  feel like I’ve been neglecting you.” 
       “Oh, Hardy,” Brenda cooed. “Is it that same 
  case?” 
       “It is,” Hardy said as he laid his fork down on 
  his plate. “It’s bad enough we have that vigilante 
  the Clock running around. Now we’ve got a 
  woman running around in a green dress calling 
  herself Lady Luck!” 
       Brenda gasped. “Another one?” she asked. 
  “What is happening?” 
       “I don’t know,” Hardy said, shaking his head. “I 
  don’t understand why these people won’t let the 
  police do our job.” He stopped as a waiter walked 
  up and whispered to Hardy that he had an urgent 
  phone call. Hardy soon returned and took 
  Brenda’s hand. 
       “I’m sorry but I have to go, my dear,” he said. 
  “We just got a call that the Clock’s been spotted.” 
       “Be safe,” Brenda said as she demurely kissed 
  him on the cheek. She watched him leave and 
  motioned the waiter over. After the waiter had 
  assured her that the bill had been settled, a now-
  resolute Brenda stood and retrieved her coat from 
  the coat check. If Hardy was after the Clock, 
  perhaps Lady Luck should look in on the 
  situation. 
       Madam Fatal stopped as she heard footsteps 
  coming up behind her. She turned to see a man 
  in a suit with a black mask covering his face. 
  “Can I help you?” she asked. 
       “Nice job on that hood back there,” the man 
  said. He extended a hand. “They call me the 
  Clock,” he said. 
       “Madam Fatal,” she replied as she clasped his 
  hand. 
       “I believe we’re both on the same case,” the 
  Clock said. “I also want to find John Carver. I 
  thought that we might combine our resources.” 
       “Why not?” Fatal asked. “You’ve got a deal, 
  Mr. Clock.” 
       Unbeknownst to the two, another hood had 
  slipped up behind them with a gun in his hand. 
  Suddenly a green-sleeved arm seized him and 
  executed a judo throw that sent him crashing into 
  one of the alley’s walls. Both turned to see a 
  woman dressed entirely in green standing there. 
        “Looks like you two need to be a little more 
  careful,” she said. “That hood was about to punch 
  your tickets.” 
       “Lady Luck,” the Clock said. “I’ve heard about 
  you.” 
       “The same here, Mr. Clock,” Lady Luck said. 
  “But who are you?”  
       “Madam Fatal,” Fatal said as she clasped 
  Lady Luck’s hand.  
       “I heard you two talking about John Carver,” 
  Lady Luck said. “I’ve got my own reasons to want 
  to hand him over to the cops.” 
       “Then it looks like we’re working together,” 
  Clock said. He turned as the hood started to stir 
  and a quick kick to the head sent him back to 
  dreamland. “I suggest we see what we can turn 
  up working on our own and we meet again 
  tomorrow night.” 
       “Agreed,” Fatal said. “What about the old fire 
  station on Seventh Street?” 
       “Works for me,” Lady Luck said. “Until 
  tomorrow night!”  
       Lady Luck and Madam Fatal ran into the 
  shadows. The Clock paused only long enough to 
  place a calling card on the unconscious hood 
  before vanishing as well. 
       Only a few minutes later the police pulled up. 
  Moore, still in his suit, was one of the first into the 
  alley. “Keep an eye out!” he ordered. “The Clock 
  might be in the area!” 
       “Sir!” Moore hurried into the alley and 
  discovered a policeman kneeling over the fallen 
  hood. “Look!” 
  
  11 
   
       Moore picked up the card and read the familiar 
  words ‘The Clock has struck’. “Keep looking!” he 
  yelled.   
       The search would be useless.  
   
       Stanton returned to his apartment via the fire 
  escape and was talking as he fed Hamlet. “It was 
  incredible,” the smiling Stanton said. “Everyone 
  underestimated me. They just saw an old woman. 
  And then meeting the Clock and Lady Luck was a 
  stroke of luck. They said they’ll help me find 
  Carver.” 
       Stanton slept peacefully that night for the first 
  time in weeks. He dreamed of finding his 
  daughter and restarting their lives together. 
  Copyright, 2012.  David Brashear.  All rights 
  reserved. (reprinted from 
  http://dca.bhyphen.com/gamadamfatal01.html) 
  History Corner 
  Backgrounds Care of the Census Bureau 
  By Scott Casper 
       The 1940 Census records are a trove of 
  information that can be used for detailing the 
  background of Supporting Cast Members – or 
  even Heroes -- in H&H. 
       The median age in 1940 was younger than 
  today, ranging from 22-33 years old, with only 2% 
  of the population over the age of 75.   Only 24% 
  had a high school education and 5% attended 
  college.  90% of the population was white and 
  10% was black (the percent of other was less 
  than 1%, but with the most numerous race being 
  Chinese; the Census did not collect information 
  on Hispanics at that time).  87% were native 
  citizens, 7% were foreign born, naturalized 
  citizens, 4% were legal aliens, and 4% were 
  illegal aliens.  The most common country of birth 
  for foreigners was Italian, followed by German.  
        The average employment rate for those 14 or 
  older was 52%, meaning almost half of all people 
  were still out of work from the Great Depression.  
  Of those not in the labor force, only 5% were still 
  trying to find jobs, 29% stayed at home and did 
  housework (that number was 57% for women), 
  9% were in school, 5% were unable to work 
  because of disability, illness or old age, and 1% 
  were institutionalized.  Of those employed, their 
  numbers broke down like the following: 
  1-6 
  professional workers (artists, teachers, 
  authors, etc.) 
  7 
  semi-professional workers (designers, 
  draftsmen, photographers, etc.) 
  8-18 
  farmers (or farm management) 
  19-26 
  non-farm management (ad agents, train 
  conductors, inspectors, etc.) 
  27-43 
  clerical/sales (bookkeepers, 
  accountants, cashiers, etc.) 
  44-54 
  craftsmen (bakers, blacksmiths, 
  brickmasons, etc.) 
  55-72 
  operatives (attendants, train brakemen, 
  chauffeurs, etc.) 
  73-77 
  domestic service workers 
  (housekeepers, laundresses, servants, 
  etc.) 
  78-85 
  non-domestic service workers (firemen, 
  doormen, policemen, etc.) 
  86-89 
  farm laborers (for a wage) 
  90-92 
  farm laborers (unpaid family) 
  93-99 
  laborers (fishermen, car washers, non-
  farm gardeners, etc.) 
  00 
  other? 
       56% of the population lived in urban areas and 
  43% in rural areas.  23% lived on farms.  58% 
  lived in the North, 32% lived in the South, and 
  11% lived in the West.  This geography of origin 
  could be further broken down as follows:  
  1 
  Maine 
  2 
  New Hampshire or Vermont 
  3-5 
  Massachusetts 
  6 
  Rhode Island 
  7 
  Connecticut 
  8-17 
  New York 
  18-20 
  New Jersey 
  21-29 
  Pennsylvania 
  30-34 
  Ohio 
  35-37 
  Indiana 
  38-43 
  Illinois 
  44-47 
  Michigan 
  48-49 
  Wisconsin 
  50-51 
  Minnesota 
  52-53 
  Iowa 
  54-56 
  Missouri 
  57    
  North or South Dakota 
  58    
  Nebraska 
  59    
  Kansas 
  60    
  Delaware or District of Columbia 
  61    
  Maryland 
  62-63 
  Virginia 
  64    
  West Virginia 
  65-67 
  North Carolina 
  68    
  South Carolina 
  69-70     Georgia 
  71    
  Florida 
  72-73     Kentucky 
  
  12 
   
  74-75     Tennessee 
  76-77     Alabama 
  78-79     Mississippi 
  80    
  Arkansas 
  81-83     Louisiana 
  83-84     Oklahoma 
  85-89     Texas 
  90    
  Montana, Idaho, or Wyoming 
  91    
  Colorado 
  92    
  New Mexico or Arizona 
  93    
  Utah or Nevada 
  94    
  Washington 
  95    
  Oregon 
  96-00     California             
       Most statistically common industry groups for 
  male workers, by state: 
  Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island – textile-mill 
  products 
  New Hampshire – leather products 
  Vermont, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, 
  North and South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, 
  Virginia, North and South Carolina, Florida, 
  Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, 
  Arkansas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Texas, 
  Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, New 
  Mexico, Arizona, Utah, California – agriculture 
  Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, 
  Maryland – iron and steel products 
  New York – apparel and fabricated textile 
  products 
  New Jersey, Illinois – machinery 
  Michigan – automobiles 
  Delaware – chemical products 
  District of Columbia – government 
  West Virginia – mining 
  Georgia – retail trade 
  Nevada – mines and quarries 
  Washington, Oregon – sawmills 
  Data taken from:  
  U.S. Census Bureau.  United States Summary 
  (1940).  
  http://www2.census.gov/prod2/decennial/docume
  nts/33973538v2p1ch2.pdf 
   
  “I Challenge You to a Contest of Wills!” 
  A New Option for Magic-Users 
  By Scott Casper 
       “Bah!” Shadillah the Sorcerer spat.  “You claim 
  to be great, Yarko, but you are no match for me.  
  My spells can utterly destroy you!” 
       “Perhaps,” Yarko the Great said calmly.  “We 
  could hurl lightning at each other all day, but will 
  you risk having your victory be from random 
  chance and a lucky shot?” 
       “Yes, you’re right!” the old sorcerer suddenly 
  chortled with glee.  “Let this contest be decided 
  with a proper duel.  I challenge you to a contest of 
  wills!” 
       Since time immemorial, Magic-Users have 
  challenged each other to magical duels of will for 
  a variety of reasons.  Since it involves less 
  random chance than ordinary combat, it has often 
  been seen as a truer measure of a Magic-User’s 
  ability.  Since the combat is all cerebral, it runs no 
  risk of property damage, nor does it reveal the 
  Magic-Users to be using magic – particularly 
  useful back in the days when charges of 
  witchcraft led to trials and execution. 
       Before the contest of wills begins, each side 
  must determine their mental hit points.  This 
  number is the sum of the Magic-User’s level and 
  total spell levels currently memorized.  For 
  example, if a 7th-level Magic-User was down to 
  his last four 1st-level spells, his mental hp would 
  be 11.  A 5th-level Magic-User with three 1st-level 
  spells, 1 2nd-level spell, and 1 3rd-level spell left 
  uncast would have a mental hp of 13. 
       For every 10 minutes the Magic-Users spend 
  concentrating on pouring all their mental energy 
  at each other, 
  each Magic-
  User losing 1 
  mental hp.  
  From this 
  point, the 
  contest 
  becomes 
  essentially a 
  game of 
  chicken.  The 
  higher the 
  percentage of 
  mental hp lost, 
  the higher the 
  risk to the 
  Magic-User, so 
  which one will 
  drop out first?  
  At each of the 
  following 
  thresholds, the 
  Magic-User 
  starts racking 
  up cumulative penalties. 
       At 10% of total mental hp lost, a Magic-User 
  will exit the battle shaky and at a –3 penalty to all 
  attack rolls and saving throws for the next hour. 
       At 25% of total mental hp lost, a Magic-User 
  will exit the battle exhausted and unable to fight, 
  cast spells, or do any physical activity more 
  
  13 
   
  exerting than walking until he sleeps for at least 
  four hours. 
       At 50% of total mental hp lost, a Magic-User 
  will exit the battle with all spells wiped from his 
  memory and a 1 in 10 chance for each spell 
  memorized of permanently losing the ability to 
  memorize and cast that spell. 
       At 75% of total mental hp lost, a Magic-User 
  has a 1 in 6 chance per 10 minutes of 
  “permanently” losing 1 real hit point and a 1 in 8 
  chance per 10 minutes of “permanently” losing 1 
  point of Intelligence.  These “permanent” 
  penalties last until the Magic-User gains his next 
  level.  
       At 100% of total mental hp lost, a Magic-User 
  dies. 
       There will be times, when calculating 
  thresholds, that the player will not know whether 
  to round up or down.  The player never chooses 
  whether to round up or down; this is determined 
  randomly by the Editor at each occurrence.  So 
  the contest becomes trickier the closer one 
  comes to each threshold.   
       Obviously, a contest of wills is time-
  consuming.  The two Magic-Users will need to be 
  left alone and unmolested for the duration of the 
  contest.  Any attack upon either Magic-User 
  breaks the contest for both parties.   
       There are ways to cheat in a contest of wills.  
  After it has begun, other Magic-Users can enter 
  the contest and pit their wills against either side.  
  Certain magic trophies that have mind-affecting 
  effects, such as wearing a Helm of Telepathy or 
  drinking a Potion of ESP, will confer +1 
  cumulative bonuses to the Magic-User’s mental 
  hit points.   
       Psionics are a definite cheat.  A psionic Magic-
  User can add mental hp for each psionic defense 
  mode used, depending on the strength of the 
  mode, as follows: 5 hp for Mind Blank, 10 hp for 
  Thought Shield, 15 hp for Mental Barrier, 20 hp 
  for Intellect Fortress, and 25 hp for Tower of Iron 
  Will.  Of course, if both sides in the contest have 
  psionics, then they can simply battle it out with 
  psionics instead. 
       It is possible to try and force a fellow Magic-
  User to engage in a contest of wills, requiring a 
  save against spells to resist, but since anyone 
  can leave a contest of wills as a free action the 
  effort is largely pointless -- except perhaps as an 
  attempt to show dominance. 
       When determining how low a Magic-User 
  controlled by the Editor is willing to go, there are 
  several methods the Editor can use.  One would 
  be to make a morale save for the Magic-User 
  each turn of the contest.  Another would be to roll 
  1d100 and use that number as the lowest 
  percentage the Magic-User is willing to drop to.  
  Of course, the Editor is always free to rely on his 
  own sense of drama. 
   
  FAN ART 
      Great Scott! Games has received its first art 
  submissions from Fan Supreme-in-Training, Allen 
  Trembone.  Allen has a way of stripping 
  characters down to their core essence that I think 
  we can all appreciate.  Here he works his magic 
  on Bulletman, Bulletgirl, and the Golden Age 
  Daredevil! 
   
   
  
  14 
   
   
  New Race: the Undead 
  By Scott Casper 
       The Spectre. Mr. Justice. Sgt. Spook.  They 
  haunt the Golden Age of Comics. Just because 
  you’re dead doesn’t mean you don’t want to beat 
  up hoodlums.  
       But how to replicate these Heroes in H&H? 
  Just assigning random undead stats onto a Hero 
  could be grossly overpowering, but a graduated 
  approach, with a weak starting form – that could 
  work. Our undead hero will start out as a mere 
  skeleton, gradually regain some semblance of his 
  original form, and then growing more incorporeal 
  and ghost-like over time. 
       Undead of any level all have the following 
  ability:  mobsters always have to make morale 
  saves when first encountering the undead if the 
  mobsters are lower in Hit Dice than the undead 
  has levels. 
       Undead always have the following 
  disadvantage: Superheroes can wreck them.  The 
  longer the undead have been this way, the easier 
  it is for Superheroes to wreck them.  At 1st level, 
  the undead wreck as if dams; at 2nd level, as if 
  battleships, at 3rd level, as if tanks; at 4th level, 
  as if trucks; at 5th and all subsequent levels, as if 
  cars (note that this is the inverse of how wrecking 
  undead mobsters works, but this intended to help 
  balance out the race).  A wrecked undead Hero is 
  never destroyed like non-Hero undead would be, 
  but is “unconscious” for 24 hours and then 
  reappears. 
       All undead start with the following 
  disadvantages and can remove one 
  disadvantage for each level above 1st. 
  • 
  Cannot have SCMs. 
  • 
  Must save vs. plot each turn to come 
  within 5 ft. of anyone presenting garlic or 
  a cross. 
  • 
  Takes 1d6 points of damage for each 
  turn spent crossing running water. 
  • 
  Must save vs. plot to enter a building 
  without being invited in. 
  • 
  Cannot cross a silver circle made on the 
  floor by a Magic-User. 
  • 
  Is kept at bay by Protection from Evil 
  spells.  
       The rest of the undead’s special abilities and 
  disadvantages are spelled out by level as follows: 
  1st level: The undead form is that of a skeleton. 
  Our Hero’s hit point total is halved from what it 
  would normally be according to his class (if a 
  Superhero, the undead only gets 1d6 hp instead 
  of 2d6). Unlike a regular undead skeleton, this 
  one still has the mind of a living being and can 
  still be affected by mind-affecting spells, though it 
  does gain a +1 bonus to save against them. 
  2nd level: The same undead now has magically 
  regained enough gristle on its bones to be a 
  zombie. The zombie now has the regular Hit Dice 
  for a 2nd-level Hero. The Hero’s AC [AAC] 
  improves by 1, but the Hero’s movement slows by 
  30 ft. 
  3rd level: The ghoul-like new body of the undead 
  has both a natural bite and claw attack that do 
  1d4 and 1d6 damage respectively and can both 
  be used against the same opponent in lieu of 
  other attacks. The bite attack includes a mildly 
  paralytic spittle that requires the victims to save 
  against poison at +4 or be slowed (like the spell 
  Slow) for 1d10 minutes. There is no limit to how 
  often this bite attack can be used. The Hero’s AC 
  [AAC] improves by 1 again and the movement 
  rate returns to normal.  
  4th level: The 
  undead body turns 
  white and now 
  takes half-damage 
  from cold and 1 
  point less of 
  damage (including 
  possibly zero 
  damage) from 
  weapons that are 
  not silver or 
  magical. Once per 
  day, the Hero’s 
  touch can energy 
  drain 100 XP away 
  from a victim, killing 
  anyone with less XP than that (or anyone with 
  less than 1 HD, if not leveled). The Hero’s AC 
  [AAC] improves by 1 again.  
  5th level: The undead body now appears to be 
  
  15 
   
  partially insubstantial, but still feels solid. For one 
  hour per day, the wraith-like Hero is immune to 
  cold and takes half-damage from non-silver or 
  non-magical weapons (all rounded down and 1 
  becomes 0). The Hero’s energy drain touch now 
  drains 300 XP (still usable only once per day and 
  still only kills anyone with less than 1 HD, if not 
  leveled). The Hero can now levitate once per day 
  (as per the spell). 
  6th level: The undead can now become immune 
  to cold and take half-damage from certain 
  weapons (as per the previous level) for twice as 
  long now (2 hours per day; both hours do not 
  have to be used consecutively). The Hero also 
  gains the ability to cause disease (as per the 
  spell) by touch twice per day. AC [AAC] improves 
  again by 1, but for the last time. 
  7th level: The undead now looks spectral in 
  appearance and feels partially insubstantial to the 
  touch (like goo, or ectoplasm). The Hero’s energy 
  drain touch now drains 700 XP (still kills the 
  same) and can be used twice per day. The Hero 
  can now fly once per day (as per the spell). For 
  30 minutes per day, the Hero takes no damage 
  from non-silver or non-magical weapons.  
   
  8th level+: From now on, the undead can move 
  between its spectral appearance and how it 
  appeared when alive at will and can change self 
  (like the power) once per day. The energy drain 
  touch attack now drains 1,500 XP (non-leveled 
  mobsters up to 1+1 HD can be killed). The Hero 
  regenerates 1 hp per 5 minutes.  
   
   
  GREEN MASK
  
  16 
   
   
  Hideouts and Hoodlums Character Sheet 
   
  Player Name:  __________________________________ 
  Real Name:  ____________________________________ 
  Hero Name:  ____________________________________ 
  Race:  _________________________________________ 
  Class:  _________________________________________ 
   
  Level:  ______ 
  HP:  _______ AC:  ______ 
   
  Strength:   _____ 
  Alignment:  ____________________ 
  Intelligence:  ___ 
   
  Wisdom:   _____ 
  Friend(s)/SCMs:  _______________ 
  Dexterity:  _____   
  _______________________________ 
  Constitution:  ___ 
  _______________________________ 
  Charisma:  _____ 
  _______________________________ 
   
  XP:  _________________ 
   
   
  Money/Loot:  ______________ 
  XP for Next Level:  _____________  
  __________________________ 
   
  Weapons 
   
  Transportation 
  ____________ 
  ____________________ 
  ____________ 
  ____________ 
  Clothes 
   
  Costume 
  ____________ 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
   
   
   
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  Housing 
   
  ______________ 
  ______________ 
   
  Misc. Items  
  Class Abilities 
  Race Abilities 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  _______________ 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  _______________ 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  _______________ 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
   
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  Notes to Self 
  ______________ 
  _______________ 
  ________________ 
  ______________ 
   
   
   
  ________________ 
  ______________ 
   
   
   
  ________________ 
  ______________ 
   
   
   
  ________________ 
  (see reverse side for more)  
   
   
   
  Designed by Megan Griffin, 2012 
  
  17 
   
  GREAT SCOTT! GAMES 
  PRODUCT LIST 
       The following products are currently available 
  for sale on drivethrurpg.com (also see 
  sites.google.com/site/hideoutsandhoodlums/ for 
  free products): 
   
  Book I: Men and Supermen 
   
  Book II: Mobsters and Trophies 
   
  Book III:  Underworld and Metropolis 
  Adventures 
   
  Reference Sheets 
   
  Supplement I: National 
   
  Supplement II: All-American 
       
  Supplement III: Better Quality      
   
  Supplement IV: Captains, Magicians, and 
  Incredible Men; Pt I: Ace-Fox 
   
  Module FS1:  Sons of the Feathered 
  Serpent 
       The three core rule e-books are $2 each, 
  Supplement I is $2.50, Supplement II is $3, and 
  Supplement III, Supplement IV Pt. I, and Module 
  FS1 are $4 each – a total of well over 500 pages of 
  material for less than $24!   
       Later this year, Supplement IV: Captains, 
  Magicians, and Incredible Men; Pt. II: Harvey-
  Timely will also be available for sale.  This e-book 
  will include stats and detailed histories of all the 
  major characters not covered in Part I!  
   
  Great Scott! Games 
  6300 Church Rd.  
  Hanover Park, IL. 60133   
   
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  COPYRIGHT NOTICE  
  Open Game License v 1.0a Copyright 2000, 
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  Authors Jonathan Tweet, Monte Cook, Skip Williams, 
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  Bruce R. Cordell, John D. Rateliff, Thomas Reid, James 
  
  19 
   
  Wyatt, based on original material by E. Gary Gygax and 
  Dave Arneson. Swords & Wizardry, Copyright 2008, 
  Matthew J. Finch SWORDS & WIZARDRY: WHITEBOX by 
  Matt Finch and Marv Breig, Copyright 2008, Matthew J. 
  Finch 
  Copyright 2013, HIDEOUTS & HOODLUMS by 
  Great Scott! Games and Scott Casper. 
  END OF LICENSE 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
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