If a butterfly flaps its wings in Japan, it can cause ignorant people to misquote and grossly misinterpret a whimsical thought experiment for hundreds of fucking years.


Power: Intelligence 4 Strength 1 Presence 3
Finesse: Wits 2 Dexterity 1 Manipulation 4
Resistance: Resolve 3 Stamina 1 Composure 2


Academics 2 Computer 2 Crafts 0 Investigation 3 Medicine 2 Occult 1 Politics 0 Science 1

Athletics 0 Brawl 0 Drive 0 Firearms 0 Larceny 0 Stealth 2 Survival 3 Weaponry 2

Animal Ken 0 Empathy 2 Intimidation 0 Expression 0 Persuasion 4 Socialize 0 Streetwise 0 Subterfuge 0

Skill Specializations
Investigation (Find Object) Investigation (Find Person) Medical (Trauma Care)

Strong: Space, Fate
Weak: Death


Sheila Winters was studying data storage theory at Columbia U, with a minor in Chaos Theory, hoping to be among the people designing the next generation of computer technology. Her studies, however, were not going well. Despite an intensely focused demeanor born of a history of social dysfunction, and a way above average level of intelligence, she was having trouble keeping up with her classmates and grasping concepts that many of what she considered to be her academic inferiors had no problem with.
Then one saturday night, as Sheila was up late with one of her professors, she had the sensation for most of the night that she was on the verge of an epiphany that would make everything make sense to her…when she abruptly and without warning found herself in front of a drop-in center in Toronto, Canada, naked and confused. With no way to prove who she was and nobody she knew to help her, it took two weeks before she was able to leave the city, and over a month more before she managed to make her way out of Canada and home. By that time she had missed so many classes that, already behind, it became a hopeless task to catch up.
She tried, however, until the stress of it nearly broke her..and with each new threshold of mental strain, her affliction began to manifest in new and bewildering ways. Though she never ‘jumped’ more than a few miles away again, she feared she was suffering from stress blackouts or other mental disorder. She had nearly convinced herself to check in to a stress clinic when an inexplicable urge to steal money from a panhandler’s baseball cap left her in possession of a seemingly bloodstained five dollar bill that, in a series of eerie coincidence, led her at last to find herself sitting around a coffee table in a dingy one room apartment in the dirty part of town with a group of similarly strung out, confused people who had, like her, found themselves exhibiting wildly abnormal properties.


The Breakfast Cult Warchon