The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Richard Wilder stood in a small Motocycle dealership in uptown New York. The place wasn't big, perhapse two dozen bikes at most, maybe a hlaf dozen employees, but that just made Richard feel even more exposed. None of the other customers noticed anything odd about the strapping young man, or felt ill at ease in his presence, most being more heavily "punked up" than him, but their attitudes would be far different if they knew the truth. The truth that Richard had killed over a dozen men, the most recent less than a quarter hour ago. Or the best kept secret of Richards life. He was a mutant, and a quite dangerous when he put his mind to it. At the moment, Richard was standing in front of a large Honda Goldwing Tourbike, waiting for a salesperson to apprach him, so he could buy it.
((ooc: If there's anything you're uncomfortable with in this post, PM me, and I'll rewrite! Wasn't quite sure how to get Slate tracking you down for a recruitment, so went with the "he's heard of your exploits and linked things to you" angle. That can change, if it's not okay with you.))
There were some people he would rather keep close under his own orders, rather than loose in the field. His aim was to change this world; eliminate its problems from their roots.
Demifox was one of those roots. Whether he could succeed in pulling it up was a matter for the future to tell, but he would certainly watch it grow. At eighteen, the teenager who had been committing murders was older then some who bathed in blood in this city, but still young. He was Slate's own age, in fact. And if it was impossible for a bloody knife to be cleaned, then Slate's philosophies would have to change. Perhaps there was something salvageable here. Or, at least, something useful. Slate had a need for a diverse range of tools.
Slate was no salesperson, even if his light dress pants and gray-blue button-up shirt made him as well dressed as one. Still, it was him that approached the teen admiring the Honda. He stood at the tall teenager's side for a moment, likewise looking at the bike.
"We can make that part of your contract, once you join me." The brown-haired teenager stated directly. Baby blue eyes turned towards his fellow eighteen year old. He offered his hand. "My name is Slate. I want you to work for me."
And, if the teen shook his hand, there would soon be a voice in his head saying; And I know about the murders. That voice would answer one of the teen's questions before he ever had a chance to ask it; 'are you a mutant?' Why yes. Yes, the Kabal's Leader was.
(ooc: no, its all good. Richard's had to leave his appartment because the police suspected him of the murders, so I assume it would have been fairly easy for Slate to make the connection)
Richard turned and took the young mans hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as he heard a voice in his head. Richard hesitated for a moment, then slipped his free hand into one of his knife pockets. He didn't start merging with the blades within, but he was ready. Richard studied the slender youth for a moment, sizing him up before speaking. He didn't look physically capable of being a threat to Richard, and although looks could deceive, especially with mutants, Richard decided to take the chance of speaking to the young man.
"Interesting. Telepathic, or contact driven? You obviously know that I am called Demifox, if you know what I've done."
Richard met Slate's blue-eyed gaze with his own deep brown one.
"If you try to rat me out...well, you've seen what I'm capable of. What sort of contract did you have in mind?"
Since Slate did not immediately get attacked for his efforts, he considered the initial stage of this encounter a success. According to Lab records, such blunt approaches had been a favorite recruiting technique of the Labs’ former master. This was his first attempt at trying it, and so far, it was going better than one could hope. If nothing else could be said of the man, Antonescu had at least known how to recruit.
>> "Interesting. Telepathic, or contact driven? You obviously know that I am called Demifox, if you know what I've done."
“Telepathic,” Slate said. He did not mention that ‘contact driven’ was also true—he needed to touch a person at least once for his telepathy to work. It was a fact he himself did not know, yet. It was a very new power, like all of his abilities.
Deep brown eyes met his own.
>> "If you try to rat me out...well, you've seen what I'm capable of. What sort of contract did you have in mind?"
If Slate had intended to rat Demifox out, he would have called the police rather than putting his own body in the line of fire. This was something that did not need stating. Best to keep this conversation on track.
“A lucrative one,” Slate replied, in answer to his fellow teenager’s question on contracts. Their area of the showroom was relatively empty. Nonetheless, there was no reason to take risks. Do you mind if we speak in this way? Slate asked. Simply direct your thoughts towards me, and I will be able to hear you as clearly as you hear me.
My offer is $100,000 per year as a retention salary; this is to keep you comfortable in between missions. When I call on you, I expect you to respond to the fullness of your capabilities. I am changing this world. For that, I need tools. Each mission you complete successfully will result in a bonus in pay. I will also finance a house or apartment in the New York City area, to ensure your availability when I need you.
My only restriction is that the killing you do will be for me. You will be my blade; you will kill or maim those targets which I unsheathe you for. Are these terms acceptable?
Slate’s gaze drifted back towards the bike. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “And,” he added out loud, “of course, the bike.” The first of many bonuses, for a loyal employee of Slate’s Kabal.
It is awkward for me to speak like this, but I will try to make do. $100,000 per year plus mission bonuses will be sufficient. I will do as you ask, await your call within the city, and try to refrain from killing except at your behest. I pledge myself to you and your cause, and will serve you loyaly
Ricahrd grinned as Slate spoke outloud, but it was a cold smile, the only external sign of the turmoil threatening to wrench apart Richard from the inside out. He didn't like killing. He had only killed before for his own veiws of justice, and in self-defence. But if becoming a killer whas what he had to do to survive, then so be it. "Of course. There is one small matter." Richard pulled out his license and insurance. Both had his real name and address on them. These need to be changed. I can't work for you when I'm stuck in a maximum security prison. Do you have someone who can do this?
Slate’s lips quirked at his fellow teen’s response. ‘Sufficient’. That was certainly one word for a Kabal contract. The formal pledging of loyalty was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one—Slate rather liked the sound of that, in fact.
As to the small matter of the license and insurance... Ah. The blue eyed teenager replied, quite simply. Yes, we can indeed arrange that for you. Expect your new materials by tomorrow, as well as a phone which we will use to contact you. The phone was actually quite low tech, compared to the communicators the X-Men tossed around, but slightly more functional—being a model currently on the market, it came with the added bonuses of blending in properly when used in public, as any covert op’s toys should. It also served well for surfing the internet and acting as a music player, the Mondragon Lab secretaries had informed him, and it came in five colors. Slate had not particularly cared about those details, but they had told him, anyway. His own model was white, and simply looked like an iPhone. The contract was through a reputable phone company, and the account set to be automatically paid every month. It would not do for any Kabal member to be hassled by such mundane matters as bills.
In the mean time, Slate continued, “I’ll arrange for this bike to be delivered to your new apartment.” Or would you prefer a house? Those would be farther from the city center, but more spacious. I rather prefer Central Park adjacent apartments, myself. It would not due for any Kabal employee to be living on the streets, either. That was where the other factions did their best recruiting.
Farther from the city center would give me more warning should the police catch on to me. And I would by far prefere space to convenience, if you can arrange it. It has been...a pleasure doing buisness with you. I will await your decision
Richard speaks out loud, not from need, but from desire to appear normal. "Of course. Thank you."
Do you need me to stay, or can I go and get something to eat? I never had breakfast this morning.
Later that day, a Mondragon Labs worker would find Richard again, and give him a manila envelope containing his new life. New ID, new bank account information, and new motorcycle keys. If he followed the map to his modest brick house at the edge of the city, he’d find that new bike waiting for him in his new garage.
Welcome to the Kabal, Richard.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” the blue-eyed teenager replied simply, on his way out.
Thank you. Richard nodded to Slate. "Likewise." After admiring the bike for a few more minutes, before he too left the motorcycle shop. Richard walked throught the streets to a nearby restaurant and ordered a meal. He sat in a booth by himself to eat, and didn't refrain from ordering seconds, and dessert.
About a half hour later, Richard was just finishing his meal when a young man in a black suit walked past his table. The man in the suit handed Richard an envelope and walked out. Richard stared after the man for a few moments, slightly puzzled, but decided that whatever was in the envelope would explain. He slit it open with the knife laying beside his other utensils, and looked inside. There were several peices of paper, and a pair of keys. Richard pulled out the keys first. One was to a Honda motorcycle, and the other to a heavier lock. The envelope was from the Kabal then. Richard took out the papers one at a time. A map, leading to a residential neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city. A map to his house then. An bank account number and associated information. And a full set of licences and regestrations. Richard stared at the information on the licence, memorizing it, before slipping everything but the map into his pockets. Richard stood, silpped a few bills under the check waiting on the table, and walked out of the restaurant. He hailed a cab, and when one pulled up Richard got in. Glancing down at the map, Richard spoke. "Take me here." Richard hands the map to the cabbie, and he takes off. He tries to strike up a conversation, but Richard is so unresponsive the cabbie gives up. After a long while, the cab reaches Richards new house, and after paying the cabbie, and getting his map back, gets out and walks up the path to the door. Using the key given to him, Richard unlocks the door and entes his house, locking the door behind him. After exploring for a few minutes, he finds the bike in the garage, and then the master bedroom. Richard closes the blinds on all his windows before taking all his possessions out of the two bags he brought them in. There are five changes of clothes, six one litre jugs of hard cider, a Browning Citori Hunter 10 gauge, a Remington Spartan 310 12 gauge, a Stoeger Condor 12 gauge, eighty shells for the Citori, 160 for the Condor and Spartan, three hundred cartridges for the Mateba, and about $2400 in cash. Richard puts the clothes in his closet, the Citori under his bed, the Spartan in the greatroom under the sofa, and the Condor in the kitchen in a cupboard. He leaves the Mateba and money in the bags and puts them in his closet, puts the cider in the fridge, and puts the shotgun shells with the guns. Finished, Richard sits down at the computer, in his room, and begins uploading the contents of several flashdrives onto the computer.
