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.
There was a very distinct reason that Rupert was still in the Camps. Why he hadn't taken his hide and gotten the hell out of here while it was still miraculously unscathed by the inhuman slaughter going on all around him. That reason wasn't revenge, but revenge was probably the closed word to it.
He'd let every mutant in these Camps go. Not that he didn't regret it--not that the freaks hadn't given him some bloody graphic reasons to regret it in the short amount of time they'd been free--but it was done, and there was no taking it back. He hadn't planned on taking it back. For one little freak in specific, however, Rupert was making an exception. She wasn't going to walk away from here. He had never planned on letting her walk away from here. If that meant she never walked again, that was fine by him. He'd prefer to see her behind bars, though. Real bars--in a maximum security prison. It shouldn't be hard to get a conviction on one of the freaks from the Sanctuary Police Massacre. Hell, he'd give his own eye-witness testimony of how she'd tried to take out his lung with those bone weapons of hers. How she'd smiled as she'd killed good men. Laughed, with fine drops of blood on her face, and much more than that on her hands.
Rupert was still here because he wasn't leaving until he made sure she didn't. The girl with the green ribbon in her hair. Isabel Duskmoor. It was time to face his demons. One of them, any way.
Another body slumped to the ground with a sickening series of loose squishing noises that a body didn't normally make when it moved. And there was the gradually calming Isabel standing in the pool of the former guard's blood as it spread and stained the dirt. A lump of flesh dropped from her hand, spattering the crimson liquid up onto her legs, landing among the scattering of other organs that also littered the ground. It had been the man's windpipe that she'd let fall. She'd crushed it and ripped it from the man's body only moment ago, but not before impaling him with her claw-like bones and dragging them up from his lower abdomen to his collarbone, slicing through organs, cartilage, and bone alike. How many had she killed including this man? Four? Not to mention the numerous others she's maimed and disabled along the way. A smile crept across her features as she looked at the mess that lay at her feet, the young mutant quite pleased with herself and the trail of carnage she left in her wake. Silently she wondered how much more time she could afford to use for fun before the order was given to the rescue team to fall back and retreat. Would they level the entire complex with their weaponry and mutant abilities, or would they simply round everyone up as quickly as possible and then head back to wherever it was they'd come from? Mondragon Labs, most likely. Wasn't that where everyone was headed before this whole mess occurred? However, so long as explosions continued to rock the ground and mutants carried on with their gruesome games, Isabel would continue to have her fun and play with the lovely people that she'd met here in the Camps. How about James? Where had that worm gotten off to? He would be fun to play with. Stepping away from the corpse, or what remained of it, Isabel set off to see if she could find him.
Rounding the corner of one of the various buildings within the Camps, she slowed her pace, her gaze scanning over the faces of those in uniform and inmate garb alike, seeing who was sticking it out to fight and looking for anyone she might recognize and want to say hello to. Whether or not she allowed them the time to say hello back was another issue. Her gaze stopped on one man in particular, the sight of him halting her steps as she watched him a moment more, wanting to be sure it was really who she thought it was. A scowl colored her previously calm features as her mind confirmed it. That was the cop she ran into every time she got herself into a little fun. Her first day at the Sanctuary, the fight at KP, and during Registration. This would be the fourth time she'd run into him. Considering he was both a cop and a previous plaything of hers, he had something to brag about just by retaining his ability to move. And still, he appeared to be remarkably uninjured and unimpeded in any way. Well, she'd have to amend that now wouldn't she? Easily she picked her way around a few bodies and various detached body parts that littered the ground, slowly creeping a bit closer to the man. She could easily see the holster he had strapped to his body, meaning that he had a gun of some sort. In Isabel's mind that would only slow her down, though as a precaution she easily hardened the armor that lay beneath her skin. Stopping a short distance away, she suddenly decided that she didn't want to execute a head-on attack just yet. Instead she pulled three of the five spines from where they protruded from her fingertips, both front and back ends tapering to a dangerous point, each one removed quickly replaced by another claw-like, unbloodied set. With a quick flick of her wrist she sent the spines speeding in the officer's direction.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 4, 2008 21:22:31 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
The Camps were in chaos. It looked a lot like Rupert imagined Hell would look like: fires burning, blood and bodies everywhere, monstrosities tormenting humans everywhere you turned. He knew there was only so long he could walk through this place without getting a demon of his own. That's why when he felt a sudden spike of pain into his left shoulder, just above the collarbone, it wasn't unexpected.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell, though. "****!" Rupert exclaimed, his right hand clapping down over the spot. Bad move. Whatever it was stabbed at his hand, too, and was driven further into his shoulder. Whatever they were. There were three of them. Rupert wrapped his fingers around them and wrenched them out without a thought, then dissolved into swearing. It wasn't until he actually glanced at what he was holding that he remembered to turn around. By then, he didn't need to. Spines. Bone spines, covered in blood.
Rupert looked at the mutant. The cocky little creature had been just a few feet behind him. Rupert looked at the spines one last time, then looked at her, a twisted smile on his face. "Well," he said, as if in greeting, "this is nostalgic, isn't it?"
That was all the more self-control he had. Something in Rupert snapped, and it took his rational thought with it. He forgot about the remote in his pocket, and the collar reactivation code he'd so painstakingly memorized. He forgot about the dart gun in its shoulder holster. He even forgot about the handgun at his waist, loaded with its useless blanks. He threw himself at the mutant, fist-first. He didn't even realize that her sharpened spines were tucked between his fingers like iron knuckles from Hell.
A positively wicked grin dominated Isabel's features as she watched each of her thrown weapons hit their mark, a pang of twisted pride striking within her at being the first to draw blood from the man in the midst of this whole mess. It took a great effort for her not to begin laughing as his cussing flitted through the air. "Tsk, tsk, Officer," she chided, amusement easily detected in her tone, "There are children running around. Such colorful language is hardly appropriate." Should he be punished for it? Children were normally punished for using bad words. They tended to have their mouths washed out with soap. But, soap wouldn't stop anyone from swearing again, now would it? Maybe it would be more effective to do away with his tongue all together. As he removed the spines from his shoulder and turned around, the wickedness drained from her expression, quickly replaced by a smile that was mockingly innocent in its appearance, her unclawed hand raising so that she could give him a nice, friendly little wave. Show some respect to the man that helps to enforce the law. There'd be little to no respect shown once he was dead. Why not make up for that now? "So nice to see you again, my good Sir. It's such a shame I didn't get to say hello to you in our past couple meetings," she continued, that mock innocence practically dripping from each word that fell from her lips. "It was so much fun playing with you and your friends at the Sanctuary. I miss our games. Care to play again?" Just a hint of her former wickedness glinted through with her last inquiry. Every part of her was itching to step forward and draw another flow of blood. It was such a lovely color. And look, there was the gun. Wonder what kind of bullets are in it? Hm, maybe she could get a hold of it and test it out.
Her smile simply widened as he spoke to her, only momentarily amused before she brushed his comments aside as unimportant and unworthy of any further attention from her. Now, she'd expected for him to instinctively go for his gun. That's what most officers did in this sort of situation. A dangerous, armed suspect had to be taken down. Shoot first and ask questions later, yes? Apparently not. Her smile faded very quickly as Rupert instead threw himself at her. She took a quick step back, but wasn't able to maneuver out of the way. Instead she brought a hand up to catch his fist, wincing as her own weapons bit into her palm, unable to sink in very far do to the underlaying armor, but still carrying a bite. It also painfully bent her hand back at an angle that would be awkward for any human. As she caught her balance her grin was easily regained. Contact with the bone meant she could control it once more. In a second her hand bent back to a more natural angle and the three spines were shifting into hundreds of little splinters, the ones in contact with her palm easily sank back into her skin, while the others hopefully buried themselves into the flesh of Rupert's fisted hand. Oh, and look at this now. She still had his fist in her hand. "Not too smart rushing someone like me, Cop," she said, her grin growing even wider as she pulled her arm back in an attempt to drag the officer closer to herself. Rapidly she brought her knee up, a covering of spines sprouting from the joint, aimed to connect with his stomach. And just as quickly she released his fist, her own set of spikes protruding from her knuckles, planning to turn her opponent's stolen method of attack against him by taking a swing at his face, meaning to strike his temple, causing either severe damage or a chance to knock him back and away from her.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 7, 2008 11:39:58 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
That childishly playful tone. That mockery of innocence, from her voice to her very stance; the little wave she gave. Every damn word she said. She'd had fun playing with him and his friends at the Sanctuary, had she? Honestly, it was surprising that Rupert held back his punch as long as he did.
It would have been better if he'd just kept holding it back.
The demon was startled, for the first split second; she even tried to back away. Then it all went horribly wrong. She caught his fist. He could feel those spines tucked between his own fingers sinking in, but not nearly as far as they should have--it baffled him, on a subconscious level, somewhere below his mindless impulse to pound her face in until there wasn't anything left to smile at him with. To mock his friends with. Then pain--the fingers on his right hand exploded into pain as the spines disappeared. No, not disappeared: splintered, like living shrapnel. Rupert hissed out a breath through his teeth as his eyes flicked towards them.
~ "Not too smart rushing someone like me, Cop."
No, came his first thought since he rushed her, Not too smart, at all. Then he was overbalanced forward--she was using his caught fist to pull him. He instinctively tried to pull himself back, and overcompensated so that he was nearly falling.
For once in his life, overreacting saved him. He felt that knee come up, and the sharp spines graze against his stomach, drawing sharp razor lines of blood; he jerked even further back, which fully tipped him off balance and sent him to the ground. The wind from that near-miss of a punch left his eyes wide. Something the little beast would no doubt enjoy, along with his currently sprawled position. A little thought had returned back to Rupert. Just a little. Just enough for him to barely take the time to scramble to his feet before getting the hell away from this girl as fast as he could. If he was thinking more, he'd realize he was doing the smart thing. Range: he needed range. She was at her best when her opponent was close. But he wasn't thinking that much, and what he was feeling as he started running was the sort of cold shame that would never leave him. He was too weak to fight her fairly, and that was a fact.
O LORD my God, I take refuge in you; save and deliver me from all who pursue me,
or they will tear me like a lion and rip me to pieces with no one to rescue me.
As he ran, he did the first consciously smart thing since he'd felt those spines pierce his shoulder: he fumbled his remote out of his pocket with his bleeding hand, and started typing in the code that would turn back on the freak's collar. That was the only way he could stand a chance, here.
Oh, now that was disappointing. An irritated "Hmph," escaped as neither of Isabel's attacks had worked out the way she'd planned. No intestinal injury, no brain matter. It was such a shame. Honestly, was it really that hard for these people to stop wriggling long enough for her to tear apart their innards? The Camp's guards had been so much easier to disembowel. Then again, many of them seemed to be few apples short of a bushel. Well, at least it hadn't been a complete failure. She could see the handful of slits in the cop's shirt as the fabric began sticking to his skin from the blood that started to ooze from his wounds. And the look on his face was positively priceless. "Tag, darling. You're it," she commented offhandedly, grinning from ear to ear as he scrambled to get back on his feet. She was about to say something else along the lines of watching where he stepped, since the detached bits of flesh that lay on the ground could be slippery, when he bolted. She stood there for only a short moment, sorting through her brief confusion of the act. Normally her playmates didn't run. Usually the human ones pulled out a gun or something and tried to blow her brains out. This officer had a gun, she'd seen it. So why not try using it like the others had? How very disappointing. With a dramatic little sigh she went after him, careful to mind the lumps of flesh she would have warned him about, as well as any other mutants and humans that she passed. At least he was making it a little interesting.
It wasn't to hard to keep the fleeing officer in her sites, but getting closer proved to be a more difficult task. Some patches of land were torn from explosions and mutations alike. But this young mutant was determined not to let her playmate escape from her so easily. She had just registered the fact that he'd pulled something out of his pocket when two things happened. One: an all too familiar frequency reached her ears as her bracelet kicked back to life and started beeping, causing her to halt so suddenly that she nearly toppled over. And Two: an unknown amount of electricity was sent coursing through her body, easily dropping her to her knees, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, the perfect expression of surprise. The part of her mind that was still able to complete the process of thought quickly worked to rid her body of the elements that were causing her bracelet to react. Rapidly the armor beneath her skin dissolved back into her normal skeletal structure, and to speed the process she was undergoing, the spines that were jutting from her fingertips and her knee were simply severed from her body and dropped to the ground, rather than making her body wait for them to slide back into place. As the merciless shocks died back down and the warning beeps faded, Isabel simply slumped in place, confusion replacing surprise as her mind worked to unscramble itself and find an answer to her bracelet's sudden reactivation. She managed to get her motor functions working efficiently enough to take a look around, trying to see if anyone else had suffered the same electrocution she had. That's when she remembered the cop had pulled something from his pocket. She'd assumed it was a gun at first, but in a blinding flash of understanding and rage she concluded otherwise.
With a newfound loathing for the cuff on her arm as well as the man who had reactivated it, she shakily got back to her feet, gathering up the discarded bones as she did so. Already her twisted mind was thinking up uses for the weapons she held in her hands. He'd be lucky once his heart stopped beating. Any traces of a grin or that former mock innocence was completely gone, replaced by a glare that could melt flesh from bone. As soon as she was able to start moving without shaking she continued back on her path in pursuit of the foolish officer. "You coward," she called, keeping an eye out for wherever the worm could have crawled off to, "Running from a girl who's nearly half your age. And you're supposed to be among New York's finest. What a laugh. It's no wonder your fellow officers were so easy to dispatch." She was just trying to draw him out now, wanting nothing more than to stab the pathetic wretch's heart out. If she hadn't been so thoroughly pissed off, she might have even been proud of herself in finding out that a grown man couldn't stand against her without executing such a low blow. If there'd been any sensibility left in that thick skull of hers, she probably would have taken this as a clue that she'd be better off getting herself out of the camps and into one of the trucks the rescue team had brought along. However, any sensible thoughts were overshadowed by utter loathing as well as her wounded pride. So come out and play, Rupert. She only wants to kill you.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 7, 2008 15:58:09 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
O LORD my God, if I have done this and there is guilt on my hands-
~ "Tag, darling. You're it."
It was anyone's guess whether Rupert actually heard the grinning demon's words. They seemed to egg him on, though; faster, lengthening his stride, jumping over things on the ground he'd rather not name and things too unrecognizable to any longer have a name. Rupert hadn't run like this since before the Sanctuary Police Massacre. Since before he had a damn hole punched into his lung; since before he spent time breathing through his own blood while his friends died all around him.
if I have done evil to him who is at peace with me or without cause have robbed my foe-
His side felt tight as his breaths came shorter. It was the sort of thing his physical therapist had told him again and again not to do. He wasn't built for running anymore. The freak had seen to that herself, the first time he'd met her. He was wheezing now; the faintest blurs of gray started fading in at the edges of his vision. He was quite literally starving himself of oxygen. Rupert kept running.
then let my enemy pursue and overtake me; let him trample my life to the ground and make me sleep in the dust.
The fingers on his right hand clumsily worked on typing in the reactivation sequence that was specific to the little freak's collar. The adrenaline had wiped out the pain from the bone splinters, but the red blood was making his presses slippery and unsure: as he dodged the outer hole of some kind of devil-knows-how crater, he nearly dropped the thing. It was a miracle of no small scale that he managed to put in the entire sequence, and press that final Enter key. He couldn't stop himself from looking back as he did so, like the idiot half way through a horror movie too stupid to keep moving forward.
The girl fell to her knees behind him. A grim smile came to Rupert's face as the beast shivered and twitched, her eyes raised imploringly upwards.
Selah
He didn't wait to see the full effects. He wasn't in this to make her suffer. He was in this to make sure she never, ever got the chance to make another suffer, not ever again. Rupert kicked himself back to a light jog, and reached the building that had been his goal. He hadn't known how he would get her here. Yet here he stood, wheezing and bleeding but relatively unharmed--
~ "You coward. Running from a girl who's nearly half your age. And you're supposed to be among New York's finest. What a laugh. It's no wonder your fellow officers were so easy to dispatch."
--and there she followed behind him, as if of her own free will. Rupert pulled himself up; that painful tightness in his lung couldn't force him to hunch over. Not now. Not when things were lining up so neatly. The creature was casting her gaze about; she'd lost sight of him. That simply wouldn't do. He stepped out of the shaded doorway he'd been in, and drew in a deep breath. "Over here, you freak!" He shouted out clearly, over the chaos in the Camps.
Arise, O LORD, in your anger; rise up against the rage of my enemies.
There was no time to lose. Rupert pulled open the door behind him, and went into the hallway that lead to the solitary confinement cells. Any light from outside only dimly reached through that doorway; unless she had some sort of enhanced vision, they would both be partially blind down here. He was coughing now, on top of the wheezing; his right hand felt stiff and nearly useless, and half-forgotten pains kept tearing from his stomach. This had never been a good plan, if it was fit for being called a 'plan' at all: his plan had literally been to wing things, and trust that they would work out. He was shaking with the knowledge of how stupid this was. Go down into close quarters with the freak, where no one who even remotely cared could hear him yell.
He went down the hall a nice long distance from the entrance, then turned around to face the creature. If there was one thing he trusted, it was that she wouldn't keep him waiting. A very soft whisper left his lips: "Awake, my God; decree justice."
Isabel glared cold, bloody murder at Rupert as he drew her gaze to him. "Freak? Honestly, where is your creativity? I'm sure you can do better than that for an insult," she called back, though there was no amusement left in her voice, just rigid determination. She wouldn't let him out of her sight this time, nor would she allow him to wriggle out of her grasp once she got a hold on him. Her grip on the several spines she held tightened, her knuckles turning white as she scowled at the wannabe hero. A wannabe hero who was opening doors and disappearing into the dark buildings they belonged to. Dark buildings that had become all too familiar to her throughout her stay in the Camps. That particular building was where a good amount of mutants had been taken for Isolation before, herself included. She really didn't want to go back in there, especially when she had the choice to turn around and get herself safely out of the mess that had exploded throughout the Camps. But, her playmate had disappeared into there and she still really wanted to turn him inside out. She cast a glance back over her shoulder, surveying the chaos that was still raging, as if reassuring herself that she hadn't been left here on her own and that help could be had if she needed it. She was hesitating just outside the door, wondering what to do. Should she go in despite the obvious unease the confinement area caused her, or should she retreat and wait until she ran into the cop again? With their track record it probably wouldn't be too long before their next meeting. However, with a final mental push from that side of her that was both stubborn as well as vengeful, she pushed back her discomfort and stepped into the dark interior of the building.
Carefully she picked her way a short distance down the deserted hallway, leaving time for her eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light, though it was only minimally helpful in allowing her to see what was in her surroundings. The fits of coughing that echoed down the empty corridor did help to put her a little more at ease and boost her confidence that she could be in and out of there in no time with one more kill under her belt. "What's wrong, Wheezy? Having a little trouble?" she asked, that grin of hers finally returning as she slowly crept closer. He'd backed himself into a corner down here, and she knew it. She also knew he had a gun, though he seemed to have forgotten about it at the moment. She was much warier of the weapon now that she had no armor to protect her from whatever kind of ammo it may hold. But she wasn't going to back down now. Not when she was so close to getting rid of a major pest. Quietly she was shifting the bones she held in her hands, drawing one of the smaller ones into her hand from the number she'd gathered, passing the others to the opposite hand until she'd need them. She was fairly certain she could hit Rupert with her potential projectile. It was a straight hallway, after all. There weren't too many places he could go. Though the coughing certainly helped to pinpoint where he was most likely standing. With an easy flick of her wrist she sent the smaller spine flying, hoping to hit the source of her most recent irritation. Taking another spine into her free hand she steadily made her way a little further down the hallway, watching for any signs of movement she could catch in the poorly lit corridor. "If you stop wriggling around so much, I promise I'll only maim you a little."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 10, 2008 14:37:15 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
Rupert was facing towards the exit, which gave him the advantage of being able to see the girl's silhouette as it approached. Her purposeful stride. The way she was toying with something in her hands. He resisted the urge to lean against the wall as he waited for her to catch up, but it was hard. It was hard to tell how much of the faded light was from the actual darkness in the hallway, and how much of it was the aftereffects of his sprint and his continued gasping breaths. It was hard to ignore the warm trickles down his stomach and left shoulder, and the stiffness in his right hand--his gun hand--or the fact that the tightness from the scar she'd given him was giving warning tinges of pain.
~ "What's wrong, Wheezy? Having a little trouble?"
'What's wrong, Wheezy?' He silently parodied, twisting his lips over the words. 'Having a little trouble?' Shut up, freak. Let's get this over with.
She was still playing with whatever was in her hands. He'd gotten used to the motion; his mind barely registered that flick of her wrist as being any more intentful than the rest of her movements. He didn't even try to dodge.
"Oh, ****!" He gasped, his knee buckling as a needling pain laced through his right thigh.
Let the assembled peoples gather around you. Rule over them from on high;
Her silhouette was pure black against the dim gray of the entrance. Was it really that far away? He didn't remember going quite this deep down the corridor. Maybe it was just the angle; things looked a hell of a lot different when you were on your knees.
~ "If you stop wriggling around so much, I promise I'll only maim you a little."
Rupert seethed on the floor for a moment following that 'promise'. His left hand found the sharpened bone spine in his leg, and wrapped around it. Whether it was a good idea or a bad one, he tore it out. The smooth spine slid out easily. So easily, it took Rupert's nerve endings a moment to catch up with the motion.
He stifled a silent shout behind painfully gritted teeth, and lurched to his feet. He drew the gun at his waist in the same motion, and twitched his finger over the trigger. His right finger. His whole hand shuddered and stiffened; the gun fell out of his grip, and skittered down the hallway towards that blackened silhouette. Rupert stared after it, his mind a little too empty from the sudden pain and the loss of his gun to remember it was the gun filled with blanks. It was his gun, and it had just gone over to join the enemy. There was something distinctly sickening about that, on principle.
let the LORD judge the peoples. Judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness, according to my integrity, O Most High.
Rupert drew the dart gun from his shoulder holster, carefully switching it to his left hand. He tried to convince himself that hadn't just been an omen.
Hearing the somewhat muffled curse as it escaped from Rupert and hung in the air brought a twisted sense of pride to Isabel's heart. Even in the dark it sounded as if her aim was as good as ever. She couldn't really tell where her projectile had struck the man, but just the fact that it hit him at all was a small victory in her mind. What was that now? Three hits on Rupert that left him bleeding plus the seeming inability to catch his breath compared to the few scratches he'd left on her palm and the reactivation of her bracelet. While the returned power to her bracelet certainly put a damper on things, she still viewed the situation to be in her favor. Even with her mutation once again kept just out of her reach she was still able to keep the upper hand against a grown man, giving her ego a boost that it really didn't need. "There's that foul language again, Wheezy. Honestly, my poor impressionable young mind might pick up some bad habits from you. And you're supposed to be a role model. For shame," she commented, fabricated amounts of surprise and disappointment intermingling in her tone as she spoke. She was toying with him again, of course. She hardly ever got to go one-on-one with any of the NYPD's officers. They tended to travel in groups, so whenever she got into trouble with them she had to move quickly and keep on her toes. Playing with just the one person was so much more fun. She could ruffle his feathers all she wanted and maim him a little before killing him. Oh yes, she'd kill him. Eventually, at least. First she wanted to see how long he could hold out before collapsing. Briefly she wondered how much blood someone could loose and still remain conscious. Or how much strain could be put on this man's heart before it finally gave out.
As she drew closer, she was able to make out a faint outline of the officer's body, though it was still exceedingly difficult to make out any kind of details. She was sure he could see her, since any light that filtered into the hallway was at her back. But she wasn't bothered in the least by those little details. She was winning thus far, remember? And in the dark there didn't seem to be too awful much that the officer could do. However, she was startled when something clattered to the floor and came skipping in her direction, causing her to lurch to a stop and then skip back a step or two to keep the object from bumping into her feet. She stood for a short moment simply looking down at it before taking a small step to the side to allow the dim stream of light to glint off the surface. The moment she identified it as the officer's gun that sadistic grin of hers broke back out over her features. In a smooth unhesitant motion she swept out a hand and scooped the weapon up off the floor. "Drop something Wheezy?" she taunted, pulling back the hammer of the gun as her right pointer finger slid lightly over the trigger, slowly tensing the digit against the cold metal, though not pulling at it just yet. "An officer should never part with his gun. It's dangerous," she spoke, her grin widening with her twisted sense of humor. This was just too good. Honestly, she didn't see how it could get much better. She had Rupert cornered in a dark hallway, four bones remaining in her left hand and his own gun resting in the right. There was only one brief moment more where she was still before she snapped back into movement, heading straight for the officer. With a swipe of one hand she sent the four last bones flying in Rupert's direction, hoping for at least one of them to strike him again. A few quick steps closer and she was sliding to a stop, wanting to get closer to the man, but not run into him. With one fluid motion she brought the gun up, leveling in between where it looked as if his chest and his head were, and pulled the trigger.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 11, 2008 17:12:08 GMT -6
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~ "Drop something Wheezy? ...An officer should never part with his gun. It's dangerous."
O righteous God, who searches minds and hearts, bring to an end the violence of the wicked and make the righteous secure.
When he saw the movement this time, he knew what it meant. Rupert threw himself across the hall. One of her spikes embedded itself in his right arm. He never knew about the other three that missed him.
My shield is God Most High, who saves the upright in heart.
He heard her coming, but he was already off-balance from his little dodge; it was all he could do to turn and face where he thought she was, and brace himself. The expected stab didn't come. He dimly perceived her raising her arm, but didn't understand the motion at first.
God is a righteous judge, a God who expresses his wrath every day.
The gunshot echoed deafeningly in the concrete hallway. Rupert felt the impact of the blank shell against his chest. At close range, it had enough force to push him a step back. The time it took for that step was more than enough for Rupert's mind to realize what had happened. For the first time that night, he grinned. It was an honest grin. Good gun, he thought, like other people thought Good dog.
If a man does not relent, God will sharpen his sword; he will bend and string his bow.
With one fluid motion he brought the dart gun up, leveling it between where it looked as if the demoness' chest and head were, and pulled the trigger.
He has prepared his deadly weapons; he makes ready his flaming arrows.
Rupert had been told that the narcotic in the darts burned when it injected itself. He wouldn't know.
"You should never use a man's gun against him, Miss Duskmoor. On the force, we call that a jinx."
He aimed another shot at her, just in case that first had missed, and even if it hadn't. When dealing with the freaks, 'overkill' was a pretty hard goal to reach. On that note: ...he fired a third time, with almost a shrug.
Despite the ringing in her ears after the gun had fired, Isabel did not understand why she heard neither the sound of internal matter splattering against the walls and floor, nor the heavy thump of a body hitting the floor after she'd pulled the trigger. Had she missed? She couldn't have, she was much too close. The gun hadn't been empty since it had fired. So why wasn't Rupert writhing on the ground in a twitching mass of blood and pain? Something was obviously wrong. And thus she dubbed the weapon to be useless. And to add to the problem, she had no bones left in her hands. She was so sure she was about to win this little spat that she'd discarded all of them. She'd heard them clattering noisily to the ground somewhere behind the officer that was irritatingly still standing. Hopefully it hadn't been all of them that she'd heard bouncing off the ground. Either way they were now out of her reach and she was still unable to conjure up another batch of the projectiles with which to dismember her current playmate. She loathed being at such an inconvenience, especially when faced with such a pathetic lump of a man. Her grin dissolved into a scowl as her arm was lowered and the gun was brought back closer to her body, her free hand fiddling with it as she took a step back away from the officer, her mind trying to formulate a new plan of attack. She could still just barely make out the faintest of details on the man that lurked in the dark before her. She could see the ever growing darker splashes of blood against his figure, which would have pleased her very much if it had not been for that grin that overcame the man's expression. It had taken a moment for her to see the change in facial features, but once she had noticed it something in the pit of her stomach lurched uneasily.
A trap. The gun had been nothing but a decoy. It must have been a blank round that she'd fired. Her scowl faded into an expression of dumbfounded shock as everything clicked in her mind. She would have been furious at both him and herself if she'd had the time to do so. But in her stunned pause she'd failed to notice the second gun the officer had pulled. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open as the shot rang and something stabbed just below her collarbone. She swayed back a step with the surprise and quickly reached a hand up to inspect the wound, pulling the dart from her skin once she'd managed to wrap her fingers around it.
"You should never use a man's gun against him, Miss Duskmoor. On the force, we call that a jinx."
The only reply the young mutant could manage was a strangled "Gah!" as her shoulder exploded into a tingling, burning sensation, the unknown concoction that had been held by the dart released into her system and spreading. She attempted to back another step away when she was hit once more between the ribs on her right side. Her attempted backward step turned into a stumble, her balance lost and her body was sent crashing to the floor. The last dart just barely managed to graze her cheek, causing her to raise her hand to cover the shallow wound as it too began to burn, her other hand fumbling to remove the second dart. The gun was released and allowed to clatter uselessly to the ground, the weapon skipping once, twice before settling into stillness. "You..." she spoke, an attempted insult or statement of the obvious dieing on her tongue as she struggled to remain sitting. Her body however had another plan and she slumped heavily off to the side coming to rest against the hallway wall. Uselessly her fingers continued to fumble with the dart in her ribs, the digits unable to effectively wrap around the projectile as both her mind and her motor functions grew clumsy and unsure. Large patches of skin were crawling and burning as the narcotic continued to spread through her system. Her eyelids drooped as her eyes rolled sluggishly toward where she thought she could see Rupert, though she was now unsure as her head began to swim and her vision started to blur. Foggily she reassured her rapidly fading self that this officer would be beyond dead once she was out of this whole mess and found him again.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Jun 11, 2008 20:09:46 GMT -6
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((ooc: Final post here; for all Resistance and Camp Inmates paying attention, do not come to Issie's aid. We've been planning this for awhile. And for any interested parties, it's Psalm 7 I've been using in Rupert's posts, in its entirety.))
He who is pregnant with evil and conceives trouble gives birth to disillusionment.
The first shot had hit. The girl seemed more surprised than anything, at first; it was an expression he'd seen on many faces at the Mansion raid, months ago. Her fingers went to tug the dart free. Too late, Rupert knew. "Gah!" The drug was injected on impact. Pulling the dart out didn't actually do a thing, though most of the freaks didn't seem to realize that. Or maybe it was just their instincts kicking in.
He who digs a hole and scoops it out falls into the pit he has made.
His second shot connected solidly. His third was a graze. That was fine--he was just wasting ammo, anyway. This whole gun was just for her. He watched sedately as she stumbled back and fell, his left arm easily coming to rest back at his side, his finger still ready on the trigger. It was done. It was done; he'd planned it, and seen it through: it was his last role in this little escape of theirs. From outside, a tremendous voice bellowed, "Mutants! Withdraw! Fall back to the vehicles!"
He glanced down towards the light of the entrance, then back to the gray shape of the girl in front of him, wondering if she was alert enough to hear that. Wondering if he wanted her to hear it; did he want her to suffer?
It didn't matter, he realized. Either way, it didn't matter. Whether she heard it or not, whether he wanted her to hear it and despair or not; it really didn't matter. It didn't change what he had done, and it didn't change what he was going to do. The play was done; the curtain would close.
The trouble he causes recoils on himself; his violence comes down on his own head.
He heard his gun clattering off, and walked after it, picking up its silver glint from the floor with his right hand. It was beginning to pound; the adrenaline was wearing off. He'd be feeling every hit she'd scored on him, soon, in full force. He wasn't about to put anything in his left hand besides that dart gun until the girl was well and truly out, though. Beasts like her, an officer couldn't let down his guard. Not without paying for it. With fumbling care, his splinter-laced right hand tucked his hand gun home into its holster.
"You..."
He hadn't really turned his gaze away from her, but he turned it back fully now. Still moving. Still trying to get out that second dart. Huh. He wondered what was going through her mind; was that useless motion the only thing she could focus on? Did she even know he was there anymore, or who he was? Finally she was still, and it didn't matter. Rupert watched her for a moment more. Then he nudged her body with his foot. Kicked it.
He put up his dart gun, and moved to unlock the solitary door behind her. It didn't take much strength to drag her through the doorway, which was damn good; he could barely move his right hand, much less use it to pull heavy weights across rough-grained floors. The thing was just as light as a human girl her age would have been. Rupert lightly shut the door behind him; not locking it, but making it so that a casual glance down the hallway would show the same old deserted solitary that the Resistance fighters would expect: they would have freed everyone from here much earlier. That door cut off the last of his light, plunging him into darkness with the heavily sedated mutant. Her breathing was even, and peaceful; a contrast to his own. He sat down next to the door, using a hand along the wall to guide himself as his eyes blinked blindly. After a moment of thought, he took out his gun, and turned slightly towards the door. His ears kept track of the mutant's breathing, and any noises from the hall. He'd done it. He'd stopped the little cop killer from leaving; he was going to watch the real courts deal with her. He was finally going to bring some closure to all of those deaths she'd caused. He leaned his head back against the wall, and let its chill wrap loving fingers through his hair as he caught his breath.
He'd done good, hadn't he?
I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness and will sing praise to the name of the LORD Most High.
He'd finally done good. Uncomplicated, unquestionable good. Rupert smiled in the darkness.
Maybe now he could stop wishing that he'd died back then, too.
And for any interested parties, it's Psalm 7 I've been using in Rupert's posts, in its entirety.))