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.
The Black Talon. A place for the high end of society to come and whittle the night away. It had all the usual trappings of a nightclub, only this one was far more high class than the usual tatty joint Ms. Sato found herself in. There was even a dress code of sorts in here. It wasn't written, as such, but it was almost certain that if weren't wearing something that could be considered even respectable the bouncers wouldn't even think of letting you in.
That had meant a shopping trip on Megan's behalf. Oh sure she had a lot of clothes in her apartment, but nothing classy enough for the Black Talon. On top of this she was meeting with some one, someone unknown to her, and if they were to meet in the VIP rooms of this nightclub then an expensive gown was probably in order. Whatever this very important person wanted to speak to her about, she fully intended on making a good impression. To this end, here she was; pink hair pulled back and curled around her shoulders, all but her lobe piercings removed, her wrist piercing covered by a strategically placed bracelet. The dress itself was black and touched the floor ever so, ever so lightly giving the impression that she was gliding across the ground. There were simple white details here and there but nothing to speak of. She would have done something more with her hair, perhaps a simpler colour, but she was far too attached to this shade of pink at present to even think about such blasphemy.
Of course these were all mere, petty details, the kind of thing only a woman would worry about, then again... she had almost forgotten that she was a woman now... Anyway. The fact of the matter was that her interest had been piqued by what little had been mentioned to her previously about this meeting.
The men that had tracked her down, under the employment of some mysterious stranger, had said that if she wished to put her talents to high-paid, fast-paced use then she should meet with their boss here at precisely this time. Now... you would have thought after living as long as she had you would have become weary of people claiming to have a deal to make, but something about this proposition had grabbed her attention. At first she didn't even think she would bother going, but then she remembered what the men had said. Apparently they had seen her during the incident outside the full circle book store a short while back and their 'people' had been impressed. If there was anything she loved more than her numerous hobbies, it was people buttering her up, so to speak. After all, who didn't enjoy a good ego stroking? It was at that point that it came to her. What if this was destiny throwing an opportunity in her face? Perhaps it was just the opportunity she had been looking for. Something to give her life meaning, some one to help her along the road of her life long quest for a certain, ambiguous 'peace'.
Watching the couple in front of her swan through the door, Megan stepped forward in an attempt to get passed the bouncer, only to have him grab her arm and pull her back, setting her down in front of him once more. “Name.”
Megan frowned at the man's insolence, but decided she would play along with his little game of cat and mouse. “Sato. Ms. Sato”
“Not on the list. Next!” And with that the man pushed her aside, surprisingly gently this time. A small growl escaped the pink-haired woman's lips before she tapped him on the shoulder and stated her annoyance. Maybe the bouncer simply didn't like the look of her, or perhaps he had something against girls in their early twenties with dyed her... Either way Megan was annoyed. How dare he suggest she wasn't important!? “Excuse me sir, but I think you have made a huge mistake”
”Oh” He said folding his gargantuan arms, and quizzically raising an eyebrow. “You see..” She was struggling hard with her want to punch the git in the face, but now certainly wasn't the time, “I'm here to meet a Mr. Swartz” It was almost as if the man did a double take, he bowed his head apologetically and let her through. With out even a second thought. Apparently the man had been tipped off about her arrival, perhaps by the man she was here to meet. All in all it made her feel incredibly important that she was expected.
Once inside the club, she barely had time to take in its grandeur before she was being pulled aside and directed up to a VIP room that over looked the dance floor below. No one was present as of yet, so Megan took this as a chance to peer over the railings to observe the multitude of people swarming to dance floor, while she sipped on a glass of pink champagne (of all the colours it could have been). It made her wonder how the human population could be so callous towards mutants when she was almost certain that a number of the people here were just that. They were making a fuss out of very little, but then again that was human nature. They had lived with mutants for innumerate decades, and it had only been recently, after the outing of the mutant populous that they had even bothered to start an uproar.
It was pathetic. Raging against difference. Pointless, in fact.
((ooc: At this point in time, Calley and Slate still share the same body; Slate was originally Calley's split personality, but he's the dominant one, now. Just so that doesn't confuse you. It's been awhile since I've had a brawl in their head. Slate's thoughts are in grey, Calley's are in blue.))
The Black Talon. A place which held distinct memories for Slate's "brother". Even though it had been under Slate's ownership for several weeks now, he had not yet stepped foot in it. That left the only memories they had of this place as ones entangled in Hunter Antonescu's affairs. The former leader of the Kabal had favored this place for meetings that required more subtlety than the sterile halls of Mondragon Labs could offer. Slate held intentions to continue using the place for such. Calley, unfortunately, disagreed.
Let's just burn it to the ground. Is burning it to the ground too much to ask?
...We are not burning it to the ground simply because of one 'incident'.
'Incident'. Yes. I like how you say that: 'incident'. You would say that. Makes 'torture' sound nice and clinical, doesn't it? This is the place he called me into when Abyss figured out I was a spy. I know you weren't 'born' yet, but you know, could you at least look at the memories? This is not my happy place, Slate.
...The torture did not even occur until after you had left here. It is just a night club, Calley. You are being irrational.
Irrational. Yeah. So while I'm being irrational, let's talk irrationally--why did you kill all those people? Was it too 'irrational' to let them go? Your little psychic trick already made it so that they couldn't spill your secrets. They were no threat to you, Slate, and you had them shot for saying they quit. When you gave them the choice to. That was real rational. And classy, too.
...We are not having this discussion again, Calley. As I have explained before, the psychic order was not enough. There are other psychics in the world; they could find a way past it, I presume. I do not even know how permanent the order is; I am rather new to this 'psychic' business, as you are well aware. Those people knew entirely too much about Mondragon Lab and Kabal affairs. It would have been irresponsible to allow them to wander off freely.
And you thought mass murder was a nice way to tidy things up. Yeah. Classy.
We are not talking about this again, Calley. I gave them the choice. They made it of their own free will. Would you have had me do as Antonescu did, and coherence them into serving me? Remove them of their ability to even question?
That's a pretty way to rationalize things, Slate. Except you keep forgetting to mention that if they chose wrong, you had them shot.
...I am sorry, Calley, but we cannot discuss this now. I am late enough already as it is.
Don't you even dare--
It was getting easier and easier to shut Calley inside that little box at the back of their mind. The brown haired Italian teenager rubbed his fingers at his temples; an action he had observed others doing, and which seemed to be appropriate in these situations.
He was sitting in the back seat of a cream-colored sedan; the car was well kept, but clearly from another decade. Its silver highlights and obvious age blended well amongst the artfully decorated cars of a lower income neighborhood, its cleanliness raised no eyebrows in suburbia, and its up kept vintage made it a suitable ride for a young inheritor. Parked in the parking lot at the Black Talon, it fit in perfectly well between a red Audi and a black Corvette. Mondragon Labs had plenty of limousines and flashy sports cars and Hummers built like tanks in its vehicle bay; Slate simply preferred something a bit less... a bit less "look at my ego", if you will.
In the driver's seat, Nicholas Williams' raised eyebrow was reflecting in the rearview mirror. "Problem, Sir?" He tactfully asked, now that the problem was clearly over.
"Nothing I could not handle," Slate replied simply, opening the sedan's door and stepping out into the thumping beat of the nightclub's speakers, bringing life to the street even through brick walls. Nothing he could not handle, indeed. Until Calley--Calley, of all people; Calley, the triple agent--stopped attempting to speak at him from the moral high ground, he would simply have to remain in his box. Slate had important matters to attend to tonight. He had consolidated the resources of Mondragon Labs, both animate and inanimate. He had already begun his reclamation of his predecessor's assets abroad. Nearly all of the former Kabal members had agreed to re-contract with him. Now, it was time to begin acquiring new members.
There was a young Asian woman waiting for him when he entered the VIP room. She was at the artsy silver railing, looking out through the windows onto the dance floor below. Her graceful black gown struck a tasteful contrast to her short pink hair; the pink champagne in her glass, like the bracelet around her wrist, seemed chosen to accessorize. She looked like a painting in the vibrant club lighting; "Vogue Fatale", perhaps, or "Breakfast at the Black Talon". This young lady had put on quite the interesting display at the recent bookstore incident.
There was a standing order at Mondragon Labs to keep up a 24-7 surveillance on Sebastian Csendes, a unicorn shifter and healer that the former Kabal leader had an interest in. Slate had not gotten around to rescinding that order; the immortal healer held some interest for Slate, as well. It was awfully impolite to continue having his employees trail the horned man around the city, but in this case, it had yielded some interesting surveillance.
His interest in the Asian woman lay mostly in the fact that she had not been responsible for the vast majority of the blood shed. That dubious honor went to a young girl with an ability to manifest pink weapons and shields. The young lady before him, by all accounts, had not shown any particular alarm at the idea of bloodshed; nor that she rushed in with a grin to cause it. Though he heard a significant amount of grinning had been involved. A 'disturbing amount of grinning', to quote his agent.
In any case, Slate preferred his tools to have some restraint. The woman was clearly a mutant, by affiliation with the others at the bookstore. He was not sure of her exact abilities, but that could be learned later. For now, he was fairly confident that she was a mutant who was neither blindly homicidal nor too full of her own moral delusions to dirty her hands when necessary. That was rare. And, for his intents and purposes, that was perfect. One could not change the world into something better by blind bloodshed any more than one could do it by selling flowers and cookies for charity. With any luck, he had found a new member for his Kabal.
He was well-dressed as he entered the room, but casually so; full dress suits simply did not work on a scrawny eighteen year old boy. Instead, he was wearing a pair of tan dress pants and a silver-blue button-up shirt, neatly ironed, but without a formal tie. He had left his coat downstairs with Nicholas. He entered the room alone.
"Good evening," he greeted the woman, shutting the door behind them. The room had a decent amount of sound-proofing: the music and chatter from the floor below was cut down to a low thumping, best felt through their feet. "My apologies for keeping you waiting. There was a family matter I had to attend to. My name is Slate; Slate Swartz. I have a bit of business to discuss with you." He offered out his hand to the young woman, with the smallest of welcoming smiles touching his lips, and the start of a measuring look in his baby blue eyes.
"May I ask what you prefer to be called, Miss...?"
The book store incident had been interesting. It wasn't an eye opener by any means, after all, who could live for eighty or so years and not see everything there was to see in the world? Bloodshed was nothing to Megan. She'd seen more than enough during her time and much preferred to not cause it if it could avoided. Oh sure she would if the situation called for such action, simply put, there was no point in beating around the bush. She was happy to do what ever it took to get a job done, to meet her own ends. If she had to step on a few toes, hurt a few egos and shatter some dreams along the way then so be it.
Innocent people were a flaw of hers. Innocence would not be persecuted on her watch. It was this vary reason that had led her to helping in the effort to keep the white haired wind mutant alive after the incident had turned sour and the girl had been hurt by some stray bullets. Needless to say the poor girl would have been a goner if that unicorn man hadn't shown up and lent his healing touch to the matter. No one could accuse Megan of being heartless. She knew the value of life. All to well in fact ...
When she had been contacted about meeting a Mr. Swartz at the black talon, she could be forgiven for thinking she would be meeting with a middle-aged man who was interested in her services as it were. Nothing could have prepared for a young boy, barely eighteen walking through the VIP rooms door with an unrivalled confidence in his step. It was ... simply unexpected. This was the “man” she was supposed to be meeting to discuss business? What on earth could a mere child do for her that she couldn't do for herself? She was beginning to wonder why she even bothered turning up, but then remembered that it never did well to judge a book by its cover. Megan was living proof of that. A eighty five year old man in a twenty-something year old Asian girls body.
Okay, perhaps she would give him a chance to explain himself, as long as he didn't underestimate her in turn.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting. There was a family matter I had to attend to. My name is Slate; Slate Swartz. I have a bit of business to discuss with you." Megan took his hand a bow her head to him slightly. It was a habit she had picked up from various fragmented memories now residing within her mind. It was a respect thing. Nothing to it.
“Pleased to meet you Mr Swartz” She drew her hand back and swapped her champagne from one to the other. ”Lets not waste time. What is this business you wish to discuss?” She was suspicious of him, she hoped he didn't take it the wrong way, but she had every right to be in all honesty. For a twenty-something she appeared to speak with a rather disconcerting wisdom in her voice. It could through even the most mature people off balance. She wasn't just another hyper active young woman, after all.
"I must say I'm intrigued to know why you find me so interesting" A slight grin graced her smooth Asian features.
Slate returned the slight head bow, in nearly unconscious mirror. A curious gesture, but he liked it. It reminded him a bit of Ghost's mannerisms.
Then the champagne switched hands. The formalities ended with that gesture.
>> "Lets not waste time. What is this business you wish to discuss?”
Curt and too-the-point; he gave a long blink at the young woman. It was a more direct attitude than most in their generation had. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. Slate did not much care for small talk, himself.
Slate made a small, open-palmed gesture with his hand towards the room's seats. They were plush and post-modern, arranged around a round glass-topped table; they fitted the general decor of the Black Talon. The shifting colors of light coming in through the dance floor windows made it nearly impossible to tell their original colors. Something light.
>> "I must say I'm intrigued to know why you find me so interesting."
He took his own seat facing the dance floor, returning her little grin with a small smile of his own. "The reason I find you so interesting is tied to business, I fear." And now, to that business.
"To begin with, you are a mutant. As am I. I do not know how long you have been in New York, but if you know anything of the so-called 'Factions' in this city, then you know this: the X-Men preach peace and practice violence, and the Order stand atop a pedestal during their street brawls and shout about the total extermination or enslavement of humanity.
"Personally, I would actually like to do something with my gifts, besides bully pedestrians and refine hypocrisy to an art. There is much that is unsatisfying about this world; much that we have the power to change, if we simply choose to apply ourselves. Rather than speaking philosophically about making the world a better place, I have already begun to do so. I am gathering similarly motivated individuals to aid me in this effort.
"At the recent bookstore disturbance, you acted in a manner that, as you say, made you 'interesting' to me: you did not blindly rejoice in bloodshed like some of the others there, yet you seemed to understand that it might be necessary. It made me wonder if you might find my group 'interesting', as well.
He gave a small shrug, and a half-smile of embarrassment. "My apologies; that was somewhat long-winded. I suppose my only real question for you is this: would you like to change this world?
"Naturally, you may ask any questions you have of me."
Slate was leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his legs and his hands loosely clasped in front of him. Baby blue eyes under perennially tousled hair waited steadily for the young woman's reply.
Slate's thoughts are in grey, Calley's are in blue.))