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.
It was a chilly weekday afternoon in the City of New York. The cold northern front had picked up as it blew its bitter gust upon the man-planted sidewalk foliage. Soon the leaves of those few trees would be no more as another signal of the changing season would have been revealed. City worked began to put up wreaths, lights, bows and other festive decorations onto the street lamps and some scattered government buildings. Yes, it was starting to become that season again. The season where everyone gathered, laughed and joyous celebrated the human need of togetherness.
Creia walked alone on the filth ridden streets of the Big Apple. She was freezing. Creia had always been stubborn about removing an outfit she deemed her favorite. Her mini skirt began to ruffle in the wind. Besides, cold has always been a great motivator. It helped people become awake, it made people rely on survival instincts, it made people move. And was exactly what she was doing.
Creia had left the comfort of Geo’s garage as well as a possible home in the Sanctuary. It wasn’t like she did not want them. It was that she needed privacy. But more importantly, she needed some place where she could be herself. This acts and characters… they were an insult to what she was. She wasn’t one to hide. She was a fighter, a warrior, the right hand of her Daddy, and the messenger of truth. She needed to live in a place where she could prepare her plans, work her body and train her mind. She needed a new hideout.
Her dark brown orbs looked up from the ground to the surrounding neighborhood.
‘Did I really get this far? Last time I remember I was…’ She paused for a moment while tilting her head upwards. Because of her body’s position, it almost looked like a tall figure was whispering into her right ear.
“Daddy… my left?” And then she turned in that direction.
Creia found herself standing in front of a building. It looked well, she couldn’t really describe it artistically. It looked like a regular building. However, something caught her eye. There, crudely tapped onto the glass window, were 2 papers.
“Iris… Clinic?” Creia had read the first page out loud. She looked at the notice. It said something about their hours of operations and a telephone number for emergency contact. Useless information to her. Creia focused her attention to the second piece of parchment.
“For Rent. Iris Clinic’s upstairs apartments. Entrance around the back. Spacious rooms, great view, and reasonably priced. For more information, Call XXX-“
Her chapped lips formed into a grin. This was the perfect place for a temporary residence. It was hidden and quiet. Barely anyone was walking in this area. Furthermore, it was above a clinic. It did not matter who the clinic served, every clinic had sharp pointy goodies to play with.
‘Daddy, you are so smart!’ She praised as she walked towards the back alley of the building.
Creia could see the familiar apartment looking numbers nailed on each door on the second floor. She climbed up the stairs to exam the apartments. From the welcome mats on the floor and the silhouette of furniture on the window, Creia could tell the first two apartments were occupied. She looked down the row. One of them looked questionable. She could not tell if the thing was vacant or not. The rest seemed like they were empty. Creia picked the last apartment complex furthest from the obvious occupied ones. At least the apartment in between would give a buffer on noise. To be sure it was empty, Creia knocked on the door. When no one answered, she started to get to work.
Creia reached into her hair. Besides the obvious use of a hair pin, the thing was extremely effective in lock picking. So many functions for a simple bent up wire. She then reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out Geo’s screwdriver she stole. He probably had a million around in his garage. It wasn’t like he was going to miss this one. She placed the pin into the key hole and began to fiddle around. She had done this many times before. The pin was used the lift the tumblers up into place. She used the flathead to turn the pin when the tumblers had gone up. With each successful click of the door, her grin grew. The door’s lock was not complex. It took about 4 clicks to unlock the door. The entrance swung open without assistance as if the apartment was greeting its new owner.
Creia stepped in. The apartment was fairly big. It seemed to have a small living room, kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. Perfect for her. She went around and tested the water, the lights, and most importantly the toilet. Everything had worked out fine. There was a working fridge that was already plugged in and also a nearby gas stove in new condition. Compared to some of the places Creia had lived, this place was a luxurious as a castle. What a lucky find she had found. Creia soon made her way over to the entrance, closed the door and locked it. A delicious expression appeared on her face.
Garrett was going to miss all this alone time. Half the time he walked around inside the apartment hallways in his boxers. He had no solid offers yet on the apartments, so it stayed relatively quiet. Considering some of the potential tenants, quiet would probably be a rare commodity eventually. Today it was a T-Shirt and khaki shorts. The furnace was piping warm air through the building. Judging from the blustery look outside, it would be the beginning of a frigid winter for some. He had lived on the streets. Vents saved lives.
As it was approaching nightfall, he locked the outside doors to both the Clinic and apartments after ensuring the van was locked. Since it was only him, there was little reason to leave the doors wide open. People might erroneously assume that being a Clinic meant they had narcotics. He made his way up the staircase, flipping the light on for it at the top of the stairs to avoid any midnight tripping down them. He had plenty of studying to do and it was still early. There were movie channels to watch or FLUSH.......
The man's head swiveled on its axis to the end of the hall. As if to spite him for looking in its direction, the door closed and promptly locked. Shadows of feet stepping away from the door turned the swivel into a bird like tilt of the head. Burglars didn't lock doors of apartments they were robbing. Especially if they were robbing a completely empty apartment. Garrett slipped his sandals off and barefooted it to the hall's end. His ear pressed against the wall adjacent to the door, allowing for a muffled sound without the whole putting the head on the door thing. Wasn't his first time around the casing block himself.
It was a female's voice. It said Daddy alot, but it seemed to be a one sided conversation. Didn't sound like a kid either. Perhaps she was on a cell phone, telling whoever Daddy was about the new place she thought she had. Whatever the case, the idea of letting something like this go was beyond him. Considering his own recent associations, the police seemed to be unnecessary as well. He imagined he could handle it, so why beat around the bush? A heavy knock on the door and then a step back and a slide left.
Creia froze. She had just returned from the nearby convince store to purchase some nourishments. The knock had interrupted her while she was placing some yellow bottles of Yoo-hoo chocolate drink into the fridge. Her mind swirled as she was trying to get a grasp of the situation. It was nighttime. There was no way that knock came from a prospective renter or a real estate company. No, it had to be someone affiliated with the apartments. Most likely the rapping fist belonged to a neighbor or even worst, the property tenant.
The features of Creia’s face had tightened. Her eyes narrowed. She had finally found the perfect place to live. Not only that, it was a gift… a GIFT from her Daddy. And now this noisy little insect was going to play watchman with the intent of finding out who was crashing here? She was done. She was completely done. On the outside world, she conformed herself to society’s view of an acceptable woman. It had both saved her butt and gave her information that she couldn’t have possibly obtained otherwise. However, that conformity was a complete lie. Her Daddy had made her the miraculous prophet of truth. And though she was willing to hide this fact to the nonbelievers, she was not going to hide herself in her own home. Her own residence. HER TEMPLE! No one was going to make her follow their rules in her own shrine.
Tonight, she was going to christen her new sanctuary with the blood of another.
Creia closed the fridge as quietly as she could. In her hand, remained the yellow bottle. Her eyes darted to the ceiling as if she was checking on something. A grin was the final answer. She tiptoed over to the living room, trying to move quickly in attempt to avoid making lingering creaking noises on the floor. She looked into the living room. The blinds, which hid her appearance and much of the indoor living room light, were still down. Finally, she was able to make it to the farthest corner of the den adjacent to the front door.
Creia lifted the screwdriver from her pocket with her free hand. With it, she prepped herself for battle. The screwdriver began to slash about her already scarred right wrist. A bitten down lip and the satisfied expression on her face was the only indicator of how the pain made her feel. Finally, she was able to cut her skin. Liquid gold began to pour out of her very own vein and coated not only her flesh but the metal shaft of the screwdriver as well. All the preparations had been made and she was ready. With the bottle in her hand, Creia used all her might to throw the jug to the exposed florescent lights that illuminated the room. With a loud sounding crash, the room quick changed from day to night.
Garrett imagined that whoever the mystery guest was, they weren't completely stupid. No sounds, no blubbering stalls. Just silence, as two intelligences surveyed each other. He could appreciate that. He could not appreciate the feeling that the person wasn't going to leave. What if there had been no cell phone? What if it was a complete cuckoo bird on the other side of the drywall? What if said cuckoo was daring him to enter first, to see if the keys turning in the lock marked his presence? Too many questions, not enough answers.
Some light scuffling of feet and all was quiet. Personally, Garrett would have been on his way down the fire escape. The fact that the intruder did not want to escape drove a curious, albeit cautious, wedge in the man's attention. A small crash and then a larger one meant the lights had just been smashed out. Garrett's eyebrows furrowed slightly, a look of stoic determination on his features. " That was completely unnecessary. Whoever you are, locking yourself inside will only prolong the problem. Anyway, be right back." Feet slid back into sandals and trudged down the short hallway to his own door. Puzzlement became annoyance.
A fresh scotch glass was rinsed and shaken out, the feet carrying Garrett to his dresser. The drawer slid open revealing a black pistol, which was taken in hand. The last time he had fired it was at a mutant. He hoped it wasn't the case again. The gun was coming out of retirement as a keepsake to its usual function. Making his way down the hall, Garrett paused intermittently, placing the glass upside down to the wall and placing his ear on its base, to amplify the earlier muffled bits. His sole kitchen chair was in his other hand, the gun tucked in the waistband of his shorts.
Placing the chair an apartment away from the door in question, Garrett took a seat. In hindsight, bringing scotch wouldn't have been a terrible idea. However, reason chimed in, reminding Mr. Wills about how important sobriety was to awareness. Garrett nodded in solemn agreement with himself before talking in a loud voice toward the hallway. No one else was here, so who cared? Alright then, I'll let you know that I am not calling the police. However, I won't be storming into a dark room with a violent person in it either. Instead, I offer you two choices. One, you may jump out the window at your leisure. Two, you may come out of the door with your hands visible and explain to me what exactly is going on. Either way, you will be cleaning any mess you have made in there."
Creia stood in the darken corner of the room as she waited for the visitor to appear. She couldn’t stop the grin from reoccurring on her lips. Sooner or later, this idiot of a person would come in and well, sign his or her own death certificate with his or her blood.
She heard some noises and then some shuffling going away from the doorway. Creia blinked.
‘What?’ She looked around. The nearest window wasn’t far from the corner and looked like it had an adequate view of the entrance. While the person had left, she crept over to the window, keeping her body against the wall to avoid the glass, and lifted a bind with the bloody screwdriver just high enough to secretly peak at the entrance.
Creia could hear more noise but the person did not reemerge into view. Instead, Creia heard the familiar sound of a chair like object being dragged into place against the cement floor. Because she was closer to the door and in relation the other apartment, she was able to hear the mysterious person clearly.
“Alright then, I'll let you know that I am not calling the police. However, I won't be storming into a dark room with a violent person in it either. Instead, I offer you two choices. One, you may jump out the window at your leisure. Two, you may come out of the door with your hands visible and explain to me what exactly is going on. Either way, you will be cleaning any mess you have made in there.”
‘Cute.’ She thought as she listened to the time waster.
Initially the speech had bewildered her a little. He wasn’t going to call the cops? He was giving her an opportunity to escape? He was letting her give up? Why would someone do something like that? She closed her eyes and lifted her bleeding hand to massage her confused head. Her eyes opened and watched the dark liquid spill from the little opening on her body.
Suddenly she perked up. Her eyes closed once more, concentrating on the voice of her beloved Daddy.
Her eyes flashed open, wider and filled with the look of confidence. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to concentrate on what the man said.
A lot of things can be learned from the way a man says his words.
He is not calling the police… so either he thinks he can handle the situation himself or he has a record with the fat 5-Os. The idea of him being nice crossed her mind… but she was reminded by the nearby honking and cursing what city she was in. However, a totally plausible idea she did thought up was that he could have been a mutant. It fit the description of not needing the police of wanting police attention. He wasn’t going to come into the room… mainly equaled that he was scared… and smart. This guy was a thinker compared to some others she had dealt with. Unfortunately for him, she was one too. Creia laughed silently to herself when she analyzed the next line: “Come out of the door with your hands visible.” Idiot. How cliché can you get? Creia did not even have to see him to know that the man was carrying a gun or some other weapon with him. So that made going outside and charging out of the question.
The best option still remained that he enters the apartment.
The question is how.
Creia looked around the room. Her eyes settled on the box-shaped shadowy figure from across the room. It was in the kitchen. It was the stove.
In the darken room, Creia could see a million light bulbs flash on.
Quietly, Creia tiptoed to the kitchen once more. As she was holstering the screwdriver into the back of her skirt, Creia turned the gas stove on. She then reached into her pocket, took out the broker’s wallet and took out a one dollar bill. She lit the legal tender. She carefully returned back to the window. Creia paused a moment before throwing the fire dollar onto the nearest curtain.
‘I was going to replace them anyway.’ Creia reinforced.
Her brown eyes soon reflected orange, yellow and red as the fire began to grow. She quickly opened cracked the window to allow the smoke to escape the building. Hopefully the crack would be enough to divert the smoke away from the smoke detectors and catch the attention of a sitting man.
Creia dashed to the bedroom not caring how much racket she had made and opened the window on the opposite side of the apartment. She smirked.
Garrett sat there, waiting. Apparently whoever was inside the apartment was giving him the silent treatment. They were up to something, that was for sure. He weighed his options out, wasting precious seconds of reaction time. Garrett tried to quiet his mind, allow his instinct and keen senses to work on his behalf instead of all this thinking. The pistol crept into his waistband as he eased himself to the floor on hands and knees.Careful and well plotted placements of steps brought him to the door's edge at the floor.
He turned his head and lined the crack between wood and floor with his left eye, closing his right. Focusing on his own nervous system, Garrett began to dampen the neural traffic in his body, allowing the visual information streaming from beneath the door to be funneled in as the primary source of stimulus. His breathing slowed as he focused, his sense of touch against the floor becoming dull, the sounds vacating his inner ear. The eye read the ambient light of the window, causing accelerated and improved night vision to take hold.
Converse laden feet tiptoed across the room to the kitchen appliances. A sudden flare of light out of view appeared, illuminating the room further briefly. A skirt flowed over the shoes. His eyes glanced toward the rest of the room and as far as Garrett could tell, she was alone. The lack of aural input ceased the one sided conversation. The next thing to occur caused quite a moderate shock to Garrett's system.
A building and chaotic flicker of light appeared near the window as the feet scuffled by. It provided more than enough light to give it the yellowish orange of flame. Garrett's senses snapped back like a rubberband as he rolled on the floor prone a moment, rubbing his eyes. The room began to take form as both eyes synchronized and the sounds of his own breathing increased in strength and volume. He quickly got up on his feet and made his way to the stairwell of the hall leading down to the first floor.
Regardless of enemies on the other side of the door, Garrett could not have the building burn down while he was supposed to be watching the place. A fire extinguisher was pulled from its mounting bracket, its restraining pin following soon thereafter. Garrett fingered his key ring until the door's could be found. He waited a second and collected himself prior to opening the door. The key went in and turned , the door quickly opening wide as he directed the hose toward the flames. A gout of white powder snuffed them out, the extinguisher placed on the ground at his feet. He knew the figure had ran toward the bedroom. Looking that way, he only opened his mouth to say, " Burn the place down? Seriously?"
