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.
Posted by Martin Stein on May 19, 2011 2:41:35 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
In shadows, waiting.
There had been times when he had resented the fact that he had decided to hide his presence, altered presence now, in this particular neighborhood. In this particular house, with these particular people even. They were a peculiar bunch, a colorful one, smelling slightly of dried flowers and liquor if it had been a good day. Like blood and gunshots if it had not been. Colorful people, indeed, speaking in a sociolect foreign to him, one that was about to be classified a language. (It did not have an army and a navy; did that really matter?) Tonight it was Ms. 2A and her (new) boyfriend that decided to keep him awake and mildly entertained during what should be the night. What would have been a night of many. Yet it was not, for Ms. 2A was presently becoming single again, by the sounds that filled his small apartment. Living with other people like that sometimes could be a bit bothersome, even though they had now, after a few months, accepted the presence of the strange white object in their midst. The foreign body had grown in, festered a bit even. The fact that he had taught the first three people attempting to rob/murder/do-something-unseemly to him a lesson might have had something to do with the pleasant factoid that he was not mostly left to his own devices, of which he, sadly, had not many left.
He was in hiding. Hiding from himself, from past and future. Just healing from what could be just a scar. Just feeling empty sometimes, that emptiness in the mirror that came when he looked at himself. And the question that came with looking: Am I still the same? Am I different? What am I? Triptych in the mirror. Just an abstract painting, it won't hurt (you).
Keys made metallic noises as he shut the door. Not securely as in manically, but he had three locks nonetheless. Less would secure visitors within the month, trying to have a look around; trying to make a living. Or what they thought their lives to be.
Out. Just out.
Air of the evening, smelling slightly of foreign cuisine, of grease and hot spices. (Into another dimension: Everything blank, as usual; whole and unbroken yet... care to change?) He was wearing a cap. Just to be sure. Just to make sure I'm still myself. Don't look me in the eyes. They tend to hurt you. Or the knife in my pocket. Just in case.
Case. Casing, making a case: A block away a man named Henry was running away; in the direction of Martin walking, namely. Running away; from the Police who were following him for a reason. Reason being, of course, crime of the more inventive sort. Killing someone, death by crushing. Mutant on the run. Hide and seek in another dimension: What fun. Not for the cops whose car was crushed because the houses' wall was somehow somewhere different. Lots of fun. Two more to go. Two more on the run, stairway to heaven. But sometimes you just want to go out and not listen to life. You don't hear the blatant signs. Or you life in a neighborhood where sirens and crushing are normal. So very normal. Where cussing and crashing nosies were quite ordianry. Sad. Ooops. Window were shut with bangs. Just to close out the world. Just to find out:
That sometimes you don't listen to your inner ear, walk in with madness, where you find out that...
#Officers down in [Street] #Repeat: Officers down in [Street] #Mutant suspect on the run
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
Seablue
Heterosexual
Married to Gemma
2,223
468
Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
It was going to be a good night. At least that is what Detective Jorge Cervantes wanted it to be when he sat behind his desk. It was going to close to the end of his shift when the call came in. Of course…it is always at the end of his shift when the calls come in. Standard call for assistance. Wrecking ball of a mutant was terrorizing in another part of the city. He had knocked a wall down onto a cop car, causing considerable damage and trapping a police officer inside. Regular cops are not meant to handle someone that over powered, so they of course call in the MRC, Jorge’s department. Which is why the gruff, hardnosed detective found himself bolting out of the precinct and into his car.
Jorge loved his job. He loved helping people, but there were just some times when the exact same calls kept coming in. Why couldn’t these super-powered mutants just take a chill pill every once in awhile? Maybe do some yoga? Get themselves Zen again before they go around wrecking everything? It was a mystery that Jorge would never have the answer to. All he knew was that right now, he needed to stop whoever this mutant was, before more people got hurt.
The city was a blur as the detective’s Chevy Impala tore through the streets of New York. The wailing of his siren, the flashing of the red and blue lights all created a barricade around him that signal his arrival, that people needed to get the heck out of his way. And people did. They averted the red and blue screaming comet that he was as he made his way through the streets and towards the source of the disturbance.
It was mere moments later that he pulled up to the scene and found the crushed cop care with paramedics already attempting to rescue the man inside. Another cop, a rookie, yelled and pointed down the street. So he went that way, huh? Typical of a mutant criminal to run to the shadows. It was a good thing that Jorge did not fear the dark.
Gun removed from its holster, the officer held the heavy metal in his hand as he ran down the side, listening as more sounds of destruction began to echo from further up ahead. It was apparent that the mutant was not done rampaging for one night. Jorge would have to make sure that he could bring him in without getting hurt himself. He sounded like he was a big customer. Whatever the case, Jorge had a job to do and he was going to do it.
Gun in hand the detective trotted down the sidewalk, eyes peeled, searching for movement, while his ears strained to catch further clues as to his prey’s whereabouts. He’d find him, he knew he would.
So with a breath, Jorge dashed into the darkness with only a gun in his hand and prayer on his lips. Where the hell was he?
You would expect that having something as useful as silk at your beck and call would make life more fun. One would think, anyway... But no. She had tried jump roping with it- that ended in a twisted ankle and bruised knees. She had tried wadding it up and using it like a soft ball- that ended when it refused to come off the end of her bat... She had tried using it for arts and crafts... and had watched a dozen or more of her spider-lings die in a tragic, but not totally unexpected fire. Hell, she had even tried knitting with the damn stuff. (the result of which was promptly set on fire and will never be spoke of again) After many failed attempts at trying to find uses for her own product, she decided to take the lab outside and test it against man made nature.
Testing the elasticity of the silk had been a bad idea... seeing as her scooter was now missing a bumper, so she ditched her equipment and moved off on foot. Still decked out in her riding gear, she trudged off into less car ridden neighborhoods in search of an alley with a good amount of stairs and railing. If she was going to attempt what she had in mind, she wanted a little bit of a safety net below to catch her if (when) she screwed up. The twenty four year old marched herself into a particularly ghetto part of town, but did end up finding what she was looking for. A nice sized alley, with plenty of space on either side was where she set up camp. First, she set about clearing the area of trash cans and assorted junk- grumbling under her breath while doing so- then she secured a small, flimsy safety net from one side of the alley to the other with some sticky silk. her plan was beginning to bloom, all that was left was to climb up and secure her rope.
The ladder fought her at every turn, so much so that she nearly gave up twice until her body weight combines with swearing and angry tugging got it to slid down from above and nearly crush her underneath. Up she went, high enough that she knew she'd break a leg if she flat fell, and she secured her tether with a good sized glob of sticky, silky spit. After a few tugs, she was under the impression that it was going to hold, so she slipped her scooter helmet on and turned to pumping herself up. "...Alright Meg... you can do this. Its just a swing, like Tarzan... and you have a net to catch you if you fall..." Glancing down, she gulped and took a deep breath.
Why was she doing this, you ask? Because Megan Rova was a woman obsessed... with super heroes. She had seen masked men gallivanting around the city first hand, even been rescued by one once, so there was no way she was going to sit back and let them have all the fun. Sure, she couldn't shoot a gun to save her life.... and people were more likely to see her backside bounding away in the opposite direction when it came to a fight... but she could still be useful, right? ....right?! She had already helped out a hero once with her silk, why not find another way to use it in the long run? Picking up her silken rope (her soon to be lifeline), she glanced down one end of the alley to the other. No cars, no people. perfect. Planting one foot on the railing, she hoisted herself up and took another deep breath. "...Here we go!"
The jump was easy, falling sucked though. Megan was barely able to hold back a shriek as she plummeted- having not gained the distance she needed to actually swing. Thankfully she found her grip before she hit her net and thus only ended up swinging like a fail sack of potatoes in the middle of the alley. It was around this same time, while she was trying to figure out how to get around her little net, that she heard sirens fast approaching at one end of the alley. Then, she heard an awful rumbling and crashing sound, and something like rocks on metal. A figure appeared at one end of the alley, heading her way like a bullet. She barely had enough time to curse before he was on top of her with one hand reaching out to swat her like a fly. Her thread snapped, her net was decimated, and Megan Rova was sent flying like a home run baseball out of the alley. She was fairly sure she had left orbit, on account of all the stars floating around her, until gravity once again took hold of her and she smacked onto the roof of a passing car and bounced like a skipped stone.
Pavement met face, face that was suddenly thankful for the protection her helmet provided, and she blinked up at the dancing stars as a heavy pair of feet went thundering on by. "...someone... someone get the plate numbers of that SUV that just hit me...please..." Come the time when she regained control of her thought processes, she'd be so piiissed.
Posted by Martin Stein on May 24, 2011 6:48:21 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Martin had learned, time and time again, that the alleys of this town were a bad spot for sports/meetings/walks. Really, just pick-your-verb-now was probably a very bad idea in the more shady places of this town. He had been mugged (twice), shot on, had been hit on (with a garbage can, thank you for thinking otherwise). And even though he was quite sure that he was secure – incidentally in one of the meanest and most decried parts of the whole city – when walking through them (thanks street cred!), he was not going near them tonight.
So the alleys came to him. In form of quite unusual sounds; crashing and thrashing. The sound of police sirens, of blue-and-red lights that was usually there, just a part of the background melody of city living, of background you did not care to notice, became louder and louder, increasing by the second. By the second was also increasing the potential for danger of and to all people around. So they went away in that quite usual fashion of big cities (Another constant of living here he had noticed, last when a few Christmas trees had decided to invade), when the group mind decides on taking some form of break by disbanding. What formerly had been a somewhat lively hood-street, with some suspicious youngsters lurking around a heavily modified car, with the wailing of babies echoing out of open windows, was looking like the deserted bit of some backwater village. No cars. No people. Windows shut. Just empty.
Except that Martin was still walking along quite merrily, for, as was his way, he did not quite think on such matters as personal safety like other people. A casual check of something in his pocket was all notice he afforded the increased danger of being surprised... Maybe the fact that he rarely remembered such instances long enough to learn from them made him a bit slow, too. Not so slow was his reaction to the emergence, well rather ejection, of two people from the opening to his left that he had not given much notice in passing. When a something with a helmet nearly hits you in the face, you tent to notice them, no matter the indifference.
Also the other one, who was now turning around to sneer the way it had come. Violence and madness, yes? Our good man Henry was looking slightly filthy. Martin slightly better. Both looked quite in place in their surroundings. And for some reason, even before checking if the woman had been hurt, he, in a swift motion, pulled off the cloth that had been tied around his head in imitation of the local fashion. Three eyes blinked once at Mr Henry, who was now looking a bit ed in his face. Somewhat like a bull on Steroids, too. And decidedly unintelligent. “Problems?” The tree eyed man asked in a cold voice? Yes... do we have a problem?
Sneer. Three-eyes-blink. So much for wordy exchanges and pleasantries. Maybe he should have gotten back to his apartment in the better side of town after all.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
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Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
One of the things that’s important for a cop, especially one working for the MRC, is that they need to know how to follow clues. They need to know how to interrupt their surroundings, as well as how to understand the mutants that they are seeking. Not that they were all that much different from a regular human, but sometimes those powers can get to the head and really crank up the ego. This was especially too for the uber-strong ones. They loved to stamp, stomp and crush anything in their path when they were trying to make a getaway. Jorge hated to lump his own kind into categories, but it was helpful when out on the job. And right now, his theories were definitely being put to practice. Whoever this mutant was that had attacked the police cruiser, he was definitely not trying too hard to hide.
Up head, as Jorge stalked the street, he could clearly hear the noises of items being crushed underfoot and generally broke without regard. If that was not his mutant, he really did not know where else the man could be.
Slinking into the darkness, Jorge stalked closer to the open alley, walking fast but at the same time trying to keep some element of surprise. In this dark corner of the city, he managed to blend in rather well. Back in Miami, Jorge learned how to exploit his world. The shadows could be comforting blankets that wrapped him up tightly in a cocoon of invisibility. They allowed him to stalk the perps in silence, kept him away from dangerous gunfire, pretty much made him apart of the city. That was comforting thing in a city where every back alley, building, gutter clung onto its darkness, it could be exploited for extremely good reasons.
His footsteps silent but swift, the detective felt the balance of the gun in his hand as he moved closer to the edge of the alley’s opening. When he was close enough, Jorge took a calming breath before he finally peeked in.
Mayhem, apparently.
Up ahead was the steroid-riddled bull who smirked and sneered in a most infuriating way, but close to his end was what looked like a fallen female and another man who's attentions seemed to be unclear.
>> “Problems?”
Jorge silently watched the exchange between the two and he had to admit that the smaller man really must had a pair of brass ones, but what was his game in all this? But still, he could not let any more innocent bystanders get harmed, no matter how good their attentions. Especially with the injured looking woman on the ground, he needed to get her to safety to first. That was a definite priority. A glance over to the criminal he was after and Jorge quickly stepped into the scene, making his presence known and keeping his gun trained squarely onto the muscle-bound mutant.
“Freeze! N-Y-P-D!!” the detective shouted as he stormed into the alley, gun aimed directly at his prey. “Put your hands up! NOW!” he sceamed.
The big thing stopped, or at least it's foot steps did, but then she could hear others- a lot lighter. Blinking, the blue eyed woman muttered something under her breath that didn't quite come out right, and attempted to prop herself up. Hot damn! It felt like she had been mowed over my a train. She was vaguely aware of someone near her, but couldn't really focus on anything what with the world swaying violently around her.
With her knees bent to help keep her upright, and her boot heels digging into the ground she reached up to remove her helmet. Shaking her head in an attempt to clear her mind, she unknowingly sent a hand full of her children flying this way and that, while the rest had manage to cling to her hair like their lives depended on it. When her eyes focused finally, she glanced down at the helmet in her hands- which now sported a decent sized dent. "...@*&#!?" Thank you, everyone who had ever told her to wear a damn helmet. Pressing a palm to her face, she glanced past whoever it was standing near her, looking all.... serious and stuff, to the other side where a nice little wobbly figure stood out from the rest of the wiggling world. She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus.
“Freeze! N-Y-P-D!!”“Put your hands up! NOW!”
...Aww, crap. Half turning, she spotted the hulking mass of man who had batted her into next week- still there. Looking positively miffed. Great. Being angry and ranting when the target of your rage was gone, and could not smush your head like a grape was one thing.. this... this was entirely another. The urge to stand and dart past the heroic, suicidal cop and his weird ally companion was great, but the feeling was just starting to return to her toes from her recent K.O. She wasn't going anywhere. With her brows drawn together, she uttered one silent command to her little spider army... or at least those that were still alive. Follow. Her squad of little black bodies too to the shadows, keeping their eyes trained on the angry looking fellow at all times. (while remaining as far away from open areas as possible, because none of them wanted to get eaten by birds. Again.) She heard the first spider radio in, then the rest. Hit and run man was not getting away, even if she had to track him half way across the city! ...And by she, she meant Copper man and his squad of do-gooders.
Henry was only getting more and more angry as he stood there. Fists clenching and un-clenching at his sides, eyes darting between the puny looking three eyed mutant, who had the gall to ask him if he had 'problems' and the cop who had just appeared with his weapon pointed and ready. What was it with things constantly getting in his way? The man grunted, a strangled, rage filled sound, and took a step forward. he barely paid any attention to the woman as she pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, before an idea- a small, wimpy armed idea... but still- came to him like a light bulb clicking on in his head. Pedestrians couldn't chase him if they were dead, and cops couldn't shoot at him if he had a meat shield, right? It was perfect. With a few mighty steps, he rushed forward and grabbed for the back of the woman's collar, while his other massive hand swung for the brick wall next to her. The impact sent a shock wave up the wall, and spider web like cracks shot out in every direction. He pulled his fist free of the crater he had left behind, grabbing onto a chunk of the building as he withdrew to ensure it would collapse down into the alley.
Megan barely got out a gasp of surprise before she was violently plucked away from the crumbling wall, and into the arms of a not-so-handsome man. Hit and run man. Who had failed to run.... he was turning, attempting to flee the scene... again. She wriggled futility in his grasp and had to change her plans. Screw watching! ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK! A dozen little black bodies rained down from the surrounding walls onto the man like a plague. He ignored them, swatted a few from hs face in annoyance, and exited the alley in three huge strides. Well... so much for her plan. Megan watched as spiders rolled off of him onto the sidewalk. A grey, orange eyed bird darted down in a flurry of wings, and another spider was lost...
Posted by Martin Stein on May 26, 2011 9:15:01 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
=Of course this is open to change!=
There is an irony in most situations. Especially when you can see things as the happen slowly, just so slowly, while in your head spins the wheel of memories to show you flashed of the things you saw before. Ever before snapping around, vieing for your attentions, bits of your mind, just the voice of your consciousness telling you how to interpret this movement or that. Just the voice of your consciousness spinning forth the ideal of your life, the idealized form that you might recount to your children, with every passing picture. Spinning on. I can tell you how I feel as the officer bursts forth from the alley you just came from, my big, hulky friend. I can tell you that I think he might be what is classified with the pictures of “complications”. Coplications if you really want to be witty. If you want to make a fuss of the fact that I have had some experience when dealing with them. Really. Sigh he might, had he not been standing next to a thing that was making enough noise for a small herd of bulls.
And probably carried an equal amount of supercharged testosterone. My goodness, you really need to assess your picture of manliness. Maybe put on a flowery dress. Or a tutu. Learn some ballet, graceful moves. Because yours are so much like not the thing. As a high-school girl would say. Just images floating. The cop, of course, had to counter with an equal amount of phallic symbolism, the ultimate assertion. I am allowed to kill you. I have a thing to do that to. A, pause, T-H-I-N-G. I really have one. My, could we please calm down. And maybe have a sit-in with Freud? Just so that you can learn about your childhood traumata*? How much that piece of mind wants me to say that. Just to see their faces. The one in rage. Thoughtful rage. In fight and flight mode. (Which shall it be, by the way? Mind deciding soon?) The other one in that shaky controlled mask that he had long perfected. The ice from just beyond. Let me take control of you.
Or not. Mister big-and-bulky had decided to act after all. Had decided on something. And he watched it. Watched it happen. Why? Because getting in the way of a few hundred pounds of muscle was inadvisable in the present climate. Verily so. But He did not duck either. He did not shift. Not flinch. Not one bit. Only his face changed, that small smile blooming, that inexplicable one, Mona Lisas Mystery for you. And for the cop. Just that little smile that said: I don't want to be your knight in shining armor. And maybe: Why was I here again? Maybe to ask...
How do you feel, I think might be the appropriate question. How do you feel when you are kidnapped of the street. How do you feel, when you are the damsel in distress. How do you feel... do you at all? Is it cold for you, those hands on your neck, that feeling of dread a little bit worrisome? Is it warm, that breathing on your neck, that panting rage streaming forth from behind (and the bits of spittle)? Do you feel in your back the breathing belly of the man who holds you as you are pressed against his body? Do you feel his heartbeat racing with Adrenaline? Do you feel... the thoughts racing in your mind, around and around the question: Will I hear my neck snap when it does? So, do tell me, please, How does it feel? For I wouldn't know. And I would remember. I think. Theres memorability in some things that is deeper then pictures. Theres actions you remember. Like murdering. Your hands just know. Your soul does.
Your spiders don't. You fail. Must I take over? Just that little bit for you? But please... don't make me a knight for it. And please... might I go?
As the hand of the man named Henry went to grab a piece out of the wall to lob at then, Martin turned his head to view the cop completely. To share that smile of his, that little mystery. That knowledge of what was coming. (Why, my little man, why did you have to do this. Why did you have to involve me? Why do you want to die?) And, as he was, very conscious of the sharing of the shifting colors in his eyes that would be visible outside, that unnerving shift was happening around him, breaking. Carnage on another plane. (I hope I never meet time. She won't like me for doing this to her. Violence.) His three eyes looked at the cop. Looked at Jorge. And he smiled, as he ducked and danced through the stones. Through the damage, just unhindered. It was as if he was flowing through thin air and not through a hundred pieces of concrete buckshot. Some of the he left behind him, held upright by an unseen force. Some were sliced clean through. And some simply went on. Maybe to hit the cop. Maybe not. He did not have a third eye. On his back.
I'm off to get a mutant... and a damsel. Maybe she was at least pretty underneath that helmet.
* and this, young Padawans, is how the Latin-educated build some plurals! Take this, Miss Grammar.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
Seablue
Heterosexual
Married to Gemma
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Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
Why do they always run? the detective thought.
Everything was going almost smooth. He had the large mutant cornered, gun trained on him, ready to bring down should he needed. The other two appeared to be unmoving: the girl was still shaking off the daze, while the man…well…Jorge did not know what to think of him. He was still, moving as a statue yet…seemed colder. The man looked as if he existed in a plane outside of his own and he was passing judgment on them all. Jorge could not see his face but all he felt was this aura of coldness, this air of knowing something that the rest of them didn’t…
Was he on a “trip” of some kind? Jorge did not have time to ponder the question, even though that is fairly what it seemed like.
His gun still trained on the hulking mutant, Jorge glanced at the pair once more. The girl in the helmet was coming through. He needed to get her to safety before anything else bad happened to h–
…Too late.
The move was quicker than the detective had anticipated. Before he could make a move towards either of the two bystanders, giant mutant slammed one of his overly strong fists into a wall, effectively crumbling it before Jorge’s gaze. The police detective started to raise his gun to fire but before he knew it, a shower of concrete and break rained towards him. The experienced officer did his best, leaping to the side and attempting to rush forward past them. But they were coming too fast and randomly for him to dodge all of them. He had nearly made it halfway towards the big man, watched as he plucked up the helmeted girl, then felt a larger chunk slam into his shoulder.
Jorge grunted in pain as the white hot sensation spread throughout his arm. He would be lucky if it was not broken. He had barely managed to spin enough so that he would have got hit full force. But either way, that sucker hurt. He groaned as he paused and looked up to see the big man running off with the girl in his hand. What the hell, was this some sort of bad King Kong remake? Didn’t the moron remember what happened to that big ape? Well…while the detective may have been lacking airplanes, he could improvise.
Having forgotten the second, creepy faced man, Jorge holstered his gun and reached out with his senses. He could feel a strong flow of water coming from somewhere so that had to be a pipe that ran along the building. That would be all he needed. His hand shooting forward, Jorge ground is teeth as he felt his heart beating inside of his chest. The water quickly responded to his urgings as it began to flow and seep out of cracks before enough of it gathered outside of the pipe. Another swift motion of his hand as the water jetted out, flowing directly for the big mutant’s head. He just needed him distracted enough to get under and catch his hostage.
Come on! Come on! he urged as he focused. Meanwhile, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to keep the second man in view. He was just standing there. What was his deal? But…he’d deal with that later…he hoped…
Being jostled around while big foot attempted to carry her off into the shadows of the city brought back memories. Hairy, sweaty and smelly memories. She had done this before, her mind told her, only the last time it had been a monkey and she had been pleasantly smashed. Oh, and there had been a super hero. Which was awesome.
While being clutched up under the brutes arm like more of an object and less of a person, she tried to keep her ribs from snapping like twigs with every large step and uselessly kicked at the guys side and back with booted feet. Oh yes, this was very familiar. Hopefully though, it would lack the climbing of any buildings and a full out squadron of cameras and microphones below this time.
She couldn't crane her neck around enough to be able to see past his stupid hairy forearm, but she could feel her messenger bag bouncing sharply against her hip. Megan was forced to drop her pummeling tool, aka her yellow helmet, from her hand in order to arm herself for what she had planned. Literally. Inside her bag she knew she had her pepper spray, as well as the little taser that had saved her her from such a situation once before. Half halfheartedly, as she reached for her bag with her only free arm, she wondered if this situation would be any less annoying if she had an ice cream and a good book to go along with it.
Her gloved fingers sank into the canvas of her makeshift purse and she tried to elbow herself a little more room in the crook of the guys elbow while she searched. If she could just get past the friggen bouncing, she could get her weapon out and stick it between his damn ribs. Problem solved,... right?
Wrong.
The big oaf chose that moment to turn and peek over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. It turned out he was. The same three eyed pipsqueak from before was coming after him, and what looked like an f-ing jet stream of water wasn't far behind. He came to a sudden, jolting stop and turned around before she could get her hand in her bag. A jolt of water, which felt like all of Niagara falls, hit her full in the face as Henry lifted her and literally used her as a barrier between himself and the water attack. He smirked, holding his struggling- drowning- shield while he face down the little man with three eyes. The... strange, oddly quiet man.
Henry paused for only a moment, before he thought better of the idea to confront the man and turned on his heel to resume running. He darted around a corner and into another alley (of all things), thinging that the rogue water stream couldn't follow, and dragged a soaked Megan along under his arm with him- who looked very much liked a wet cat and was currently coughing up water.
Posted by Martin Stein on May 30, 2011 8:29:43 GMT -6
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Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
If she had been pretty underneath that helmet, she would now be soaked. If she had been wearing makeup underneath that helmet, it would now be running off her face in sticky streams of black-and-red (or whatever other color she might have happened to have chosen). So maybe she was now not-so-pretty, our damsel. The one in the Hands of Henry, the running Henry, who now was a Henry-in-waiting.
I am poison in your ear, hear me, hear me sing. (Songs of death and dieing) Happy to be hear and near, singing. Hear me. Hearken all ye [criminals, poor women, globs-of-goo]. Hear me sing, just a bit. Or maybe... not. I dont need my voice to be the one to – make your blood freeze – just smile at you standing there. Just smile, whatever happens, just smile.
Do you... see into my eyes? That smile speaking there? Do you, Henry? Do you see?
They never did. They had to run. Just sometimes irritated by him stepping, just that little bit, outside of what they considered normal. Functional.
Am I dys-function
the dog on the other side, a homeless one, slightly dingy looking, of the street was whining, high pitched noise, looking as hypnotized at Martin, who was doing something vile. Just running along (with time in my backpack) right through the tings thrown at him. Running behind Henry. Drawing from his pocket the long black blade... the one made for cutting not your household objects. It appeared he had nicked himself already, or maybe a stone had hit, for small droplets of blood were left behind, swinging in the air, just half a pendulum move, before falling on the ground. Into the water. On.
Mr. Three-eyes was near Henry. Its so good to be near you. To hear you. Smell you. See you. What you are. To take everything in. Your hands, the hands that hold the girl, are dirty. Fingernails dirty, but oddly, cut short on the fashion that implies care-taking. Those hands work often. Your feet, lightly poised for easy runnings in sneakers that have seen the streets a few times. That shirt is not the latest fashion, but its washed and clean (somewhat at least). You are... the image of super-powered mediocrity. (Judge me, if you can!) You reek of cheap deodorant and sweat by the way. Might be time for a brand-change. And so what? All these things in between two steps.
Going right in. Near you. Near your arms. I am cold. Feel cold. And yet... Dont I look like I want a hug? Like I want to close my arm around you? Bits of friendliness? Come on. Do it. Its just my Knife. And you. And the Missus. Time for a change? I broke time. Somewhere shes crying in a corner. The dog crying for her. Just a little bit.
#Officer Im there for you. (Instead of you) Oh how I loathe this. If I had been human I might have needed the hug indeed. Coweing somwehre in the corner of the street I would be. And not here. Waiting to be hugged by... mediocrity. Still want me as your hero, Missus?
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Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
(OOC: Hope I’m interpreting your post correctly, Martin. If not, please tell me so I can edit. )
Jorge was doing his best. The super strong Henry had managed to hurl debris at him, take a hostage, and was attempting to escape. But so long as Jorge was there he was going to do his best to rescue the hostage, he had to get her out of there safely. That was why he summoned the water, that was why he hurled it with all his might, that was why the jet stream soaked the hostage Henry used as a shield! Wait…what was that last one?
Jorge winced for the girl as he watched her get soaked from his own water jet. A twist of his hands and he pulled the water away, keep it hovering in mid air as he watched the grin on that monster’s face. He figured he had out smarted the detective and, one look at the hostage, showed he kind of had. The girl was soaked, the water had more than likely burned a little considering the speed at which he had manipulated it to fly, and now she was even further away with rampaging mutant. Things were definitely not going as planned.
“Dammit, sorry,” he muttered more to himself than the girl. A glance and he noted that the strange young man was still there. “You! Wait here until –“
He paused. Was that a third eye on his forehead? The image surprised Jorge for the briefest of moments and as he attempt to recollect himself. It was obvious that he must have been a mutant, but as Jorge went to check on him, and his odd grin…he ran. Jorge paused as he looked about and saw that he was running fast with a silver blade in his hand. Jorge shook his head as he turned to look back down the alley.
"No! Come back!" he shouted as he ran after.
He ran, gun in hand, to the other end of the alley and rounded the corner. He knew the city had had many connecting back alleys and pathways, but he was sure of where the culprit had gone. All he had to do was follow the path of destruction. Taking the corner so hard he thought he would trip, Jorge headed down, spying the flopping mass that made the hostage in the mutant’s hand and...ole Three-eyes? Jorge then watched in surprise as the kid pulled that knife that gleamed in the light.
Wet hair slapped into her eyes, effectively blinding her for a few moments as she struggled to get her bearings again. She was still being clutched to someones side, still being jostled around as the guy ran, and she was still trying to kick and claw her way out of the situation.
Oh... and now she was wet. Her jacket was clinging to her in uncomfortable ways, and she had apparently chosen the wrong day to wear leather pants.
She felt the guy slow down and got a good kick toward his kidneys in, before his arm slipped up a little higher and she found herself dangling by the pits of her arms. Jesus Christ! How big was the damn gorilla?! Henry ignored the woman's flailing in light of the situation he found himself in. He came to a dead stop just inside the alley after spotting the cop emerge from around the corner at the other end. He cursed, and turned to see the other kid running his way. It seemed that there was no way out of the situation without flattening one or the other.
He chose the smaller, gun-less one. His grip on his hostage shifted slightly, until he had a good hold of her around the waist. Turning back toward the cop, Henry lifted the woman back like she weighed nothing... then hurled her through the air as hard as he could at the cop at the other end of the alley. Megan felt her breath forcefully pushed from her lungs, and as she was about flight for the second time that day she reminisced about how at least this time she didn't have a splitting headache. ...Of course, she jinxed herself by thinking that. Just before she left the guys grip, she felt a pain rake over her lower body like someone had dragged broken shards of glass, glued to sandpaper over her skin, then kicked her a few times for good measure.
She decided right then and there, while hurtling at god only knew what speed towards the cop, that she really hated that guy- whoever he was.
Henry paid little attention to his flying human projectile, or anything else for that matter. He even missed the glint of a blade as he turned with a smirk toward the three eyed male and reared his throwing arm back to knock the guy into next month... or the afterlife. Whichever. The guy was closing in, and fast, and as Henry's fist sped towards him... something happened.... Something he didn't expect, and that threw off his plans of a nice quick murder, and a sure escape.
His manly scream of pain danced off the walls of the alley, and Megan grinned deliriously in midair.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 1, 2011 10:25:48 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
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Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
So Henry was quite ready to engage, engorge himself in a bit of lowly instinct. (Sorry Officer, but you're not in control here. And your stick isn't either. Your BOOM-Stick that is.) Maybe there were a few grunts as well. Grunts-of-pleasure no doubt, seeing that his small and slightly youthful looking foe was coming so close voluntarily. Martins closeness, radicalism, seemed to be readily forcing the big someone at the center of his attention into action. Seemed to force some closure on the victim of the criminals interest, as he quite rudely filed for divorce from Missus. Fired her really. And it was supposed to be the other way around. You fail again, Missus. I'm quite sorry really, for this is probably going to hurt you. Missus looked like she was never meant to fly like this, not at all. Even as she did. Headfirst. And a bit looking like a human-sized pumpkin in black-and-leather. Right through his zone of protection. (It now was black-and-slightly-shredded-leather) That also might have hurt a little.
There were other priorities. Henry was clamoring. For a lesson better learned quickly. And finally. Dont mess with the time people. Thems kidof scary. They will just stand and watch your punch come toward them, never expecting it to hit really. Having calculated every possible way of evasion, long, so long, before it even gets close. And then they will listen to your scream with that slightly unnerving smile. That same smile that said: Dinner is ready. Or: I just found a corpse. Yes. Slightly unsettling they will listen to you. Screaming.
Henry had, apparently, some reason to utter a nice mutt of a scream, combining pieces from something of a girlish high-pitched and of a grunt. It made him sound slightly strangled. And oddly his falsetto wasn't all that bad, as Martin noted with some form of curious interest. Just as he noted the reason for the scream. Trying to take a full armed swing at him in his [invisible, inaudible, invincible] protective bubble of broken something was yielded him an impressive collection of gashes on his forearm. None of them was deep individually. None of them bled heavily on its own. It kindof looked like a crowd of vicious cats (was there another kind?) and glass splinters had decided on having a party on his arm. Most satisfactorial. Most effective indeed.
And while Henry was enjoying a startled moment of looking at an arm that had been sliced open, Martin flickered forward in a quick series of moves. Lightly, casually, dancing around the thing of interest, the gleaming blade came to rest at the throat of Henry. Pointing upwards, as Martin was smaller than the super powered mutant. Pointing at some things that carried his life[blood], fed his brain. “It is time to calm down.” Every word was uttered in the perfection of the foreigner. With that sharp accent that placed him somewhere in the center of Europe. Speaking harshly. Uttered without any emotional connection to the words.
Martin could feel the scratches on his own chest, where his power was starting to rake away its toll in form of his very own blood. This would have to end soon. Very soon. His eyes, each colored differently. Blue. Black. White. They looked up at Henry. Alien. I am here to eat you. Alive. Dead or Alive.
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Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
Jorge was running. That was all he knew. The super strong mutant, the one with the hostage had turned into the alley and was attempting to get away. But apparently his journey was thwarted by the appearance of the other mutant, the three-eyed boy he ran into earlier. The younger male was standing at the other end of the alley, knife in hand and still grinning wide at the steamroller that made up the powerhouse of a mutant.
The detective cursed himself for being too slow. He was sure he was going to be witnessing the death of an innocent bystander and he would lose the hostage in the process. That simply would not due. Gun in hand, he ran forward and yelled another ultimatum at the top of his lungs.
“Freeze or I WILL open fire!”
It was a bluff obviously. Most criminals knew that a cop won’t fire on them if they have a hostage, not unless there was a sniper or something nearby. Unfortunately for Jorge’s luck there was no sniper available and as good as a shot as he was, he really just was not sure he would be able to pull it off without unintentionally harming someone else. He did not want an innocent person’s blood on his hands.
But before his final warning could sink in, the scales tipped.
Jorge, as he was about to raise his gun, suddenly saw the quick, throwing motion by Henry. Was it another rock, a trashcan, jagged piece of debris? No, it was none of those. Instead it was the wet, limp, almost ragdoll body of the hostage that was being hurled his way. Seriously? Of course, when there is no other course of action, hurl the hostage at the nearest cop. That won’t make his life difficult at all.
She was going to hit hard, he knew that. He could also very well miss her. But that would only end badly for her. So either way, one of them was going to get hurt from this little exchange in energy, and, being a cop, he was rather it was him. That was why he was so focused on catching her. But as his split seconds of thoughts evaporated and the time was upon him, Jorge simply dropped his gun and collided as best he could with the woman, trying to not break her neck in the process.
THUNK!!
“OOF!” Jorge grunted as all the air was shot from his lungs.
The collision came hard, causing his entire frame to vibrate. The girl was tossed harder than he thought and his body would pay the price for attempting to catch her. God, how much did she weigh? But he had done something. His arms had wrapped around her the second he felt her slam into his shoulder. The merely force of that alone knocked him off balance and set the both of them tumbling back. She would get a nasty bruise, but it was better that she had slammed into him instead of a brick wall or skid to a stop across the pavement.
Falling back with her in his arms, Jorge groaned as he immediately felt that spider-web of pain expand out from his shoulder. His mind was a haze of red and pain as he attempting to regain his focus. His shoulder was dislocated, he knew that for sure, maybe a bruised (possibly cracked rib), and he was going to be black and blue that entire side of his body. Surmise it to say that the man was going to be in pain.
Almost forgetting the super powered mutant that threw the girl, Jorge quickly turned to check on her to make sure she was okay before he rejoined the fray. He prayed she was alright. But not only her, the second three-eyed mutant as well.
This is going to be a bad night, he thought to himself as he checked the woman’s vitals, ignoring the dull pain throughout his body that slowly turned into a firestorm.
Henry reeled back, away, but wasn't fast enough to escape both the invisible monster clawing at his arm and the smaller man- who now had a knife to his jugular. The large man froze instantly, fear singling down his spine as he locked eyes... or tried to, with the smaller man in front of him. He didn't move for a moment, wondering absently while his heart raced why the kid hadn't just stuck the knife in and ended it there and then.
Oh well, his move then! Not knowing what had caused the shower of bleeding lacerations all the way from his fingers to his shoulder, he made to take a step back, raising his non-injured hand to punch the guy square in the face... or maybe pull a cool movie move and snatch the knife from his hands- whichever. But... as he took action that damned, slicing, burning pain was back- 'cept this time, it was friggen everywhere. Up and down his legs, his chest, his back... his goddamn face! Henry froze up again. His jaw clenched, teeth cracking as he restrained a groan of pain. Some three eyed jerk had a knife wedged up against his throat, and when he moved it felt like he was frolicking in salt and shard of glass.
"F**k you, man... I almost got away." He leveled beady little eyes on Martin, angry eyes, and sneered. He was torn between pushing himself through the pain so he could smash the guy in front of him... and not wanting to move for fear of feeling the horrible pain again. Henry's face was getting more and more red as he stood there, a clear sign that his anger was battling for control of his actions. The cop was getting up, he could see it in his peripheral vision... The muscles in his arms tenses, veins flaring angrily against his damaged skin, and he sucked in a breath through his nose like a bull. Screw this kid... Screw the cop, and screw getting put away for the rest of his life! He was going to charge. Henry reared back a roar, raising his arms above his head as he did so. He ignored the damned knife, and the pain, in an effort to crush the three eyed man.
Hell, if he was going down... at least he'd take someone with him.
Meanwhile; for a few confusing moments Megan was airborne, and she had come to the conclusion that when she landed she wouldn't be as lucky as she had while donning her helmet. If the impact didn't send her skidding like she had just been in a motorcycle accident, then she was surely going to break every bone going splat against a wall, or snap her neck once she hit the ground. Not being one to pray, or think of loved ones in her final moments, the dark haired twenty three year old coughed out half a curse word before she impacted the ground. Which was surprisingly soft for pavement, and had arms.
Most unexpected.... She heard a loud, pained OOF in her ear, before both she and her life saving hero collapsed backwards. With a groan, she blinked bleary, mascara blotted eyes up at the sky. She was alive... but dizzy, disoriented... and more than a little angry. She felt someone touch her and jerked a little, realizing that she had been staring in an unblinking manner upwards. Turning her head hurt like hell, and from the look on the other guys face he wasn't exactly feeling peachy either. She recognized him as the cop she had seen earlier. "..Ah... I'm alive... stop prodding at me." Perhaps she was a little more testy towards him than she should have been, but she had just been tossed like a rag doll. Her manners were elsewhere at the moment. Attempting to prop herself up on one elbow caused a shock of pain to crackle down her back... but she ignored it.
The block head who had caused her harm was still standing- though she noticed that the other guy had him stopped in his tracks with a knife to his throat. She glanced down at her shredded pants and the red blotches of scratched and bloodied flesh underneath. Megan had been trying for a little while to act like a normal, less hateful person... but at the sight of her ruined clothing (which had been damn expensive!) she really hoped the smaller guy slipped and put that blade of his right through the brutes neck. If she didn't feel like she had been run over by a truck, she might have even offered to help. She took to rubbing the back of one palm over her smeared makeup, which had decided to dribble nicely down her cheeks, and let herself rest on her elbow while the cop took care of things.
God... She was going to be feeling this for a long ass while.
)