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.
Oh, a person she had known. Nothing super interesting. And probably a mistake. Amelia’s curiosity deflated like— a pricked balloon was a boring and overused phrase. An overripe melon? Pumpkin? No, those took time to deflate, and her interest had escaped her rapidly, like the gas that escaped the Hindenburg. Wait, no, too much. Oh well, maybe there wasn’t a phrase to describe her loss of interest, but she was also a little disappointed.
Would have been a lot cooler if it had been armed robbers or Timmy. Or if Kendra had just been covering for inexplicable embarrassment. Yeah. Or that. Kendra was talking a lot, though. Like to cover. Amelia knew how that worked, from experience.
Daydream wanted to stay Daydream. “No need,” she agreed. “Don’t even need a code name. I’ve never had one.”
They went back to walking.
After a minute, Kendra said >> "So, does this make you my partner?"
Amelia talked for a while, about company history or her own history or about all the partners she had once had or about the fact she had never had a partner in her life or about Kendra’s super status, or lack thereof. But none of it mattered, because Kendra was daydreaming. Gotta maintain the brand. Amelia absolutely had not gone pointedly silent once she realized Kendra was not focusing, only to start talking incessantly once she realized Kendra had tuned back in. To make it seem as if she was in fact talking. Probably this entire time. She had not done that, noooo. Nobody could ever prove such a thing.
“… and after your probationary ‘trial’ period, an agent may be assigned to you, or you may request-“
>> "You know. I thank if'n we were in a buddy cop movie. You would be the bad cop. And I would be the good cop."
She thrust out her thumb. “Taxi!!”
My god, it actually worked. A yellow cab stopped at the curb. Amelia gestured to get in. Once situated, she gave an address and they were off. She turned back to Kendra.
She smiled. “Horse goes before cart. You can talk partners with your hiring officer. Usually, my only partner is myself.” An in-joke. She smirked at it. She could be her own good cop bad cop. It wasn’t a funny joke. Not a funny situation. She had her moments. She couldn’t always account for every moment of the day. Sometimes, she even woke to find a mug of coffee clutched in her right hand. And she was left-handed. She paled, and covered it by looking out the window.
“I would make a good bad cop though, wouldn’t I? Make peoples’ clothes feel too tight, make them tense, do something menacing. Completely out-of-character.” She talked low. Then her voice brightened. “So tell me about you! Home life? You have somewhere you’re staying?”
The cab rolled along.
Agents needed somewhere to stay, stability of sorts. She had been a cop, and knew what lack of job often meant. Ride to assume, but the thought had struck her and she felt obligated to ask.
Were there barracks at HQ? Apartments they supplied? All good questions to ask, in general, alongside required time to unlock dental and health care coverage, vision, etc. She had never hired on. This was all going to be new territory for her.
Aura got intense for a minute. Amelia let her process things. Sounded like it had been a hell of an experience. She had been full of anger after her kidnapping too, but super had not taken her mind and made her do awful things. So—
They moved on to numbers and rides. Aura was for it.
Amelia made a call. Like 15 minutes later, the x jet arrived. It landed, vtol style. Amelia led Aura in.
Shard greeted Aura jovially enough. Said something about deja vu. Then, Shin flew them to the other side of the water, somewhere safe. They dropped aura off.
“Call me,” Amelia waved.
The jet took off vertically, then disappeared into the night.
Grand tour of thangs. Somehow, Amelia liked the way the woman spoke.
She nodded. Moved through the door.
She kept walking a few moments after Kendra stopped. Didn’t see her pause, as the woman had been behind her. Amelia only noticed it when she turned to look back at the woman after she had said something.
What was with that body language? Forcibly looking away from her, at the end of the street.
Amelia turned and stared in the same direction, she saw nothing unusual. Maybe if she moved to where Kendra was standing…?
Amelia ignored the question for the moment, as she stepped up beside Kendra, and staaared where she was staring. Long and hard, she squinted even. Then, she squinted at Kendra’s face, up close. Eyes.
“What were you staring at so intently you stopped walking and locked on a position down the street? I was worried you saw armed robbers, or terrorists, or Timmy fell down the well. Hm? Oh. And we’re telling them who you are, so you can choose whatever name you want and don’t have to pretend. Now. What was so interesting? Hm?”
She tilted her head, still kind of close. It had been a long day. She was tired. And this minor bit of confusion had really hit her. As far as she saw, she saw a New York street at around 11:00 at night. Did Kendra want a hot dog from the vendor or something?
>>Kendra turned gongs to her abilities with a question. "What exactly is'it you do anyways? Those were some impressive powers. You put a hurt'n on that boy."
A hurt’n. Yeap. She opened her mouth to reply, but Kendra gif to blurtin’. She filled the mouth with pie, instead. Listened.
Dreamwalking. Definitely explained the tranq gun. Which had been useful. Hell, Amelia didn’t dream walk and she was planning on requesting one from the higher ups. Then, when people asked what her power was, she could say “uh, sleep gun, duh?” And leave everything else a happy mystery. Instead of answering like she soon would.
Invisible bullets were interesting…. Note to self: if she joins, get her a machine gun. Or don’t. Yeah. Maybe don’t requisition that item, instead.
Amelia idly wondered what would happen if Kendra brought clothes. Invisible jacket that the woman had been holding in her arms, would Amelia be able to manipulate it? Could she manipulate clothes she could not see? She had never tried.
“Yeah. Invisible katana would be terrifying. But you can see you and you can see what you’re holding? Lose a hand, otherwise.” She chimed in. Kendra had said ‘know what I mean?’ Yeah? Well? Amelia did.
Kendra confessed something she probably thought was awkward:
>> "I have to have time to rest. If i go to hard at it.... My brain doesn't get the proper amount of rest it needs to do whatever it is it does, and my cognitive functioning, inhibitions, decision making skills all go down the crapper.”
But then wasn’t that most people?
Maybe not so awkward after all. ‘Long as she didn’t snooze on the crapper, least. She left that unsaid.
The waitress was eying them. Oh boy. Hater, concerned citizen, or Karen who disliked profanity, Amelia wondered. They had said crap. Crapper. Crap. She took a long drink of coffee, and shot the woman an apologetic look. The woman turned, and pulled out a weathered bible. The waitress ignored them, and read. Looked like she was in a juicy bit. Amelia’s shoulders relaxed.
Kendra had finished/ it was Amelia’s turn.
“Well,” she began slowly. “Powers as they are, I think I can safely say I am a daydream believer.” Was this the 12th or 13th time someone had made that joke?
“My powers are… Kind of complicated,” Amelia took a sip of her coffee. “I manipulate clothing… make psychic constructs that affect it, put buffs on my own clothes, that sort of thing. Defensive ones. One time, I kicked an evil wizard in the crotch with my mind.”
She volunteered the information earnestly enough, wincing only a moment after, as she recalled how that had ended for her. He got naked and blew up a mansion. “Pro tip though, if you see any flying wizards, you’re better off running the other way.”
The waitress looked at her pointedly. She had said crotch, hadn’t she? Amelia finished her coffee in a quick burning knock back like a shot. Luckily, it had mostly cooled. Mostly. Her pie ala mode was long gone. They should take the hint.
Amelia put down enough cash to pay for both of them, plus tip.
“Want to get out of here and go join up?” She asked. It was, what, 10 now? Almost 11? Headquarters was like Denny’s, always open. “Or we can do it tomorrow. You’re probably tired.”
Her real name was Daydream, not nightmare. Well, what a difference that made. Like night and day. Ba dum tsh.
Woman was untrained, and clumsy. She had noticed some of that during, but had not wanted to say anything. Sometimes agents get upset about being called out on their areas they need to improve upon.
She nodded slightly. “I see.”
Training can solve a lot of problems associated with being untrained.
Woman needed money, though. Was not opposed to joining up. Maybe she ought to learn what Super actually did first?
>> "Sure what's the job?"
Amelia explained it for about a minute. It went something like this:
“SUPER stands for Strategic Unit for Preternatural Experimentation and Research. Which means— uhh.”
God, that was a dated title. Did they even do experiments and research any more?
“Well, basically, over on the other side of the rift they used to bag and tag dangerous mutants so they could monitor them. And sometimes they appear to have done some preternatural experimentation and research, but what I basically do is respond to violent—“
Then Kendra daydream was like:
“sorry sugah, could you repeat that for me?”
So, she did. And was really glad that daydream had entirely missed that that entire minute of faltering.
“SUPER catches bad guys. Mutants who cause problems. Or sometimes, violent offenders who aren’t even mutants. One time, we went after a woman with a drug that made people turn young. That sucked, on the receiving end. Recently, we fought magic people who wanted to open a portal to a world of magic and summon an eldritch god. We, uh, stopped that, too. Super hush hush, very top secret.” She winked at Kendra.
Dear god who ever had placed her in charge of recruitment was a fool.
“I’ll tell you what. I am able to set up a meeting with the group to talk about recruitment and to further detail what it is we do. We can arrange for training, and put you in a starting position, or even an internship. You can learn from experience. Start small. And have an exit strategy.”
>>the woman known as Kendra decided that she was going to go onto the offensive. "What brought you into this line of work?" She asked.
“One sec,” Amelia said, looking at the menu.
Their trip to the coffee shop had been silent, thoughtful. She had been full of thoughts. Did she share the truth, the whole truth, or a selective truth doctored with not lies, but omissions. That really depended upon their goal here. What was their goal, here? Ah right, here was their goal: recruitment.
“Black coffee and a slice of peach pie, thank you.”
The waitress left.
“Now then,” she smiled at Kendra. “I’ll give you the short story. We can save the long one one for a rainy day. You remember that rift in reality a few years ago?”
Ah yes, Amelia. That little ol’, very common rift. Around seven years ago. “It was all over the news. Warping, time dilations, all built up to ripples in reality, and people literally walking over from the other side. That’s SUPER’s coming-to-America story, ala American Gods. They came from over there. Okay, that was the back story. You’re following now. Good. Short version, coming right up.”
She paused. The waitress arrived with their coffee. And her pie came with ice cream. Kendra also had not left. Suuuuper.
“Okay. So. I joined SUPER,” Amelia said slowly, mixing a forkful of pie and vanilla ice cream. “When I assumed the identity of my Alternate Reality self and infiltrated their ranks. I got guilty and told them. Now they check their agents a bit better. Which is why I’m the best person to offer you a job. Turns out, Nightmare stayed on the other side of the rift when it closed. So, do you want to hear about the job now?”
Once the final dose had been administered, Amelia covered the man up. Pulled them up. Dismissed her constructs, and whipped out her work phone. While Nightmare looked after the injured woman and reveled in praise, Amelia made a quick call to corporate.
“Agent Mellitus, here. I caught Drake.”
Words.
“Yes already. He was on the same subway train as me, if you can believe that coincidence. Just one car over. Plus, I had help!”
Words.
“Agent Nightmare.”
Words.
“Uh huh.”
Words.
“Uh huh…”
Words.
“Uh huh. Listen, we’re just pulling into the station. You have my location data. Track me, be topside asap so you can pick this man up. I’ll handle The Rest. With my history—“
Words.
“Okay. Bye.”
Amelia hung up. She rubbed at her chest absently, in the spot she’d been hit. Hurt.
They were stopped now. Paramedics took the woman. She was in good hands. Wound looked like she wouldn’t bleed out. Hadn’t lost enough to be a concern. The way she had cursed Robert, rather than passing out… had it ever been in doubt?
“Nightmare” approached. Bad feelings in the background of her mind. ‘Told you so.’ They weren’t hers. Her inner ghost roared.
>> "Need help with this one?" The woman asked.
She smiled a winning smile at the woman with the Georgia accent. “I never turn down good help~” she said.
Together, they got the unconscious man to his feet. The cloak drifted over to them, at a flick of Amelia’s eyes. Her smile faltered slightly, as she split her focus. Half on nightmare, half on slipping the cloak back on the man’s shoulders. She was a hood liar, though. By the time it was on, the smile was back.
“We’re supposed to take Robert topside. Help me with this,” she shifted her body to better contain her side of him as they stepped down out of the subway car. Amelia glanced at her as she followed. Smiled. “Maybe we don’t tell them we pantsed a mental pattern together.” She winked.
—
Topside
SUPER support came. Quickly. Four officers, in plainclothes. They bound him, they had sedatives. Prompt, polite, professional. They had already coordinated with emts and New York transportation authorities to share information. Victim data, video. “Everything else will be in your reports,” they assured nightmare and Amelia. They did not plague them with tons of questions. They did not eye nightmare. Nodded, smiled at her. All in all, it took 5-10 minutes for them to collect the patient and professionally lie to her face.
They were done. Amelia grinned at Nightmare, after super had left. “Sooo, coffee?” She asked. “And first names. I think we’re there now. People who save my ass get to call me Amelia.”
She never had done aliases. What do you call… that. Whatever it was she could do? Food for thought.
>> Yeah.... I uh.... just so happened to be on the scene" Nightmare said.
“How convenient,” Amelia commented.
‘This was Nightmare, from the AV,’ the ghost in her mind seemed to chide her. ‘Believe me.’ A mental feeling of confidence suppressed her brief flash of doubt.
Yes, odds were against it. But a lot of people had come over from that Counter-Earth. Come onnnnn~
She don’t have much time to dwell on the thought, because Robert hit her and sent her flying. Oof.
She addressed Nightmare, and begged Robert to stop. Did her thing. And Nightmare tried persuasion as well.
>> "Last chance Robert. I don't give second warnings. If your next words aren't I surrender. You're going to be in a world of pain."
Or was that intimidation? It was Nightmare. Of course it was intimidation.
>> "You okay agent?" The woman asked.
“Peachy.” Amelia got to her feet. Her purple haze vanished as she mentally dismissed it.
Robert was talking, now. The same old tripe. Nightmare shot him, in response.
Amelia took a step forward, involuntarily. This was supposed to be non-lethal!! But then, oh— it was a dart. Not a bullet. On account of it being visible, and not exploding his head and stuff. If they had needed exploding zombies and vampires, she could have done that with the gun in her pocket.
Good. She would not have to discipline the other woman… Although it was taking a while for the sleepy time dart to do its thang.
Enhanced endurance. Right.
Nightmare slid towards Robert, tripped him up; Robert fell on his face. Nightmare mounted his back, and pressed her little stick where it would threaten and hurt.
>> "You have the right to remain medicated. Maybe you should take the hint. It's okay people...." Nightmare said addressing the other subway patrons. "We got him...." She said forgetting already about his super strength. But he didn’t.
With a huff and a grunt of fury, if not effort, Robert, nee Dracula, pressed against his cloak and the ground. A bead of sweat slid down Amelia’s brow as she tried to hold back the tide with a mental effort. But— pop. There went her mental control. There went Nightmare, as she tumbled off the rapidly rising Robert.
He untangled himself from the cloak, presently. Tore it off, cast it aside, then turned. A little slower than he had been moving before, perhaps? He reached out, and picked Nightmare up with both hands… He held her aloft, anger in his eyes. But he did not throw her. No. He held her, a hand under each armpit, maybe even gently? And as he stared at her, he seethed.
“You…” he said, quietly. “Have the same voice as the spirit from before. I see thees now. You are no ghost… yet.”
Yes, it was gentle. He set her down on a subway bench, gently. And smiled at her, darkly. It was almost an insult. He was much stronger than her. Twice a man’s strength, even. Which meant he would need double the dosage.
The man dressed as Dracula loomed above her, like a… well, like a goddamn nightmare. He hauled one arm back, fingers splayed. His nails were like claws, filed to points, and painted… a dainty black. Like the night. He flexed his fingers, and readied his coup de grace. His killing blow. As he did, a pink drill of aura spun into existence on the left fist of the woman behind him. And another mental construct filled his pants…
Amelia now had limited clothing sense awareness and control over the contents of Dracula’s pants. Yay.
Dracula prepared to kill nightmare. Amelia prepared to control his pants.
“Hey, Robert!” She shouted.
“Dracula!” He turned. He was getting tired of people calling him the wrong name.
“Eat this!! Aura drill!!!”
Amelia rushed him, and swung the massive pink drill. It was over a foot long, and around half a foot at its base. It spun threateningly at his face. He moved to take a rapid step back, met unexpected resistance in the form of a pressure in his clothes, staggered at it, and readjusted to fling himself backwards forcefully, using upper body strength alone.
His head whipped back. Not fast enough.
The drill spun cleanly through his chin. And out the other side. The chin was flawless. Constructs she made could only touch and manipulate clothes. He has not known that. Robert had overcorrected. He was falling. As he fell, the drill vanished and reappeared, as a hand. On his sleeve. She knew aikido. Little pressure, redirects big force. She applied force, and guidance. Turned him. Helped him land once more on his face. Boom.
Ghost hand pulled his pants down, just a little. Exposed cheek. Very tastefully, very professionally, like an attending nurse assisting a doctor. Held things in place.
“You know,” Amelia noted. “One of the best places to administer a shot is the buttocks. Nightmare, you have more darts, right? Give Robert his medicine.”
“No,” Robert yelped. “Halp!”
The ghost pants pressed down on his legs with all her psychic weight, pinning him to the floor. He lacked the leverage to escape.
All of a sudden, a laugh happened from seemingly nowhere, and Amelia’s skin crawled. Robert swung at the sound.
Amelia blinked at the series of events that briefly followed the Dracula wannabes attack on thin air. At first, she had thought it was an attack on her, so she had stepped back. But someone nearby was like “hey, what the heck?!” And stood up, like something had bumped into them. And that was weird. And then nothing much happened after that.
Robert glanced around. “Spirit!” He shouted. “I am your master. Obey!”
“I don’t think it’s a spirit…” Amelia muttered to herself. A different word was in her mind. Mutant.
An invisible person? Sounded feminine. The laugh had, at the very least. An invisible girl.
“What would it be, then? Loathsome hag.” Robert asked.
“Putting a pin in that loathsome hag comment for later. Have you ever heard of mutants, Robert? Because you are one.” Amelia said.
“Mutant?” His tone was scathing. “This term. I do not know what it means.”
“Mutation: Any change in the DNA sequence of a cell. Mutations may be caused by mistakes during cell division, or they may be caused by exposure to DNA-damaging agents in the environment. A mutant in this day and age is someone with shiny powers that let them do stuff, like suck blood to get super strength.”
Robert sneered at her. “My powers be not mutation.”
Footsteps echoed down the metal sausage tube that was the subway car. A few moments later, an exhausted woman was panting. Doubled over. Holding up a finger. Catching her breath.
>> "Hang on, just gimme-gim-gimme a minute. I put a hitch'n my giddyup. Im plum tuckered."
And she had a Southern twang.
A sensory memory drifted in from the back of her mind. The sound. The ghost of a memory of a face came next. Then, a name.
As the woman took her time learning how to breathe again, Amelia eyed her.
This was not a normal memory type situation. She, herself, had never known this person. This was an Other Amelia type memory, wasn’t it? Like when she had tapped into the memory of the secret government installation she had found using memories stored in her brain from somebody else’s mind.
Long story short, there had been an alternate universe and she had found her evil twin there. They’d fought here. She had gotten hit by an unrelated psychic attack from the third mutant on the scene, who had simply been there before evil twin had tried capturing her for SUPER fun. And two minds, evil twin and Alpha Amelia, had merged. So… This was an Evil Twin Amelia thought. This woman looks like the SUPER operative, Nightmare.
Amelia ran with the stray thought for a separate mind within her own head, and tried not to think too hard about it that very moment.
“Agent Nightmare,” she said. “Glad you could make it. Could use your assistance peacefully helping this fine gentlemen over here. Robert, we’re agents of SUPER, your doctor sent us to help you. Will you let us?”
Robert ran at her with blinding speed, and threw a punch at her chest with the strength of two men. It sent her flying backwards, towards Agent Nightmare. Amelia’s mind flew into action. Something like a purple haze caught her like a baseball glove at the last moment. It cupped her in midair, a rounded, partially-visible psychic construct. It hung about a foot from Nightmare’s location.
Over her shoulder, Amelia called out: “don’t let him hit you, Nightmare! If I weren’t wearing an enchanted duster, I would be puking blood from that hit.”
She wasn’t, she was in pain and grimacing through it. There would be a bruise like a horse kick tomorrow.
She looked at Robert. “Please, calm down. Please.”
Then, she held up both her hands and sent psychic energy into the body of count Dracula’s cape. It started to wrap the count up in a massive hug. The hug would not detain him for long. He was strong, strong as two men. And her focus imparted the strength levels of one Amelia Mellitus, who sometimes worked out. But it was a sudden surprise, made to buy time. And that was all she had hoped for in life.
Strange, the man thought. A voice from nowhere. A ghost, perhaps? As master of the undead, he felt such things should fall within his purview. His command, if you will. But maybe that was not fully in-line with the lore?
Lore? What was he even talking about.
He could not see something which had made a noise. He stood up, and looked around. If something unseen had made a noise, the most logical answer was that he had not seen it.
>> "Which one of you blood sacks said that?" He asked in an absurdly calm manner. Why should he fear the unknown? He was an immortal. It most likely had been one of the passengers. To think it had been some shade who did not accept his command was— unthinkable.
>> "The one who's going to send you back to Transylvania, or sesame street. Or wherever you came from." An unseen voice cut in. Again.
His brow furrowed. It was all one piece, this brow. Like a very hungry caterpillar. So the caterpillar bunched up, perplexed.
—
In the other car, Amelia hurried past a skater boy on the way to the door. Her leg bumped into the knee of a woman with brown hair, who had bunched up in on herself, sleeping. She turned and snapped off a quick apology. As she hurried on to the next car, she compartmentalized the thought “Kind of cute, maybe talk to after issue is resolved…could be interesting.” But there was no time for that currently.
As she surveyed the scene in the next car over, something whispered in the back of her mind. The ghost of a memory. A nagging feeling. Face? Something about a face. Familiarity? She dismissed it as unimportant. The ghost of a memory stomped its foot in annoyance, in the back of her mind.
There was a man, absurdly dressed. Her wore an overcoat, a few centuries out of style. Not like her overcoat, which was stylish. Even in this New York heat. Oh, the sacrifices we make for fashion.
The man had blood on his face, around his mouth and chin. A woman behind/beneath him had a hand on her neck and was cussing him out about biting her. He was not looking at her, though. He was looking at air. Then, he spoke to it. He did not have an affected Dracula accent or anything. No wait, he totally did. It was horrible, and obvious.
“Sesame Street,” He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Und vhere ist dat?”
Amelia blinked at him. What in the what now?
“Where the air is sweet, Robert?” She said calmly, approaching him slowly where he could see her. She stopped before she would have walked through the nothing that wasn’t there, pink and holding a not-baton. The one she could not see. “I can tell you how to get there, if you’d like. But Robert… you need to come with me. You’re off your medi—“
He interrupted her violently. “Dracula!!” He said, around very real, pointed fangs. “Lord of the undead! Master of darkness!!”
Quietly, she replied. “You’ve got blood on your white cravat, Robert. You’ve been drinking again… Dr. Acula wants you come home. Come home, Robert… don’t do this.”
“Please, don’t get violent.” Amelia wished.
The woman on the ground scooted away. People in the car were leaving. They gave them a wide berth.
Robert “Dracula” Drake stared real hard at the nothing between them. Then, he chuckled to himself. And got a very serious look on his face, almost psychotic, like he was trying to force his will upon the universe.
“Transient spirit, come to my aid. Rid me of this troublesome woman.”
If it didn’t, he was gonna punch it. Wherever the voice came from next.
He was over 500 years old. His father had been a lord in Transylvania. He had tried to follow in his footsteps, expanding their rule and strengthening borders in Wallachia. He had intimidated many, with a pike and a body. Sometimes, he did not even need a body. Sometimes a wooden stake in the ground would suffice, in place of the pike. The important thing was using a head. Not one’s head. Never your own head, but… someone’s head.
He had fought against many. Magicians in France, insane people who claimed themselves lord of the undead. Hunters, who chased him for simply living his life. They found him, killed him, and he survived. They wrote a book, bragging of their success. It had been greatly exaggerated. Since then, several writers had come and gone, using that mythos. His legend. Extolling the virtues of garlic, the power of a wooden stake. Laughable. One did not turn to dust. It was a pause. Held in place, no movement, no healing. In time, he might either and decay. But remove the stake, and he would revive. So long as he had a head. To kill with a stake? Laughable. Also, his kind never glittered in the light of the sun. He had sent letters. No replies.
The man chuckled to himself as he boarded the subway. The memory of his firm looming over the author, his feast after tracking her down. It was sweet. But now, he hungered. It was after dusk, around nine on a Monday. The car he entered was half full. Many attractive women were on board.
His black suit was musty. Like the grave. The cowl of his cape was pointed, inner lining, red. The soles of his shoes were thin. He flexed his toes in them. New shoes were needed. 100 years was a long time for wear to enter into a shoe. Maybe he would take from his next victim. Yes. He liked to take. Deserved. After all, he was a count.
—
Some blocks away, police were standing by the broken front window of a shop that sold costumes. Earlier that night, someone had broken and entered. The owner said the only theft had been—
—
“… count on you to send your best agent?” Doctor Acula had a nervous cadence to his voice. His accent was thickly European. Hungarian, Romanian, maybe? No. With the way he put emphasis on the second to last syllable, pronounced certain letter sounds, and changed others… polish.
“Yes.”
“Prisoner 666 is dangerous, absolutely. A mutant with supernatural strength and endurance, he is a man child. A psychopath,” pronounced psy kopath. “Meester Drake thinks he IS the title character from the bram stoker novel. Yes. He thinks he is—“
—
D R A C U L A. The cover on the young woman’s book read. She looked up, and saw one.
“Freak convention in town,” she sighed. “New York is so weird.”
—
One minute later, Amelia looked up from memes on her phone. There had been a sound, a scream from the next subway car over. Her work phone buzzed in a pocket of her long leather duster. She slid her personal phone away and glanced at the work phone as she moved towards the second car. From the sounds of people in the car, it sounded like someone had gotten bit.
“New York is so weird,” Amelia muttered to herself. Then she read the work text, and the color drained from her face.
The fire mystic had landed right in her. Serena had not dodged in time. As Amelia rushed forward, the flames stayed the exact same color to her. White. She braced herself for the heat, and tried a shove. It… was not as hot as she would have thought.
“Magic,” she sighed. Then she went back to shoving as hard as she could, smacking the mystic again and again. They were huge, though. They hit back, and sent her tumbling several steps back, onto her ass. Just in time, it turned out.
Water crashed along the battlefield, putting out fires and forming walls as it went by. The water rushed over the flaming mystic and Serena. It would have hit her, if she had not been moved. Then, Hercules appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. She had completely missed him being tossed through a building. There was drywall dust in his hair.
The big tattooed man backhanded the formerly flaming mystic across the courtyard. Amelia approached, just as he asked Serena how bad she had been hurt.
“He fell out of the sky onto her legs, on fire. And then she got hit by a wave of water. Which is hell on fabrics if you haven’t enchanted them against it. Here,” She offered the woman an arm up. If her legs weren’t broken, she could still fight. Use help, but still. Fight.
“Probably cold. I can lend you my leather jacket. It’s mostly fire and waterproof. Some force, too.”
Amelia had not seen the shot miss Rebecca and hit somebody else. She had focused on the mystic, who kept blocking their shots. Then someone shouted at him, saying he had missed. Wha—? Oh good.
Hercules landed nearby. With. Turret guns. Then he flew… jumped… with one of the guns as a club. Engaging the mystic. She holstered her gun. Maybe he would have better luck. His was bigger.
Something dropped onto the lawn next to her and Serena. Amelia stared at it.
“Hallelujah,” she muttered to the fashion mogul. “It’s raining men.”
Amelia left the boss man to the heavy hitters for the moment. She spent the next couple of seconds shooting giant blue hand constructs at falling mystics, redirecting them so none hit either her or the woman, Serena. She couldn’t hit hard, but— at least she could shift them with a shove or a punch, as long as they were wearing clothes. Until one wasn’t.
Her coat billowed as Amelia spun towards the nearby mystic.
“Serena, watch out!” It was falling right at her, wreathed in magic flames. And nothing else. Nudity. Her only weakness. “I can’t stop them!”
> The woman smirked, and Amelia smirked right back. Then, her mind finally placed the face. Ho-ly shit. Serena Lockhart, CEO of — Amelia followed fashion. She liked the clothes the woman’s company put out. Maybe couldn’t afford them, but— she had just been saved by a fashion mogul. > > ‘God Bless Clothes,’ Amelia thought to herself. Then, she watched a fiery explosion in black and white. The portal went down. And distantly, she heard a second explosion simultaneous to the first. > > Her joints ached. Back, throbbed. Later, there would be painkillers. Body armor does not block all, but for the moment— Amelia wiped the bloodied corner of her mouth clean and got herself prepared for battle. Only to hear a howling in the air. A figure trailing fire flew onto the scene. From a distance, he had a handsome face and tattoos, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was not only did he have fire, he had wind. He used it to break his momentum, and she did not even have time for breaking wind jokes because dust was everywhere and she held up a sleeve to cover her face. > > “Portal down. But. Incoming big mystic in courtyard, Sabine.” She coughed into her comms. “He-“ She stopped as he raised his hand, said bang. And— Amelia did not see what happened to the redhead (black and white in her vision, but Becca all the same). “He just shot a force blast at Becca, that bastard.” Her voice lacked flavor, as if she could hardly think enough to put emphasis on any of the words. > > Mind = recalculating. > > “I am going in.” She muttered into the comms. She made to rush the guy, and figure out strategy later. A blast of stench several yards ahead gave her pause. Amelia staggered back, and coughed some more. Her throat felt red. > > Again, recalculating… > > She drew her side arm, and trained it on the mystic. This probably wasn’t going to work but he shot at Becca. Play shit games, win shit prizes. Amelia attempted to shoot a mundane bullet at 5th supreme . > > The Fifth Supreme smiled as he saw some woman in a big coat draw a gun at him. With a flick of his hand, he moved the winds to whirl around him and tossed a bit of fire into the vortex. The shot was redirected upwards in a spiral of air and heat. This move had the added benefit of pushing any air-based attacks, like, say, a stinking cloud, away from his person. Up up and away.
Bubbles, huh? And they were in a club? She made a mental note of that, alongside the real name. Madison.
Amelia nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.” Some smiled, and drank. It was good.
As her mind compartmentalized various details of the day, a familiar face drew up and sat nearby. The comment about “bubble butt” suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Stage names. Jokes. Fun. Were these two something, with the teasing?
Hm.
Scotch was always a good choice. Another note.
And world domination, huh? All this domination talk. Yeah. If they weren’t an item, yet, the key word there just might be ‘yet.’
Amelia’s eyes drifted over to Aura, in her new face and her bloodstained camouflage hoodie, coated in a thin pink aura. Like battle zone Hello Kitty. It was a look, for certain. And oh hey, she could see colors again? Yeah? She hadn’t really noticed that in the background until that moment. The curse had faded.
She nodded to Aura. Raised her glass. Then her hearing snapped to something. Serena had made a comment about tentacles, and yes. Amelia could not help herself.
She mumbled something about “Yeah. Tentacles are a whole different type of domination.” She realized herself, and added. “Um. Yeah. So anyways.” Coughed after a hasty sip of her drink, blushed. Looked at the two of them, embarrassed. “Sorry. Been a long day. I’m Amelia,” she nodded to Serena, suddenly very self-aware. “Not sure if I introduced myself when you saved my sight earlier. Thanks for that. All better now.” She tapped her head. “If I looked in the mirror right now, I am sure I would see, ohhh, so much red.”