The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
The Ranger smiled at the response, humor was rare in this day and age. Even more so you were just shot at. "Pistol on the ground, and move forward." He called out.
He didn't wait for the man to comply before he began to move closer. Moving along the side of the road his rifle pointed at the man, the scope being his way to observe compliance. It was evident quickly enough that he wasn't complying with that order. The Ranger immediately stopped and his trigger finger arched, leaving it just outside of the trigger guard, ready to move in and squeeze.
The bullet struck home behind the man, he turned to face the noise and then when the crack of the broken sound barrier passed he raised his hands up and slowly spun back round. Ranger had to give the man some credit, he didn't run or attempt to make an aggressive move. He was both brave and smart. Though, he was hoping for a bit more cowardice.
He kept the gun trained on the man. It was clear that the man was looking for where the shot came from. The man was bright enough to guess the direction, not that it was hard, but it showed he wasn't a dunce and had a level head. It was clear he wasn't going to leave, but since his hand wasn't on a weapon and the amount of gear would restrict speed the Ranger decided to approach.
Leaving the gun at a low ready he made his way down the stairs to the ground floor. From there kept himself low and moved slowly out to the street. Continuing to move slowly, he skirted along the buildings, raising his rifle from time to time to ensure the man was still there, relying on his lack of speed and ghillie suit to hide him. When he had made his way down the street roughly one-hundred yards he stopped. The rifle trained on the man's head he yelled out, "Road work ahead."
The Ranger surveyed the area. Both eyes open, his right eye looking down the scope while his left gave him a peripheral vision of the landscape. His right eye was inspecting the distance as his left clued him in to motion. There wasn't much to be seen, it being a couple years after the city's destruction there wasn't much he expected to see. Yet, after a brief time he noticed motion.
He turned his rifle so his scope was pointed at a man in the distance, crouch running down the rubble strewn road. He was coming from the south headed north. Toward the Ranger. He tracked the man, his scope leading so were he to fire it would hit the man. He was wearing a mixture of military and civilian gear, likely a scavenger. The amount of gear he carried suggested he wasn't a scout for one of the wasteland's factions. Either case could mean trouble for the Ranger.
A scout heading north could eventually mean his home being discovered, sure it was miles north, but always a threat. A scavenger could share the location of his home or knowledge of a man up north who appear to be well equipped and on his own, or at least not part of a large group. Which meant that the man swiftly approaching could spell trouble for Lenna and himself, or his unborn child! Though he might not go that far or at least wouldn't endanger them.
Was that a risk he could take, let this man move closer to his new home or kill him before he even heard the crack of the round breaking the sound barrier? Killing was something he had no problem doing, but killing in cold blood? Sure it would be to defend Lenna and his home, potentially, but he just didn't know. he could fire a warning shot, perhaps it would divert the man, but that would alert him to the Ranger's presence and he would lose the chance to drop him as easily. Though, him being alerted and knowing where the Ranger was were two entirely different things.
He set his rifle down and opened his pack. Removing his ghillie suit he pulled it over himself and after taking up his rifle again moved back against some piled ruble to reduce contrast. He brought the rifle back up and located the man again. Reducing the lead he exhaled and squeezed the trigger, aiming to have the round whiz over the man's shoulder and hit the rubble behind..
The rifle fired and as the bullet left the barrel there was no report, only the ballistic crack of a supersonic round. The crack much quieter than an actual gunshot and gave less of an idea of the direction of the shooter.
The days following the explosion that sent of the apocalypse were hard. The Ranger had always had some level of preparedness in case it hit the fan, but despite preparing for it he was in no way prepared. A total collapse of global society following the destruction of the city you live in leaves any level of preparation lacking. Within a few days the Ranger and Lenna had made their way out of the heart of the city and found a place to stay. Over time the hangar they now inhabited had become truly livable given the circumstances, but there were always needs to meet and that meant trips deeper into the city.
The Ranger in no way enjoyed trips into the city, the threat of danger loomed ever closer. It seemed those who survived had divided into factions resembling gangs in structure and behavior. This meant at any point he could cross into some faction territory and draw their ire, he had to be careful. Moving silently, swiftly, and invisibly. Despite the need for stealth he moved during the day, at night wild dogs and other animals scoured the city and nocturnal mutants prowled. Therefore he moved across the rubble, attempting to stay in shadows when possible and with a ghillie suit in his pack should he need to become invisible. It was designed to hide him in an urban environment which, in spite of the horrible destruction, could still be used against the rubble backdrop.
He traversed the landscape with his rifle always at the ready, his eyes peeled for motion that might indicate another soul. Should he be attacked while unaware and locked into melee combat, a tomahawk hung at his side, ready to be swung against any aggressor. Ammo of course being limited now he would rather hide from than engage someone (he had a rather large stockpile, a combination of what was in the Fordasaurus and what he raided from the military base on the island). Lenna was pregnant and before long there would be an increase on the demand for resources, they would need more food, medicine, clothes, water, and other various resources.
Additional food and water were always the top of his list, always, but today he was searching for medical supplies above anything else. Painkillers, disinfectants, gloves, and antibiotics. Behind that on the list was clothing (clothes did not last long anymore, and both Ranger and Lenna had been increasing in size. Ranger at his chest and arms, Lenna the belly) fluids for an SUV he had picked up to use when moving a large number of supplies, and any chemical agents he can find to use (either as a weapon or an asset).
He made his way up a flight of stairs on a building missing its entire North face, it was only three stories tall, but that made it somewhat a higher vantage point than most of the surrounding area. From there he could get his bearings, matching his mental map of the pre apocalypse to now. He used his scope, a decent power rifle scope, to view down into the distance. His finger hovered just outside the trigger guard, ready to go at a moments notice, his other hand gripping the fore-grip of his Sig 556. He would prefer to use an AK given the situation, but he wanted to be silent and he did not have a threaded barrel for one, meaning no suppressor like his short barrel Sig had.
There is certainly something to be said for firing a pistol you're comfortable with, especially in the line of work Officer Jorge was in. Change one variable in a life or death situation and you're liable to end up dead. The Ranger deemed the answer satisfactory, it wasn't a typical response from a Glock owner where they rave about how the Glock is the greatest weapon system since the pointy stick, it was a simple statement that conveyed understanding of the Glock and other firearms as well as competency.
He nodded, "Understandable. I've always been a Sig fan myself, a P226 served me well over seas. An' thankfully I wadn't restricted t' 9mm like you are with yer service pistol." To him 9mm is a great round, but being limited to only it seems asinine.
Different perspectives certainly kept the world spinning, but also kept it shooting. A sad, and inevitable, result of different opinions which necessitates people to have the Rangers perspective. That said he didn't necessarily like the idea of it being needed only understood it was.
"Speakin' different perspectives," He gestured to Jorge's Glock. "Why a Glock?"
The Ranger was in no way a fan of Glock handguns. They are the absolute best for what they cost, but they don't run that high anyway. They have a laundry list of feature which which range from mild disapproval to utter and complete disappointment with the design. Such things as safeties, those belong on rifles and shotguns not pistols which are used for split second decision making and reaction. Other faults from his perspective including the way in which they are disassembled, the trigger must be pulled, and firing reloaded ammo has caused enough Glocks to explode to earn them the nickname 'Glocknade'. The Ranger was a fan of the Sig P226, the handgun he regularly carried which NYPD officers could carry in but DAO with 9mm ammunition.
Had he ever considered police work? At one time he had, but never too seriously. Police had too many constraints on them. "I've thought about it. Not sure it's the right fit fer me. Blue idn't really my color and private military, defense contracting, pays better." Defense contracting was close enough to the truth and sounded more legitimate.
The Ranger shrugged, "I'm also use t' a higher level of autonomy an' a policy of shoot them all let God sort them out."
The first thing mentioned was official training. It was likely Jorge did not grow up shooting, which may explain why he is so good. Generally the worst people to teach are men because they have grown up either shooting without formal training or only fired a few rounds, again without training. This leads to bad habits that cause bad accuracy. Whereas women, on average, don't have any trigger time and don't develop bad habits as a result. Jorge may have had no trigger time growing up with which to form bad habits which he was unwilling to loose at his academy like most officers.
"Some of the children who run the military got into a pissin' contest. A few, including myself, got discharges. Honorable of course." The Ranger being intentionally vague. Sure the officer was a member of MRC but he still didn't want to just announce he was a mutant, which was the reason he was discharged. Some of the brass decided they didn't like mutants in their most elite units because they were men who'd been promoted well beyond their usefulness. "Since then I moved up here. Did some contract work, straightened out some crazy yanks." He raised a hand to quell any attempt to interrupt. "Nothin' illegal. A raised voice can work wonders." As well as a clenched fist, liberally applied.
Mutant Related Crimes division, MRC, Michael had heard some about them. They seemed the most equipped of any unit the local law enforcement had to deal with crimes with mutants involved. To Michael though that didn't mean much, he didn't feel any law enforcing body could adequately seek justice. Police kept everyone in line with the law, a cheap substitute for justice, and they did it with so many shackles it was a miracle they could catch anyone.
"Combat makes fer the best teacher. Where'd you learn t' shoot? You do a lot better 'an most officers I've seen."
At least an hour with the power of Google in your hands. You could do anything; research, study, stalk, probably solve world hunger, or be a twelve year old boy who in one day had been exposed to a naked lady and the power of the leading search engine on the planet. That, and Flash games.
Eventually Michael heard the key in the lock and the mouse flew up to the corner to close windows until he was back at the desktop. Once there he reopened Firefox and was navigating to a Flash site as the door opened. A master of stealth, he though. That done he looked up, "Welcome back."
Books, bleh. Beer, he'd never had it before. Don't touch anything that looks important, how was he to know what was important. Don't touch the ice cream... That's just criminal. With that list of things and direction, Lenna left leaving Michael standing alone in a strange apartment (which is a strange concept to him anyway, he'd only ever lived in a house and didn't know many people that lived in apartments beside college students) in underwear at least ten sizes too large.
It was still cold so he took one of his adult self's shirts and put it on, it swallowed him but served its purpose. That done he wandered about the apartment. It was strange, the electronics were weird, too thin, the buildings out the window were all so tall, and the 'lawns' were mostly just concrete.
Michael found what had to be the thinnest laptop in the world. Sure it had a lot of screen real estate so it was a decent size, but it was so thin, only about an inch or so thick. He opened it, whoever used it last had left it logged in which was good, Michael would have no idea what the password was. The wallpaper was white with a black star, cannon and the words reading, "Come and take it." He searched around the computer, clicking on icons until he found one called 'Firefox' which took him to the internet and loaded some page called Google.
He poked around on Google for a while and then decided to try a beer. He took a Shiner Bock, twisted off the cap and tasted it. It was strange, not quite like anything he'd had before. He drank some more and couldn't understand why people would opt to drink beer so often. He then returned to fiddling with the computer.
Due to a getting a new job (and Diablo III launching) I missed a bunch of this thread and am currently skimming it. That said I'd like to get involved in it, and I see groups forming if anyone wants a former special operator with them.
Michael shrugged. Running away from here was still an option, the 'truth' was hardly more plausible than him having been kidnapped. Though, if he did run from Lenna it made more sense to have fitting clothes, he was at least that pragmatic. And besides, he hadn't actually told her he wouldn't leave.
Lenna asked him what size clothes he wore. He wasn't exactly sure. His mom always just bought him clothes whenever she went shopping, he never paid the sizes on them much attention. He wasn't about to tell Lenna that though, no need to poke a bear by referencing she was doing what his mother did. His shoe size he knew so he told her that, the rest he made a guess at drawing on what he could remember his mom saying about it.