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.
Site adaptation by Sen, Lix, and Tempest. <3
And... How Much Does Jet Fuel Cost? (Ambrose/Noel)
She had wanted to get out of dodge for a while so Panu's stream of messages were more than welcome.
Noel was to meet Ambrose at a place called The Montenegro and do... something vague. Probably a mission too sophisticated or delicate for children to handle, no matter how grown up they tried to be. Somethings just couldn't be infiltrated by two toddlers stacked on top of one another no matter how hard Ted Cruz tried...
Lord, but Ambrose collected children. For a violent, narcissist he was still charming and charismatic enough to fool people who could not cut through the bull like she could. Though she was nervous after their last meeting, Panu provided some measure of helpful insight.
"I think he is not try to kill you this time but I am send you text every five minutes. Please to respond to each or police are called."
So it had to be business, right? After a bit of Google-fu, she found the place was a swanky set of apartments way the heck out in Astoria. Okay, so she could probably go as-is. Maybe she had to rough somebody up. The black eye might actually help. She armed for bear and headed out.
But after she gave the taxi the address Panu provided, Noel found herself at a private airstrip.
There were a lot of 'yes ma'am's and 'will this be alright?'s. So many that Noel was wholly overwhelmed. It wasn't until her weapons were safely stowed, she had a hot towel in one hand, a peach bellini in the other, and the wheels started rolling that the memorymancer realized that there were no other passengers in sight.
It was a small plane.
But Astoria wasn't far. It wouldn't take but a second to get there, right?
//This is your captain speaking. Welcome to the maiden voyage of Luonto. We hope you'll enjoy your 13 hour flight with us to the rustic Balkan country of Montenegro. We expect to face some headwind...//
Balkan... country? Noel dumped her stuff on the teensy tiny table and whipped out her phone to re-apply her Google-fu. Not the Montenegro Apartments in Astoria. MONTENEGRO. CAPITAL PODGORICA. POPULATION 621,383. THAT WAS LESS THAN THE BRONX.
//... -itate to ask your in-flight attendant, Julia. Thank you for choosing your Finest Finnish Crew™. Enjoy the flight.//
WHY AM I GOING TO MONTENEGRO!?!?!
A dainty throat clearing had Noel look up from her phone.
"I'm sorry, but until we reach cruising altitude, we'd prefer that you turn off and stow all electronics. I can take it to my quick charging station and have it ready for by then if you like!"
Her smile was so sincere... Noel didn't want to die over the ocean... She didn't bother sending the text. There weren't enough interrobangs in the world. Or peach bellinis.
Posted by Ambrose Jaager on Apr 26, 2016 20:41:16 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
136
54
Dec 17, 2016 13:23:40 GMT -6
Brr-ing. Brr-ing.
"Hello?" Ambrose said, answering his phone. He covered the speaker for a moment, mouthing "excuse me" at the dealer. Standing up from the blackjack table, he stepped outside of the private room into the hall for a moment.
"We have lifted off, sir," a faintly accented voice said through the receiver, and Ambrose nodded for a moment before realizing that the other man couldn't actually see.
"Good," he said. "ETA?"
"About thirteen hours, sir," and Ambrose almost nodded again before catching himself this time around.
"Good. Let me know when you're about to land," he ordered, and the pilot gave a verbal affirmation before hanging up. Ambrose tucked the phone back inside of his coat before ducking back inside of the room. He'd timed the pickup so she'd land at around 10 AM local time, so Ambrose could begin his apology as soon as she landed. And Ambrose's apologies were nothing if not extravagant, materialistic, and generally not very genuine, but he did try. Presently, he was at one of the biggest casinos in Montecarlo holding a business meeting, because if anything, he liked to multitask.
Yawning, Ambrose sat back down at the table. "Well," he said pleasantly, looking at the four other businessmen seated around the table, and observing their peeved faces (he was winning, and was the only one who was), "Where were we?"
It was a little before ten the next morning and Ambrose was already at the airfield. It was a beautiful day out, although a horribly sunny one, so his wings stayed tucked beneath his clothes and sunglasses sat firmly on the bridge of his nose. He was leaning against a red Lamborghini convertible, dressed in what was clearly a very expensive gray tuxedo, sipping, well, hot chocolate. His tastes were expensive when it came to pretty much everything but his palate, in which case he would settle for the cheapest red wine and an entirely uncooked steak.
He knew that there was a high likelihood that, considering the nature of her power, Noel would neglect to realize that she would likely need to dress up. For that reason, Ambrose had asked somebody (Madeline, of course, although he doubted she'd done it herself and hadn't gotten some poor intern to go instead) to buy a selection of expensive, fancy dresses, considering he could definitely afford it. He'd gotten her measurements from Panu, so it wasn't creepy. At least, he was pretty sure it wasn't.
He could see the plane in the distance, now, nearing the airfield. He settled back against the car and checked the Omega on his wrist - 10:00 AM, on the dot. Good. Taking another sip of his totally-not-a-children's-drink, he waited for it to land.
Sleeping on a plane, even when her seat folded out to be a bed/massage table, was not even remotely as restful as sleeping on a bed in the safe and comforting arms of the planet earth. Noel half expected to wake up in outer space. But at least she woke up.
Julia was ready with a double dose of Tylenol, a large glass of water, and a dry cleaning bag. "Your change of clothes, ma'am."
Bleary eyes must not have been as effective at staredowns because Noel lost and accepted the smaller items.
"I'll hang your clothes in the washroom when you're ready."
Washroom. Because this was not a commercial flight. There wasn't a bathtub, but there was everything else an earth bathroom boasted. It was almost the same size as the washroom in the South May St. safe house. Plenty of room to change. Plenty of light to check out her yellowing facial bruise. Plenty of time to look at the dresses. Plural.
Maybe... it was a test? Pick her favorite? Or, maybe the most appropriate for the mission, whatever that may be? She took a shower while she mulled it over.
Her first instinct took her to the green one, but... it was shiny and had enough sequins to make a scaled snake envious. White was out for obvious THISISNOTAWEDDING reasons. The pink made her yellowing facial bruise look worse. That left only two. Red or black.
The red one was tight and both long and short considering the height of the slit they'd had to cut to make it walk-in-able. But the black one had... windows. When Noel tried it on, none of the cut outs showed any of her scars, thought it did peekaboo a couple tattoos. So it wasn't too bad. If she could fit a gun in there, maybe that would serve as easier access? But. If she could reach in, so could anyone. She ditched the black in favor of the plainer, red dress. It fit incredibly close which made hiding a weapon impossible, but it was probably the best one to keep from getting pawed.
If she was with Ambrose and it was an infiltration or information gathering mission as it appeared to be, she wouldn't need a weapon to protect herself from others. She'd need it for him.
Blades, then.
Julia was more than helpful with the hair, but nothing could be done for her face. Which was fine. This wasn't a date, she was pretty sure. And even if it was... it wouldn't be for long.
10 am local time found Noel disembarking a private plane on foreign soil in a freaking formal dress. While her flight was possibly the most refreshing she'd ever had, it was still a transcontinental affair and the dress required heels. She put her big girl, professional face on and did her best not to yawn or trip. Gliding artfully down the causeway would have been ideal, but unrealistic.
"Mister Jaager." She identified him easily considering the fact that he was the only one there, not to mention he hid behind his usual sunglasses and money. "Always a pleasure." She offered her hand. Like this was a formal event. Like this was every day normal. "To what do I owe the honor?" Noel was not good at playing games. If he didn't answer satisfactorily, things would start to get very not formal, normal, every day.
Ambrose ended up having to remind himself that he was here to apologize, because he was about to start laughing at Noel's obviously-so-very-dignified exit from the plane. He had to be polite and not at all his usual self, because then Panu would hate him forever, and he was a lot more averse to that idea than he really should be.
So he sheathed his claws, realizing then that they'd slid out at some point. Of course he didn't know why; for whatever reason would he harbor vaguely homicidal thoughts towards someone who was stealing Panu's attention away?
"Mister Jaager," she said as she neared him, and he gave her a smile. Really, it was closer to a grimace, and showed far more teeth than it really should've, but he'd tried. "Always a pleasure." Well, thankfully for him, he didn't seem like the only one who didn't particularly want to be here. "To what do I owe the honor?" she asked, offering her hand. This. This, Ambrose could deal with - mock platitudes and bizarrely formal hand-offerings were his specialty.
He took her hand with a flourish, pressing her fingers to his lips with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Madame," he said almost mockingly before remembering to tone it down a bit. He gestured at the picturesque Mediterranean landscape around them - even the airstrip was beautiful, and they hadn't even gotten into the car yet - saying, "Welcome to the fair country of Montenegro." Motioning towards the left seat (this was Europe, so the driver sat on the right), he stepped around the car and stopped by the driver's seat, waiting for her to get in before he did.
In the meantime, he decided he'd give her a rather vague itinerary. He didn't want to disclose the reason for her being here just yet, because ha, no, of course he was saving the humiliating apology for the last possible minute, so he kept it intentionally unspecific. "Our destination is the lovely town of Kotor, unsurprisingly located next to the Bay of Kotor," he said, and was about to go into more detail about the town, until he realized he didn't actually know much else. "It's about a half hour's drive away," he continued instead, "so please do remember to buckle up. We will be having brunch upon arrival."
He made a brief mental note to text Madeline about the rest of the day, because he hadn't actually read past the first few entries on the schedule she'd sent him. Hey, he had a secretary for a reason, and without his secretary, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
One look, one flourish was all it took for Noel to realize what a joke this was to Mr. Jaager.
He was making fun of her for some reason. Stuff her in a dress. Take her out of her element. Ferry her around without answering her questions. And here, in a foreign land with virtually no ID and no guaranteed way home except Mr. Jaager's plane, she was just going to have to put up with it. At least death or danger wasn't imminent. Jaager seemed to be enjoying himself too much for that.
Unless he was in to that.
Suddenly, leaving her phone back in Julia's hands so that she could respond to Panu's incessant text messaging seemed like a poor choice.
"Why are we in Montenegro, sir?" He motioned to the car. The convertible car. The one that matched the dress. She could just... not get in.
Noel hesitated. If she didn't get in, then what? Jaager could put her in. Her hopes were quickly dying that it was a mission. Mr. Jaager had said the word brunch. She was pretty sure that missions and brunch were mutually exclusive. But if it was a mission, not getting in was the same as turning it down.
And if it wasn't a mission... what was this? Midlife crisis? Was this what happened when bajillionaires got a wild hair? Noel decided that she would let him get away without answering her first question, but he'd have to pay in other information.
"Are people in the habit of dressing in full formal wear here?" She teased and opened her own damn door. Well. At least he hadn't tried to open it for her. She was fully capable of opening a door even if it was on the wrong side of the vehicle.
Posted by Ambrose Jaager on May 21, 2016 17:41:48 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
136
54
Dec 17, 2016 13:23:40 GMT -6
"Why are we in Montenegro, sir?" she asked, and ha, nope, Ambrose wasn't answering that just yet. Sometimes, he suspected that Panu used his sheer adorable levels as a weapon against him, and this was one of those times. He really, really was not fond of apologizing or doing anything remotely humbling, and this fell under both "apologizing" and "humbling."
Thankfully, though, she didn't pursue it when he didn't answer, and got into the car. "Are people in the habit of dressing in full formal wear here?" she said teasingly, and he scoffed jokingly.
"If you think this is formal, you've clearly never seen me at a ball," he said, faux-pretentious. The sad part was that it really wasn't a lie - the suit was the light sort of bluish-gray that was never worn outside of Mediterranean countries, and he wasn't wearing a tie or anything of the sort. For him, this was casual. "By the way, I do love your dress." He hadn't bought it, but he could appreciate it. If there was one thing he could definitely appreciate, though, it was the price, because it'd been a noticeably sizable portion of his something-or-other budget.
He climbed into the car and started the engine, which revved with a soft purr. He wasn't big on fancy cars, but he knew so many fellow businessmen who were, and so it paid to be able to appreciate them sometimes. Half an hour wasn’t too bad, and it didn’t actually even take that long to get there because the car was absurdly fast. And thankfully, Ambrose had a little bit of a genetic advantage when it came to “not driving a car off of a cliff,” so while there were a few close calls - he was a lot worse at driving than he liked to let on, and the roads that were literally carved out of the steep cliff faces were absurd - they got to the restaurant without incident.
He pulled up in front of a small restaurant nestled by the bay. It looked rather cutesy, with wicker seats and wrought-iron tables, and when he got back, he was going to punch whoever reserved this specific, very romantic-looking restaurant for the both of them. He got a glance at the menu, though, as he parked the car - farsightedness did have its pluses - and well, he had requested one of the most expensive restaurants in the area, and whoever had reserved this one hadn’t disappointed.
As he turned off the engine and pocketed the keys, he scrambled to think of something suitable to say. If he didn’t get it right, Panu would probably punch him, because Panu was inexplicably fond of this woman. Eventually, he settled on the most generic question he could think of.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” he said amiably, as he climbed out of the car. Well. Wasn't he charming as ever.
Noel ground her teeth and gripped the stuffing out of the leather seat sides beneath her when Ambrose took a curve so close to the edge that she was sure not all of the tires were on the road. It gave her the moment she needed to reign in the sass about seeing Ambrose at a ball.
Why would she have ever seen him in full formal?
Did he... want her to see that?
"—have had that pleasure? Formal events aren't really my forte." The last came through gritted teeth. Guns. Or maybe swords. She just needed to pretend she had a lot more cold, hard steel on herself and then she could relax.
> "By the way, I do love your dress."
"As well you should." Considering that it was his. Considering that it fit snugly. Considering the fact that she'd chosen fashion over function.
"It's not a dress that will fade into the scenery." And maybe that was her problem with all this. It was only her here, with only him. This was not bodyguard chic, if that was even the capacity in which he'd brought her. If it was covert information gathering... well, Noel was almost certain that Mr. Jaager did not have a covert bone in his body.
The car slowed and eventually stopped. After speeding around for so long, stopping almost felt like a let down. She had to consciously make herself let go of her seat in order to remove her safety buckle.
Again Noel considered the path of peaceful resistance ala not doing as was expected of her. Again she decided to play along. For now.
Maybe there were steak knives at this restaurant?
> “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Noel got herself out of the luxury bucket seats as carefully as she could— there were seams in that dress that probably weren't meant to be tested— and slammed the door to the car. Her reflection glowered back at her from it's waxy, perfect veneer. Her hair. That was a convertible car. Wind. Speed. Ocean-front humidty. Everything was stacked against her hair.
She tapped at a loose bobby pin and in the process found five more that needed help.
"Yeah." She played whackamole with the pins until she had no choice but to catch up to Jaager. The restaurant looked nice. Quiet. Quaint. "Are we meeting someone?" She tried not to sound too hopeful as they met the maitre d.
Posted by Ambrose Jaager on May 23, 2016 20:57:11 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
136
54
Dec 17, 2016 13:23:40 GMT -6
"Yeah," Noel said, and Ambrose stared at her out of the corner of his eye as she seemingly wrestled with her hair. "Are we meeting someone?"
Well, she definitely wanted to be here about as much as he did. Which was to say, not at all. He was okay with that. Panu would not be okay with that, though. So dammit, it was down to him to try and be genuine, and nice, and all those human frivolities. At least he could pretend rather well. He liked to think of himself as a monster in a person suit - literally - and he obviously thought that he wore that person suit quite well.
But as he opened his mouth, probably to say something witty and clever and painfully insincere, the ground rumbled, and he shut it, slowly. He turned around, clearly looking for whatever the source of the chaos was, and the ground rumbled again. This time, though, the buildings visibly shook, and a plume of smoke spiraling up from not three blocks away accompanied the loud burst of sound that was unmistakably a bomb. For a moment, Ambrose was confused, and then he realized that the terror alert in all of Europe was high for a reason. This was probably some sort of Ragnarok wannabe organization, and Ambrose sighed. He didn't really feel like having to suffer through a transformation, but he couldn't just let this pass, especially since the bombers were definitely competition.
"Excuse me," Ambrose said absentmindedly, as he drifted towards the source of the noise. There was shouting coming from down the street now, and a very clear sound of machine-gun fire, so maybe these terrorists were more painfully normal than he'd thought. But before he walked too far, he stopped and turned around to face Noel. "Care to accompany me?" he said brightly. He doubted she'd say yes - her powers, as far as he could tell, were practically useless in any sort of combat situation - and he was the sort of person to entirely discount anybody's non-mutation-enhanced physical capabilities. But he'd ask anyway, because he was polite.
She was hating this and trying really hard to be insincere enough to not show how much she hated this. Smile, smile, a little death in the eyes, smile.
And then... a spark of hope.
They both turned to visually hone in on what what causing the racket. Smoke? Where there's smoke, there was totally fire! And fire meant chaos! And chaos meant... she was still wearing a dress thing that kept her from moving freely. Noel frowned down at it and adjusted her stance to test just how balanced she felt in the heels— remarkable provided all the ground remained paved and unbroken— and how high the slit went— it was supposed to stop just above the knee, but a little stress had it ripping up to mid thigh which meant that she could run if she had to, now.
> "Excuse me"
Noel looked up, a little lost. In those two words and his tone, he'd all but dismissed her as he started mothing toward the flames.
She was going to find a gun now. Find a gun and—
> "Care to accompany me?"
—help him shoot other people. She'd neeeever, ever shot Panu's boss or even start leading up to that thought. Nope.
"I'd be delighted to." And that was probably the most genuine thing she'd said all day. She took a few long strides, now that she could, in order to take her place next to him. "Just tell me which guys are the bad guys." Because certainly it wasn't either of them, right?
Posted by Ambrose Jaager on Jun 11, 2016 10:46:18 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
136
54
Dec 17, 2016 13:23:40 GMT -6
"I'd be delighted to," she said, and while Ambrose was surprised because he really didn't think her mutation would be any use at all in a fight, he was a little bit relieved that the air of hostility towards each other was slightly gone. She strode up to him, and he started walking towards the source of the noise once she'd caught up. "Just tell me which guys are the bad guys."
"I'd presume that if they're shooting at us, then they're bad guys," he said dryly as they turned a corner, before suddenly ducking back around the side of a house. He'd gotten a brief glance at the attackers before he'd moved so as to keep the element of surprise, and they looked a bit like your everyday terrorists. There were no visible mutants, as far as he could see, and they were worryingly geared up in what looked like full combat gear, with helmets and bulletproof vests and all. He hadn't the slightest clue who they were, but he suspected he'd get a chance to find out in a moment, because he could hear one of them thumping noisily (noisily to him, that is) towards the edge of the building that the two of them were currently concealed by. The house was situated right on the corner of a cobblestone street, and the side just adjacent to the one they were hidden on was the side that was clearly within view of the attackers. One of the shooters was loudly tramping his way through the grass opposite to that side, presumably sent out to check if anyone was there.
Ambrose pressed himself up against the building's corner, right where the shooter would pass in a couple of seconds, not bothering to tell Noel to be quiet or anything like that, because he was pretty sure she didn't need him to say it. As soon as the man rounded the corner, Ambrose's clawed hand whipped out, tearing out the man's vocal chords. Thankfully, his neck was protected only by a thin layer of cloth, so Ambrose didn't end up ripping out a claw on something a bit stronger. He then proceeded to snap the shooter's neck. The entire takedown was near-silent, and Ambrose immediately snatched the man's weapon and tossed it to Noel without even looking to see if she was paying attention. "I'm hoping you know how to use that," he said, keeping his voice quiet, as he dragged the body towards them so it was completely concealed by the building. He started rummaging through the various pockets on the vests, looking for something, anything, that could be helpful. All he found was a few grenades, which he left where they were, and a pistol that he tucked into the back of his pants. He wouldn't say this out loud, but he had no idea what kind of weapon the big gun he'd tossed to Noel was, which was exactly why he'd given it to her. A pistol, he could figure out. Whatever that weapon was, he was more likely to shoot himself with it than he was to shoot an actual enemy. No, he was going to rely more on his teeth and claws here. Transforming would hurt, be loud, and totally ruin their element of surprise, so he was going to stick with this form for now.
They turned a corner and twice as swiftly un-turned it.
Ah. The bad guys. Noel tried not to be impatient, but to take her cues from the bossman in front of her. By watching him, the mounting tension in his shoulders and the curl of his fingers, she knew to stay put. He clearly knew things she didn't. He was already reacting to things she couldn't detect.
So, knowing that, Noel managed not to be surprised when there was a bad guy that walked into them. He was quickly translated into a dead guy by way of dragon dad. Which was good. She tried to commit to her memory the damage that his hands could do just in case they were at her throat again. She didn't make a sound at the arterial spray and she was more than eager to receive the semi-automatic weapon.
She touched Ambrose's elbow. "Wait." He looked ready to launch around the corner and Rambo the place, but this was the moment when Noel could actually shine.
After swallowing past her distaste, she licked the handle of her weapon. She tried to scrub through the memories quickly, but without knowing what she was looking for specifically, she had to go backwards to find their pre-violence briefing.
"Something political. They chose this spot for the large amounts of tourists and low police presence. They'll try to corral any foreigners, set up video, and execute them. If they meet resistance, they'll just try to get an impressive body count. There are- uh," her eyes darted around as she tried to count the men in the images, men who were in a dead man's memory rather than in the here and now, "at least one van full. That's 9? Or 13? They won't stay still." And she hated to admit it, but dressed in flakjackets and helmets, they all looked the same.
She could get into trying to understand where the funding was coming for later. That was about all the tactical stuff she could pick up in a hurry. Noel took a moment to pull herself out of the memory and get herself fully back into the here and now. She checked the safety on the gun, as the man had been taught to, and jimmied the slide to be sure her first round wouldn't jam. "I'll cover you from up high."
Ambrose stared at Noel, absolutely bemused as to how to respond. Was this a weird sex thing? It could be a weird sex thing. Or it could just be a weird thing, licking every gun she got. It couldn't possibly be sanitary. No, he was confident that it wasn't sanitary. It was possible that this was part of her mutation, but as far as he was concerned, her mutation was about memories. He'd met a mutant once who'd been able to read memories through objects - he'd forgotten the name, but the man had threatened Panu's safety, which was why he'd remembered - and this might be similar, but taste had to be the absolutely most unsanitary method of doing so. He'd been perfectly ready to go out there and destroy all those pesky terrorists, too. How, he didn't know, but he was sure he would've figured it out eventually.
Then Noel started to speak, and Ambrose silently and internally "oh-ed" with realization. So she had been checking the memories. And, as it turned out, she'd gotten the useful ones too. Politically motivated and aiming for execution meant they were dealing with fanatics, probably - in other words, they wouldn't flee or surrender. Their aiming for the highest possible body count did nothing to go against that idea. But the information about them wanting to set up video before executing was good. In fact, it was incredibly useful. They could use that.
One van full. That was... incredibly vague, considering that could be anywhere from nine to thirteen, like she'd said, give or take three men. And six enemies were very different from sixteen. Oh well. He'd just assume thirteen enemies, in case there were that many. Overestimating was always better than underestimating.
He glanced back at Noel, about to give his two cents on his situation, before stopping as he realized that her gaze was strangely blank. It shifted back into focus after a moment - probably her power in use, then, especially since she immediately proceeded to handle the weapon like someone who'd been instructed, but without the smoothness of experience. "I'll cover you from up high."
Yes. That seemed... tactically sound, no matter what. So he'd just decide on his actions. After learning what the now-dead man had known, he figured he had two options - stealth mode it, or pretend to be a dumb tourist so he could get all the soldiers in one place, then take them down there when he knew where every one of them was. Stealth mode was great in theory, but there was the small issue of his inability to sense every single possible enemy simultaneously. If he could get a group of them together, he could probably smell them out and count the number of hostiles based on the number of different scents, but that was near-impossible with just one or two downed enemies. Just in case, he nodded at Noel to indicate his acknowledgement before kneeling down and sniffing the corpse's vest. Hey, she'd just licked the man's gun - sniffing the dead body was substantially less gross, so she couldn't judge. As expected, he couldn't differentiate much because the scents were mixing. So decoy it was.
He stood up again, and turned to Noel. "I'm going to pretend to be a stupid tourist," he said quietly to her. "If what this guy knows is true, they'll want to get me in front of cameras and everything. Once I'm there, I'll need you to cover me so we can take them all out while they're in one spot. It'll be too difficult to get them all while they're split up, and if I try to trim their numbers now, they could figure out that we're a legitimate threat and shoot me before I get to do anything." And if there was one thing Ambrose had in mind, first and foremost, it was self-preservation. To be frank, this little crusade to destroy the terrorists wasn't done out of any sort of empathy. It was mainly because Ambrose had been awkward and uncomfortable and he'd much rather be tearing out throats than having brunch. He supposed Panu wouldn't be too happy that they'd gone so far off track, but this was teamwork. That had to count for something.
Ambrose glanced around, really focusing more on his nose and ears than his eyes to check for hostiles, but the sea breeze wasn't really working in his favor. It might've with brunch, but not when planning calculated mass murder. Wait - it wasn't called mass murder when there were bad guys, was it. Mass liberation, perhaps? He'd figure out how to word the inevitable police statement later. He would check with Noel to make sure she was on board with this plan, and then he'd head out.
"Got it?" he murmured, as he got ready with his best "angry entitled rich man" impression. He'd even deliberately injure himself to look even more victimized if it weren't for the fact that he didn't want to immediately reveal his mutation, because it might label him as a bigger threat than he wanted to be perceived as.
She started to nod in answer to Jaager's plan, but realized that Panu would probably be worried. Or something. She tried to show some concern on Panu's behalf.
"Hey." It was audacious, but she put her hand on the lapel of his ridiculous suit. These guys would probably love the suit. It screamed money. "Don't do anything too..." It was unexpectedly difficult to find the words. The eye contact was... weird. "Be careful." There. She nodded once to seal the deal and peeled away to take the stairs.
Just a girl, her semi-automatic, and a formal gown.
Noel found the back stairs that skipped the store below and went up into the apartments above. She slipped past a huddle of family members that were largely irrelevant to the current proceedings. Besides. She couldn't understand what they were saying anyway.
There was no convenient balcony. The building only went up to a second floor. Noel plowed through the kitchen table and tried not to disturb the curtains when she looked out from her pathetic vantage point. This would be better if she were higher up.
"Roof?" She gestured upward, probably too fast since the entire group flinched. Noel shifted the gun on its sling. Not away, exactly, but a little less pointed. "Up? There's got to be a way." Noel looked between the faces of those gathered while they tried to process. A little boy pointed toward a door that Noel had assumed was a closet. One of the women snapped at him when Noel moved that way.
Stairs. And roof access.
Noel was doing a cruddy job of having Jaager's back so far. She skidded to the lip of the building and tried to assess how the situation had developed since she'd been busy wasting time.
Posted by Ambrose Jaager on Jul 16, 2016 15:22:31 GMT -6
Delta Mutant
136
54
Dec 17, 2016 13:23:40 GMT -6
"Hey," Noel said, and Ambrose turned around. She looked conflicted. "Don't do anything too..." Uh oh. "Be careful."
Well, that had been painful to watch. She clearly didn't want to say it, and Ambrose would be fine, but it was a nice sentiment anyway.
"Thanks," he said, not sure of how else he could respond. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to, judging by how she was pretty much running away. "You too," he muttered under his breath anyway, and he was pretty sure she was too far to hear him, which was good. At least if Panu asked, Ambrose could claim he made an effort.
He gave her a few moments to get out of sight, and then he stepped out in clear view of everyone. "What's going on here?" he shouted, loudly, only aware after he'd said it that it was so obviously a grab for attention that only an idiot would fall for it.
Thankfully, the one terrorist he could see was clearly an idiot, because he fell for it.
The man swung his gun around and leveled it at the area immediately to Ambrose's left. "Don't move," he said, and Ambrose had to refrain from sighing. He put his hands up anyway, because if all of them were this incompetent, then they wouldn't have a problem.
Unfortunately, as he discovered in about sixty seconds flat, that one man had been a total outlier.
There were, as Noel had actually pretty accurately predicted, thirteen enemy soldiers. (He was calling them soldiers because he wasn't really sure what else they could be, with that kind of high-end gear.) He knew this because as he walked at gunpoint to a little square where the attackers were congregating, an authoritative-sounding one was running a check-in of some sort. He counted eleven voices saying "here," including the one with him and the four setting up camera equipment in the square, and the apparent leader and the dead one made thirteen. The five in the square entered his field of view just as he heard the leader say, "Six? Come in, Six." So his and Noel's little contribution had just been noticed. Lovely.
"Hey, One!" the one leading him called out. The leader turned around to look at the two of them. "Found him wandering around -" Immediately, to both Ambrose and his guard's surprise, there were five automatic weapons pointed at Ambrose's face. The guard immediately leapt out of the way, halting for a moment as he processed that there was no shooting, before carefully making his way to the leader. Ambrose just stood there with his hands up, since he couldn't really do much else with five people all training their weapons on him.
"You idiot," the leader snarled. Okay. That seemed bad. "Do you know who that is, Twelve? That's Ambrose Jaager."
"The business guy?" Twelve asked, clearly confused. "I thought we were looking for guys like him."
"Well-known figures, yes," One said, eyes still locked on Ambrose's. "Though you should take more than a little bit more caution when they've got terrorist connections."
...well. That was bad. Was that really so well known? He'd have to work on that, once he got out of this alive. Also, weren't these guys terrorists themselves? Seemed a bit hypocritical to accuse him of terrorism first.
One spoke again, but this time, to Ambrose. "I'm assuming you're behind Six's radio silence?" he asked. Ambrose said nothing, partially because he couldn't think of anything sarcastic to say, but mostly because he could see a blurry figure emerging onto a rooftop, a few houses away. That would be Noel - he hoped. Some backup would be great right about how.
The leader stared at Ambrose, clearly sizing him up. Now would've been a nice time to know a bit more about these guys' motivations, because then Ambrose might be able to toy with them a bit until he was in a good enough spot to -
One lowered his weapon, and gestured for the others to do the same. Ambrose's eyebrows furrowed. That had been unexpected. Of course, it made sense once One drew a pistol and fired off a shot. Click, boom - and just like that, Ambrose's left side exploded in agony. The bullet had sunk into his hip and was staying there, and Ambrose's enhanced hearing had really made that whole experience rather nauseating.
Ambrose let out a very ungainly yelp of pain and pretty much fell over, the force of the shot taking him off his feet. It was only then that he discovered that he couldn't feel his legs. At all. The logical part of his brain told him that the bullet must've scraped his spine, and also that he'd be totally okay in a few days, because he knew from personal experience that a spinal cord injury would heal pretty rapidly - as it turned out, nerves and a bit of bone weren't that difficult for his body to create. But the panicky part told him that he wouldn't have those few days to experience lameness (the medical kind, because he never experienced the other kind) but more like a few minutes, because One had ordered the four other men to get "everything" ready and they were dragging him in front of a camera mounted on a tripod.
That would've been an amazing time for his backup to have had his back - you know, before he'd been paralyzed from the waist down. But he sighed through gritted teeth and reminded himself not to be ungrateful, because hey, at least he was still alive. For now.
The how didn't exactly matter. The facts were the facts and this was what Noel had to work with.
Ambrose. In the middle of at least 5 trained weapons. The men were outfitted with some amount of body armor and helmets just as the one he'd taken down before had been.
Noel set up so that she could use the lip of the building to help her get the most accuracy out of her weapon. It was well manufactured and taken care of, but this weapon was not meant to be used for pin-point accuracy at range. She would have needed a good muzzle break for that. As it was, she would feel the pushback after every fire.
That wouldn't have mattered if the weapon were fully automatic. It wouldn't have mattered if there was only one gun.
But noooo. Ambrose had to go and get 5 people angry enough to be ready to shoot him in the small amount of time it took her to get there. Some people really went above and beyond.
Noel sighted on the apparent leader's neck and was debating whether this was going well or poorly based on the body language she saw. She was squeezing the trigger to remove the slack and get her the quickest fire time. But the men all dropped their weapons.
Huh?
BLAM.
The shot echoed just before Ambrose's screams did.
Oh, hell. She re-sighted as quickly as she could and squeezed off three shots to ensure the man that shot Ambrose had been removed and moved onto the next as quickly as she could despite the reactions of the men. They dodged. They ducked. She only got 5 or 6 more shots off, none as clean as the hits on her original target, before they spotted her nest. 2 more shots fired before she had to pull back in order to avoid return fire.
Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead.
She jiggled the slide to make sure it wouldn't catch and re-evaluated her exit strategy.