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.
A soft, and yet deep humming echoed through a small, tucked away space on the top floor of [REDACTED] hospital. It was one of many rooms on the floor, a veritable catacomb of rooms and doors where the group known as the X-Men called home.
One such room was well lit, against the general darkness of the floor this time at night. They didn't exactly want to broadcast that they were here, and while the storm outside likely meant prying eyes on the streets were less likely, Gregory Samson still kept his flowery curtains closed tight most days. This one was no exception.
He didn't mind... It was angry weather out tonight, anyway.
How fitting, he mused! The giant cockroach patted off his flowery pink apron as he finished dusting atop his bookshelf. It was spring, after all, he would be remiss if he didn't do some tidying up.
Unfortunately, in his cleaning fervor, he lost track of time. Didn't he have an appointment right about now?
A tiny little bug wiggled through a crack in the wall and began chirping at him. He looked over from his step ladder, still reaching up as he turned his head.
"What's that, Cyrano?" He spoke in an intellectual drawl, no accent to be found. "Already 8? Goodness, how time flies." His appointment would be showing up any second!
Thanks to Andrea and Jorge for my sigs! I WABBLE YOUUU! AV Roach~
No one would have guessed that she would have agreed to it so long ago. If bets were made, surely everyone would have put their money on “No”. The sun was more likely to explode into giant bowls of ice cream sprinkled with unicorn hairs. Starbucks would have released an ungodly unicorn frappucino that tasted like over-sweetened mango instead of cupcakes, than for what was happening now to actually happen. And yet, despite all the assurances in the world: betters would lose money as the sun explodes into sundaes spilling over coffee franchises with horrible taste in blended drinks. That’s right – Agnes attended therapy.
It started some time ago. Impact, the team leader, had been increasingly frustrated with Agnes’ lack of team spirit and overtly surly attitude. Over their screaming voices she had said something along the lines of ”GO TO TAKE SOME B****-RELIEF CLASSES, YOU PSYCHO!!” or some such. Of course Agnes didn’t think more than two thoughts about it. However, later on the team leader came back and suggested, in a much calmer voice, and Agnes needed to work out some emotional issues and that a certain member of the team would be happy to help her.
Months passed, F-Bombs were thrown, and then one fateful night, Agnes had her wake up call. It was a particularly grueling fight. Agnes had chased down some mutant that was harassing a group of citizens, trying to shake them down for money and their valuables. She never really learned what his mutation was but needless to say the fight lasted longer than it should have. It reached a point when Agnes’ anger boiled over and the fight reached a new level. She won, but in the end, so overtaken by her bloodlust, she nearly attacked the very people she was protecting.
Agnes had lived through the bloodlust before. Her uncle always managed to talk her down before she got too far but he was gone now and there was absolutely no one else in her life that could reach her in the same manner. Agnes knew then that she was dangerous, far more than she figured. It was only with the most begrudging sigh that Agnes conceded to finally go to Roach.
The first few times were difficult. Agnes and Roach merely sat in his office, not saying a word to one another. Oh but how the bug tried and tried. Eventually, though, even Agnes needed to say something, especially considering how peppy and happy the rest of the team was. So…she started. She talked and, surprisingly, she found that it actually relieved some of the tension in her chest. More talking led to more relief and, before she knew it, she was actually attending regularly.
Of course this was something that she never admitted to the rest of the team. Even if they already knew, they knew better than to bring it up. That is, unless they wanted teeth missing.
In the evening hours, Agnes strolled through the halls of the floor that team rented out. She didn’t really have a home of her own in this city. For the most part the young warrior either crashed in one of the rented offices or lived somewhere in the city where none but her knew. For now, Agnes as stepping out of the offices, dressed in her usual attire of combat boots, ripped jeans, and a leather jacket that used to belong to her uncle. She looked every bit the badass that most figured she was and she was so much more than they could imagine.
Her young face was marred only by a black eye that was quickly healing. Agnes healed in a few hours or days what took most people weeks to a month (another wonder of her abilities). The once black eye had shifted to a slightly “heathiler” bruised yellow, a memento from her cage fighting earlier. Agnes had aggression to work out and it helped to pay the bills around this place, even if Becca hated taking her money.
With a roll of her shoulders, Agnes heaved a hefty sigh and stepped up to Roach’s door. It still made her feel funny coming here but it was steadily becoming routine for her. Her balled up fist knocked twice on the door. ”I’m here, doc.” Hands then slipped into the pockets of her jacket as she stepped back and waited for him to answer.
Then came the knock~ His antennae perked up as he heard the voice through the door.
"That would be my 8 o'clock, dear Cyrano!" She likely heard his voice through the walls; they were paper thin, notoriously so. Hence why he often heard her when she awoke in the middle of the night in a panic down the hall. Well, on the occasions that she did sleep here.
The sound of nearing skittering could be heard through the door moments before it opened. The contrast between his bright room and the dark hallways was dramatic. Over his shoulder an accent wall painted a calming, toned down chalky purple color was visible.
"Agnes. Punctual as usual, my friend." His voice was warm, he stepped to the side and held out an arm to present the room to her. It was one of he larger offices on the floor; he did live here full time after all. The room was tidy, dominated largely by warm colors and soft light. The furniture was antique, a product of his rare ventures into the city. He prided himself a sort of hunter of such things.
"Would you like something hot to drink? The hallways get cold this time of night."
He motioned to a chair that would be familiar to her as he went to start some tea for himself, and a drink for her if she desired it. It was important that she was comfortable during these sessions. There was little room for much in the space, but he did have a Keurig.
"Two hours was it, today? We can get much done. Have there been any notable happenings since we last met?" He paused, looking for over a second, his middle arms fidgeting a little bit. "Perhaps even today?" He motioned to her healing eye.
As strange as it may seem, Agnes had a strange place in her heart for the giant insect that she was waiting outside the door for. For lack of a better term, it could almost be surmised that she had made a “friend” with him, though she would never go so far as to admit that out loud. As impossible as it seemed, she really did like Roach’s company and his compassion and ability to listen actually proved to be helpful and endearing at times. Of course she wasn’t about to go running off, holding hands with him as they skipped through a meadow, but if there were anyone she trusted on this team, surprisingly it was the Doc.
Her hands rested inside her jacket pockets, she heard the sound of skittering on the other side of the door. Taking a step back, she arched her brow and tilted her head when the door was opened and she was momentarily blinded by the brightness that illuminated within. As much as she liked the bug, his taste in décor was questionable at best.
He greeted her with kind words and stepped aside to allow her entry. Her eyes fell upon the apron he wore about his wai…thorax, and Agnes snorted (her form of laughter). Agnes had always appreciated punctuality so it surprised her when so many people marveled at her ability to be someplace at the right time. Still, she wouldn’t question it, Doc said it as a compliment so she would take it as it was.
”You have other appointments, I’m sure,” she explained. ”Would hate to deny them your brilliance.”
Flattery, as it would seem, worked for humans and bugs. Who would have thunk it?
Offering her a warm drink, Agnes shook her head and politely declined as she made her way to the familiar, cushiony chair that she had claimed in their first meeting and had continued to be her chair from then on. As she settled down in it, she casually crossed her legs, never once removing her hands from her pockets as she waited for the bug to settle down.
>> Two hours was it, today? We can get much done. Have there been any notable happenings since we last met?”
Agnes looked him over, pausing in thought. She couldn’t think of much noticeably happening lately. She knew that they still had a lot of ground to cover with what happened to her when she was a teenager: her exorcism, being raised by her uncle, her life on the road, but none of that was new business. The most she could think of was that she had managed to only knock out three teeth from some guy who had squeezed her butt on the subway the other day (progress for her), but she didn’t get a chance to bring it up.
>> ”Perhaps even today?"
She paused. The Doc was pointed at her eye, the one that was still healing from being blackened before. Lately Agnes had been participating in a lot of underground, cage fighting. She kept her identity a secret and only did it under the façade that her winnings would help the team, but deep down there were stronger reasons, urges; urges that could only a be satisfied when she beat someone’s head in.
She gulped. She didn’t look upset or annoyed, at most she looked a bit contemplative. Looking down to her jean clad legs for a second, she sighed as she lifted her gaze to the bug’s once more and shrugged. ”Nothing important. Some guy sucker-punched me in a cage fight this morning.” She said it was if it were an everyday occurrence and, with her, it may have well been. ”Doesn’t matter. I won and it’ll heal by tomorrow.”
The Giant bug paused for a moment at her snort, taking a beat and then looking down at himself. He mimicked covering his shame, and then chuckled. "Laundry day." That was a lie. This was his only apron. He set about removing the item of clothing in order to quickly replace it with a tie.
”You have other appointments, I’m sure, Would hate to deny them your brilliance.”
His antennae perked, and he fanned himself, made warm by the obvious attempt at flattery. He would take compliments where they came as well.
"Hah! She speaks like silk, and yet I know her more as steel!"
She declined a beverage, as she usually did, though the action itself had gotten progressively more polite; one day we would make drinks for two! Until then would settle for placing his neatly folded apron in its place, and grabbing his own fresh cup of earl grey. He made a stop by his desk, producing a key from some mystery place on his persons, and equipping himself with a file and notepad from is filing cabinet.
He nodded slowly. "I could have guessed as much. I don't believe I'd like to see the other guy."
Finally, he took his own seat, and opened his notes, eyeing them and organizing things as he spoke.
"You have been fighting more lately, haven't you?" It wasn't asked as an accusation, but more of a simple inquiry. His tone was never pointed in any way; somehow, even when it was clear he was poking at sensitive subjects, or leading her toward more pointed ideas. "I have noticed the influx of cash in the shared account. That's very noble of you."
He looked up to her, his notes settled. "Oh, silly me, going off on tangents! How are you feeling today Agnes?"
Her compliment had struck a chord with the bug as he shyly fanned himself to fend off whatever a blush looks like on a bug’s face. When they had first started to meet like this, Agnes had never been one to say such things. But as time went on, as they grew to know one another a bit more, Agnes found herself far more open than she used to be. She joked with the bug, she even offered the thinnest of smiles from time to time, and didn’t use it in a sarcastic manner. That was definitely progress for her. At the same time, there was just something about the eloquent insect that made him easier to talk to than anyone else on the team. Maybe it was his inhumanity, maybe it was just his nature, either way, Agnes was almost willing to call him a friend.
As he folded his apron and slipped on his tie (…she still had a hard time figuring that out), she took her usual, comfy seat, and crossed her legs, folding her hands on her lap. Idly she bobbed her head to an unheard tune in her head, drumming her fingers upon her jean clad thigh. Rarely was she the conversation starter here and tended to wait for Doc to get his stuff together before engaging. She could smell his tea brewing in the air and listened to the rustle of paper from his notepad and a click from his pen (or maybe that was his mandibles…).
She tilted her head towards him when he inquired after her most recent addition of a black eye. Anyone who knew Agnes knew that it wasn’t all that surprising to see the woman carrying a battle scar or two. She often got into fights, whether off-mission, cage fighting, or just being annoyed by a coffee barista who didn’t understand the concept of “black coffee”; it was just her natural state of being.
After she had stated the reasons for her injury, the Doc didn’t seem too surprised, chuckling that he could only imagine how her victim looked. Another snort from Agnes. She was just full of laughs today, wasn’t she?
>> "You have been fighting more lately, haven't you? I have noticed the influx of cash in the shared account. That's very noble of you."
She shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t take compliments well, even from someone that she partially considered to be a friend. In her experience, compliments were just flattery designed to get someone else whatever it was they wanted from the other. It was safe to say that she had a pretty high level of paranoia about her and it was a rather tough shell to crack.
”Just trying to keep the lights on,” she said. ”And keep Red,” the nickname she granted their fearless leader, Rebecca, ”From b****ing.”
Her comment seemed to shake the giant insectoid from his derailed train of thoughts as he turned back to more general questions…
>> "Oh, silly me, going off on tangents! How are you feeling today Agnes?"
Agnes breathed a heavy sigh. She didn’t like talking about herself but, if that were entirely true, then why the hell was she even coming to these sessions with Mr. Bug? She was going to initially say nothing but, thinking better of it and not wanting to waste a visit, Agnes clenched her bruised knuckles tighter before she lifted her head once more to speak to him.
”A bit worn,” she admitted. ”Like you said, I’ve been fighting a lot. I just…sometimes…it feels like I have something in me that needs to get out.” She didn’t meet the Doc’s compound eyes as she spoke. ”Something that can only come out when I’m fighting. I try to ignore it, I try to do other things, but every time I got straight back to fighting. I’m scared I’m going to hurt someone who doesn’t deserve it.”