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 Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
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.
Grades were up, finally. It had taken the professors about a week after finals to get all the projects and tests scored and all the entire years' worth of numbers crunched into one final grade. The task was made more complex by excused absences from classes for x-missions. At least one professor had been complaining about it loudly in the hall the other day that students should still have to make up the work, or they ended up hopelessly behind on those ever-so-important sequential subjects like mathematics.
Katrina sat at a computer in the library and hit “print” on her grade report. She hadn't actually looked at it yet. She preferred to wait until she had the hard copy in her hand. Being on paper made the floating meaningless numbers on the computer screen seem more real, like something that actually measured how well she had learned her material for the year.
The sheet printed out face down. Katrina pulled it from the printer and folded it in half. She didn't want to read it in the library where someone could look over her shoulder. Someone like the three other students who were waiting in line to use the computer after her.
With a suspicious glance at the girl next in line Katrina made her hasty exit from the library. Perhaps her bedroom would be the best place. She started up the closest stairway, which happened to be the one at the far end of the boys' hall. (The library wing was beneath the boys' rooms.) No one would bother her in her own room, except maybe her mother, who was hovering closer than ever these days. Maybe not her room then.
Calley's room? It was probably depressingly empty. She hadn't even checked today to see if he was back. He'd been gone over a week now. He had left a mysterious note on her bed saying he'd be “catting around town” whatever that was supposed to mean. It didn't sound like a very legitimate excuse for missing his finals.
At least it would be private. Probably no one would be looking for her in Calley's room if Calley hadn't even been there in a week. Therefore it was the perfect place to be alone, convenient too since she was already in the right hall.
He was probably not supposed to be here. The Headmistress, after all, seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. He was not quite sure why. It had nothing to do with his take over of the Colombian drug trade, clearly: she had no way of knowing about that. Unless, of course, Calley had let something slip.
Calley. The most annoying part of having a brother, Slate had noticed, was ‘misplacing’ him. For a week now, Calley had been blatantly ignoring his messages. Either that, or he could not hear them. This was a somewhat disquieting possibility. It had happened once before, out in Pennsylvania. Both of their powers had stopped working. They still did not know why. That lack of knowledge... irked him, somewhat. As did Calley’s continued silence.
There was signs that their apartment had been used recently; game consoles and pillows. Calley had apparently gotten another roommate, without telling him. And put a scratch in the pan he used to cook pancakes. Again, without telling him.
Their room at the Sanctuary was dusty. An unhelpful puma man had questioned whether he should even be there; Slate had not overstayed his welcome. It was unlikely that his brother would be there, not with Isabel so entirely likely to stab him. Not even Calley was that stupid.
That simply left the Mansion. The room was pillow-less, still. This was a good sign that no one else had moved in. The window had been left open the barest crack; just enough for a slim feline to slip in. Unfortunately, the cat hair left on the pillow was not exactly warm.
Calley, he tried again. This game is getting old. And worrisome. ...If you are in need of assistance, please tell me.
Behind him, the doorknob turned. Slate turned slowly to face the open door; there was no need for haste. Baby blue eyes were somewhat disappointed.
“Ah,” he state simply. “Katrina.” If this was somewhat rude, he honestly did not notice.
She had not expected anyone to be there, and yet there someone was. Someone that perhaps had even more right to be in that room than she did. Though his face was Calley's, his posture and facial expression were unmistakably Slate's. Katrina was even more surprised to see him than she would have been to see Calley standing there.
Calley had only been missing for a week and a half or so. The only was a relative term. A week and a half was a very long time, but compared to Slate it warranted an “only”. Slate hadn't made an appearance for several months. Katrina didn't know he'd actually been busy somewhere else. All she knew was that the more stoic of the two personalities that had inhabited the blue eyed, brown haired boy that was practically the first person she had become friends with after she became a mutant hadn't spoken to her since January.
She couldn't figure out any reason that he had stopped tutoring her in mathematics, had stopped seeing her altogether, except for that he was mad at her for some reason. Calley hadn't talked to her about it, and in fact hadn't even touched the subject with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole- when he had been around, which wasn't often lately. She hadn't wanted to bring it up either, in case it was rude to talk about someone behind their back when they could very well be listening. It was just an awkward situation all around.
Slate didn't seem happy to see her either. His “Ah, Katrina” was lacking in emotion, even for Slate who showed less emotion that the average Vulcan first officer or android lieutenant commander. (With many of her friends taking leaves of absence from the mansion, Katrina had been spending her extra time watching old Star Trek episodes.)
Katrina wasn't sure how to respond. If he had at least shown some glimmer of being happy to see her, she probably would have bear hugged him. His demeanor kind of put up walls, though, and she wasn't sure how that sort of thing would be received. “Slate,” her voice was conversational and polite, “long time no see.”
He wouldn't disappear on her now, would he? She had caught him unaware, and he obviously hadn't intended for her to walk in? Would he retreat behind Calley and avoid talking to her again?
That Katrina might miss him was something that Slate simply had not thought about. Nor did he do so now: her reply was easy, and conversational.
“Indeed,” he agreed, with a simply nod. When had he last seen the girl? He could not quite recall. Except for the ball; he had—
--gotten caught up in his meeting with Zephyr, and hadn’t gone. Ah. Several months, then.
That she might not even know he had a body of his own now was likewise beyond thought. Therefore, his next question came out with an ease that might strike the girl as bewildering:
Katrina frowned. She had been used to Slate's unique mannerisms once upon a time. His curt and strictly businesslike response surprised her. And the fact that it was surprising also surprised her. Had it really been so long that she had forgotten he talked like that?
His next question was even more surprising, not because of the manner of delivery, but because of the content of the query.
>>>“Have you seen my brother?”
“What?” she was taken aback, “You mean Calley? Since when are you brothers and since when can you not find him yourself? Isn't he kind of hard to lose?”
They were talking now, so Katrina assumed he wasn't going to kick her out of his room. Therefore she invited herself the rest of the way into the room and shut the door behind her. Then, because she remembered at least a little about Slate and thought that he probably wouldn't think to offer her a seat, she made herself comfortable on the pillowless bed.
>> “What? You mean Calley? Since when are you brothers and since when can you not find him yourself? Isn't he kind of hard to lose?”
“He...” Blink. Blink. Katrina doesn’t know? Slate sent out. Like every message he had sent Calley’s way recently, there was no reply.
Katrina sat on the bed. Slate joined her there, settling easily into a cross-legged position. This was a matter that required some delicacy. That Slate noticed that fact meant that he was probably not the person to do it. He started as subtly as he could: “Do you know about Calley’s splintering ability?” She did, didn’t she? He couldn’t remember. In a quite literal sense. "This power... glitched somewhat. We are not entirely certain how. The result was that we each gained a human body. I have been working at Mondragon Labs, recently. He... did not tell you?" This was rather a broad question, if ever there was one. That it had never occurred to Slate to tell her himself was innocuously understated.
Slate sat on the bed next to her. That meant he wasn't going to disappear, at least not physically. Was that a surprised look on his face just then? He hadn't finished his sentence. Katrina tried to remember if that usually meant he was surprised. He blinked. That didn't help. Then he started explaining, which helped a little more that the blinking.
“Splintering? Was that like what he did at that meeting where he was a black cat and a boy? He does the tiger and boy every once in awhile, too.” She hadn't known he had named the ability.
The rest of his words were now sinking in. Sinking in the Titanic sank into the ocean: slowly at first and without realization of what it meant, then sped up in a can't-believe-its-actually-true kind of way.
She parroted his words, still not believing them and wanting to double check that she'd heard that right, “You... each... have a body.” There were several blinks of disbelief that followed this statement. Each. And Slate's body, with Slate in it, had been working at Mondragon Labs all this time while Calley had been attending, or more recently skipping, classes here.
It occurred to her that maybe something that life changing in her best friends' lives should have been mentioned to her. That was the kind of thing you mentioned, wasn't it? Guess what, I have my own boy now. It was like getting married, moving into your first apartment, or having your first kid, maybe even bigger than those things. You were supposed to tell your friends those kinds of things. Calley should have known that!
Katrina was flustered, “Since when? Why didn't Calley tell me? Why didn't you tell me? When something good happens to you, you're suppose to tell your friends. Didn't you know? That's what friends are for. You're suppose to spend time with friends and share the things that happen to you. The good things and the bad things. Friends are suppose to help support you when things go wrong, but they also celebrate with you when happy things happen. I... I thought we were friends.”
“Yes,” Slate stated, with some small twinge of relief. She was taking this very well. He had feared... otherwise. “That is correct.”
>> “Since when?”
“Since early Febu—”
>> “Why didn't Calley tell me?”
“I am not entirely cer—”
>> “Why didn't you tell me?”
“I...”
It was at this point that it occurred to Slate that Katrina was not asking questions to get answers. She was asking questions because she hadn’t gotten answers. And on all issues concerned, the ‘brothers’ were rather late.
>> “When something good happens to you, you're suppose to tell your friends. Didn't you know? That's what friends are for. You're suppose to spend time with friends and share the things that happen to you. The good things and the bad things. Friends are suppose to help support you when things go wrong, but they also celebrate with you when happy things happen.”
A curious thing happened as the young girl continued to speak: Slate found his shoulders hunching in, and his hands tightening over his knees. Also, there was a peculiarly tight feeling at the back of his throat.
>> “I... I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” he said, surprised at how quietly his voice came out. “I think so, in any case.” That was, perhaps, less indefinite in his head. “I would like to be.” He added, quickly; “I like you.”
The words felt strange on his lips. For a moment, he was reminded of a dream he’d had earlier that week. He’d lost someone very important in that dream: lost them forever. It had been a crushing, wave-tossing, drowning feeling. A shadow of that feeing slipped over him. He did like Kat. She was very angry, wasn’t she? What if she did not want to be friends any longer?
“I’m sorry,” he said, baby blue eyes suddenly very afraid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I should— I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.”
Something rather peculiar was happening to Slate's posture. For the first time since Katrina had known him he was not sitting up straight. Nor was he lying down. He was at the halfway point where so many teenagers stayed for their entire adolescence. He was slumping. It was almost like he was melting.
Katrina wasn't in any frame of mind to notice this during her tirade. It was after that, when she was catching her breath again, breaths that were a little shorter and a little more choked feeling than they had been before, that she noticed something. Slate's voice was very quiet, even timid sounding.
>>>“We are.” ... “I think so, in any case.” ... “I would like to be.” He added, quickly; “I like you.”
Katrina opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Took a deep breath and blinked. They were still friends, then. At least she thought that's what he said. Then the hurried addition to the end of that sentiment: he had said that he liked her. Surely he didn't mean he liked her. Did he? Katrina was confused enough by this entire conversation that she wasn't sure what to think. Slate knew a lot about math, and only a little about culture. Did that little bit he knew include what connotations the words 'I like you' had? She hadn't yet thought of an appropriate answer when a Slate's face took on a very worried, possibly even afraid look.
>>>“I’m sorry ... I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I should— I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.”
That was remarkably easier to answer. “I'm not going anywhere,” her own voice was soft now, too. She tentatively reacher out her arms and leaned over to put them around Slate's thin frame.
For a mere four words, they had an amazingly reassuring quality. When the thirteen year old hugged him, he attempted to hug her back. The motion was awkward, reflecting a distinct lack of prior practice.
>> “I like you, too.”
“I’m glad,” he said, quite simply. “I... did not know that Calley had not told you. I should have told you, myself.” It was a fact that seemed much clearer, in retrospect. “You can visit me at Mondragon Labs, if you ever want to. I do not think the Headmistress here likes me. I run the Labs, now, you see.” This was something else that he perhaps should have told her. Would she be angry? He ran through the list of things in his mind. Good things, that she should probably know.
“I also built a school in Colombia. And I found a tutor, for my healing. And I believe I am a telepath, but I am not sure how well it works. Also, I am very bad at judo.” She had said that they should share the bad things, as well.
Slate awkwardly hugged her back. Katrina decided that you can't really go wrong with hugs. They had the effect of making someone feel a little better no matter how well they were executed. Slate really did seem sorry for not telling her in the first place. He made up for it by listing all the things he had been doing since then. She blinked in surprise, then remembered that she should probably let go of him or her hug would turn into a cuddle. On second thought, she had been a little short on her hug quota lately.
That was a lot of things that he listed. It was no wonder to her that he hadn't had the time to stop by the mansion to help her with her slightly-harder-than-she'd-hoped-it-would-be math homework. And he hadn't thought to leave a note or anything. That was hardly surprising, considering Calley had just barely learned to do that. She had a million questions for him, but he asked one before she could get any of them out, so it would be the polite thing to do to answer his first.
“Since you've been gone? I've spent a lot of time doing school stuff. I just got my grade report today. I haven't even looked at it yet.” It was sitting, still folded, on the bed next to her. “I got to go to a fancy ball and wear a frilly pink dress. Calley was there, and Koga, and Fausto, and even Abyss!” She left the part about possibly having broken Fausto's heart out. “I visited the Sanctuary and I met a whole bunch of people. Garrett lives there now. I got a cell phone. It used to belong to Mars, but he said I could keep it. I got a dog, too. She used to belong to Sam.” She'd gotten a lot of hand-me-downs lately. She wasn't complaining, though. She wouldn't trade either of the gifts. “Oh, and I can make a different kind of illusion now so that only one or two people can see it instead of everyone in the room. It's like telling secrets. It's hard to practice, though, because most people around here only know that I can turn invisible and that's all.”
This was more like what it was supposed to sound like between two friends. Not curt responses and yelling and hurt feelings. Slate probably hadn't known any better. It was difficult to guess what he knew and didn't know sometimes, because she didn't want to assume he knew too much nor did she want to assume he knew nothing. Either way there was potential for being rude. But maybe she was worrying about it too much. If they were both themselves and could accept the other despite their misunderstandings, they had the makings of a good friendship.
Also, he had some explaining to do about some of those activities he'd been involved in. If he was anything like Calley he'd be able to keep up with rapid fire questions with ease. And he'd answer them in reverse order.
“What happened to Hunter? I thought he was in charge of Mondragon Labs. What is the school like? What was Columbia like? I wanted to go to the convention there, but my mother wouldn't let me go. How far away can you talk to people? Can you talk to me? Why are you learning judo?”
>> “Since you've been gone? I've spent a lot of time doing school stuff. I just got my grade report today. I haven't even looked at it yet.”
Slate followed her gaze to the folded paper. She did not seem particularly nervous about it. Then again, she had not opened it, yet. And she had brought it here. There was an easy conclusion. “Were you going to open it with my brother?” He asked.
>> “I got to go to a fancy ball and wear a frilly pink dress. Calley was there, and Koga, and Fausto, and even Abyss!”
Slate smiled. “I am glad you had fun. I was going to go, too. I had a suit. A meeting ran longer than I would have liked, however. I am sorry I did not get to see you in your dress.” Her frilly pink dress.
>> “I visited the Sanctuary and I met a whole bunch of people. Garrett lives there now. I got a cell phone. It used to belong to Mars, but he said I could keep it. I got a dog, too. She used to belong to Sam.”
“Did you?” Slate blinked. “What kind?” And why had Sam been giving away his dog?
>> “Oh, and I can make a different kind of illusion now so that only one or two people can see it instead of everyone in the room. It's like telling secrets. It's hard to practice, though, because most people around here only know that I can turn invisible and that's all.”
“You could practice with me,” he offered. “I am sure I could make room in my schedule.” For most teens, this might be a joke. For Slate, it was more literal.
>> “What happened to Hunter?”
This was a fairly loaded question. He was—
>> “I thought he was in charge of Mondragon Labs.”
--still deciding—
>> “What is the school like? What was Columbia like?”
--the best way to answer—
>> “I wanted to go to the convention there, but my mother wouldn't let me go. How far away can you talk to people?”
--when he realized—
>> “Can you talk to me?”
--she was still talking.
>> “Why are you learning judo?”
Ah. That was an easier question. “Because the Labs staff thinks I should get out from behind my desk more.” In a non-global-dominion capacity, that was.
For the rest: Slate attempted to look less baffled than he actually was. The problem with getting better at facial expressions, you see, is that it makes you slightly easier to read.
“No,” her face fell a little, “I was going to open it alone. No one has been in this room for more than a week, so I figured it would be private.” She realized a moment too late that he might think she was disappointed to find him there. “Except, I'm glad that you're here. I just wanted to look at it before my mom got the chance. I'm not sure how well I did in some classes. I'm still not sure I want to know.”
>>>“Did you?” Slate blinked. “What kind?”
“It's a Yeskia. And its red and shiny. It doesn't have a keypad for texting or anything, but it does have solitaire installed.” Did he mean what kind of dog? She'd better answer that, too. “Kenzie is the dog. She's a golder retriever, but she's kind of reddish, too. Sam got too many puppies at once, because he was rescuing them or something. Once they got big, he couldn't keep them all anymore, so he gave Kenzie to me. He also gave Thor to Shin and Roxxie went to live with Sara.”
>>>“You could practice with me,” he offered. “I am sure I could make room in my schedule.”
That would be a good idea actually. It was getting rather difficult to practice her illusions in her room all be herself. Maybe Slate could practice his newfound telepathy at the same time. They could try sending messages to each other. How far away was Mondragon Labs again? Would she even be allowed to go there? Katrina nodded to answer him, then added, “Yeah, I'd like that.” It would be a lot more fun than studying math, even if Slate did make math a little more interesting that it was normally.
She had kept up with his questions pretty well. Not in reverse order like Calley would have done, but she thought she had gotten them all. When she finished her barrage of questions, Slate answered the last one. She thought he would answer the last first, like Calley, but he only answered the last one. The somewhat baffled look on his face seemed to say that he couldn't remember the other ones. Right. Slate was not his brother. He was more of a one thing at a time person and Calley was that all at once one.
So first, judo.
“It's probably good to be able to defend yourself, too, since being a telepath probably doesn't help much if someone is trying to mug you or something.” Illusions weren't that great a defense either, now that she thought about it. She should maybe look into that.
Second, telepathy.
“Speaking of being a telepath, can you send messages to anyone and how far can you send them?” That was technically two questions, but they were related. Like two brothers living in the same body.
Slate did not know what kind of dog that was. Then again, he did not know what most dogs were. He knew Irish Wolfhounds, and that was about it.
>> “And its red and shiny.
Red and... shiny?
>> “It doesn't have a keypad for texting or anything, but it does have solitaire installed.”
Slate’s head tipped slowly to the side, in great thought. His lips twitched uncertainly. He was fairly sure this was a joke. What ‘solitaire’ would equate to in a dog, he was not entirely—
>> “Kenzie is the dog. She's a golder retriever, but she's kind of reddish, too. Sam got too many puppies at once, because he was rescuing them or something. Once they got big, he couldn't keep them all anymore, so he gave Kenzie to me. He also gave Thor to Shin and Roxxie went to live with Sara.”
The world suddenly made more sense.
>> “It's probably good to be able to defend yourself, too, since being a telepath probably doesn't help much if someone is trying to mug you or something.”
Or blow off your arm. “Indeed,” he mildly agreed.
>> “Speaking of being a telepath, can you send messages to anyone and how far can you send them?”
This was two questions, but he thought he could handle too questions. Particularly since the answer was the same for both of them: “I am not sure. So far, I have been able to speak with only a few people, but... I have not exactly tried with everyone I have met. I have never really tested range.” His brown eyebrows drew together briefly. “I have been able to contact Calley at the Mansion while I am at the Labs.”
Experimentally, he asked; How far is your own range?
Katrina could tell Slate was jealous of her phone. She could tell from the twitch in his lip, the tilt of his head. Clearly he wished he had one just like it for himself. Maybe later she would show it to him. She'd left it in her room today. She didn't get very many phone calls on it. Yet. Not everyone she knew had the phone number yet. She had contemplated making business cards, but hadn't gotten around to it. Already the laziness of summer was setting in.
As for the answer(s) to her questions, he wasn't sure. He could speak to Calley over the several miles between the Labs and the mansion, though, and that was pretty darn impressive. Did that mean Calley was far away right now, if Slate couldn't find him?
>>>How far is your own range?
Woah. Katrina stiffened, sitting upright and finally letting go of Slate's torso. Woah. That had been in her head, like her own thought but in a different voice and she hadn't put it in there herself. Not that thoughts really had voices she could hear with her ears, but she could still distinguish it from her own. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to answer that out loud, or if she should think the answer at him.
She furrowed her brow with concentration and thought as clearly as she could, I...don't...know.... It was hardly her fault if he overheard the rest that followed. How much can you hear? Can you read all my memories? Can you read things I'm not even thinking about? Is it like being in the void where you can hear all my thoughts? Can a person hide thoughts from you?
He had successfully distracted her from Columbia, the school he built, Hunter, and the Labs whether he had meant to or not. She might remember later that he had never answered those questions, but for now her mind was a whir with a whole different set of questions.