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.
>> "Why else do you think I asked for wire cutters?"
...
“Ah,” Slate replied simply, picking his legs up from the floor and crossing them on his seat. That... made sense. After a degree. And he sensed that there was a point being made here. It was a point he himself subscribed to, in general: priorities. One must have them. When one is in a sort of pain Slate himself could not even fully visualize, one should get healed. When one hasn’t eaten, one should correct that. When one has wires interfering with the dexterity of one’s fingers, one procures wire cutters. When one...
“...May I ask what you are going to do to my electrical outlets?” He asked, when it seemed that the end of her eggs’ civilization was near. There was a slight quirk to the corners of his mouth. Why she asked for wire cutters, indeed.
It seemed petty to deny him the information, but it was still hers to deny. The last drop of egg she savored on her tongue. He would see soon enough. She shifted her shoulders and the coat came loose. She shrugged carefully out of it, there was no telling what kind of gunk was on the inside. But what came out of it were arms, whole arms. Dirty, but whole.
It was like a magic trick. Stick in your beef jerky and get a zebra tan up to your elbows. Lori took her time inspecting this new look, but she couldn't find a single way to mend it without skinning herself and getting another heal. Her vanity wasn't that needy. At least the star tattoos were unmarred on the inside of her upper arm. No doubt the tattoo on her back now showed too. A butterfly and tribal curves of barbed wire. It had seemed like fun at the time.
She was sweaty complements of Florida, but more than that it was toasty in summer in a leather jacket. The air conditioning gelled that sweat almost instantly to her skin. She was going to need a sponge and some rubber gloves too. Later.
A wall and it's prize socket stood not to far from their table's location. Lori looked serenely at Slate and took to her feet again. She was slow and let herself sliiiiiide down the wall once she reached it. Her smile spread slowly as she moved her fingers in horror slow motion to the outlet. Yes. She was sticking fingers in the holes, one for each eye of the socket, leaving the unusable ground free to gape open.
The lights flickered. It was good. She drew at the outlet with her power, a mouth drawing venom from a wound. There was an audible click before the lights went out. She'd tripped the breaker which wasn't too uncommon, but it meant this outlet was tapped until someone could find and replace it. It was a real smile on her lips now and a very wicked chuckle that wafted through the darkness. She could use more power to be perfectly honest, but this was enough for day to day functioning.
The coat came off, slowly. White coiled lines slid in liquid white circles down her flesh, dripping from her fingers in those metal wires. She approached the wall, turned her back, and sliiiiiid down its length. Her fingers—that metal—entered; the lights flickered. Flickered. Flick—
Clicked into blackness.
Slate had never thought to see his wall socket raped.
He sat in his pajamas in the darkness, legs still crossed on his chair, and listened to the woman chuckle. Somewhere in the Labs, he knew a team of techies was looking into a slew of suddenly black monitors, and hearing the same chuckle. The security system was on a different circuit, after all. He wondered if the same instinctual chill was brushing along their spines. Please refrain on sending a security team, the teenager thought towards Nigel Banks, hoping that the message was received. He was still rather unclear on who could hear him, and who could not.
Understood, came the answer, after a moment. It didn’t sound happy.
He was not entirely clear on whether that was a wise command. Mars had brought her, however. Tarin had referred her. And he was a healer.
Back in the kitchen, there was a clatter and a small flick of a lighter. A moment later, the cook appeared from the darkness on the other side of the room, holding a lit dinner candle. It very dimly reached them. The teenager held up one hand in a little wave to the man. It set an interesting atmosphere. He felt a bit like he was having a slumber party with Elphaba. She had even melted into a happy puddle.
Baby blue eyes settled on the petite blonde on his floor. There was a distinctly amused little grin on his face, if she could see it by the dim light. “Was it good for you?” After observing a social experiment by Venus, Slate had begun researching appropriate lines one should use with women. He believed he had the context right, for that one.
Her chest rose and fell, now that the jacket was gone she rather missed it. Shorts and a bikini top just wasn't good inside wear. She giggled anew in a decidedly less nefarious way at Slate's question. Kids these days. "Yeah. Almost as good as pancakes."
Her needs were mostly met now. Lori allowed herself a most undignified wriggle on the floor before collecting herself in the candle light. She was the cat with cream. "It's only a fuse. It happens all the time. Find the one for this area and replace it, everything will work again, easy as pie." Had she sent the power the other way, there would be actual damage. But she didn't want that. Then she couldn't go for round 2 if she wanted.
And seriously. Where were her wire cutters?
Lori pulled herself together, rubbing hands on upper arms and the wires tickled along her bare back. They were obnoxious, but livable. Especially after she could clip the ends. A good snuggle and a bottle of tequila later and she might actually be able to pretend it never happened. Her feet fell easier now after she got them underneath her again. When she walked, she even managed a smooth time of it before she made her stand in front of the kid. He'd been nothing but nice. A little dry and unhelpful, but nice all the same.
"You're not just a healer." It was time to call him out. What she couldn't figure without more information was what exactly he was. He had a good brain in there. She refused to believe the vapid intonation he'd provided for her so far. Was ha a memory leech like her mom's psychiatrist? A straight forward telepath of some kind? (With a healthy splash of healing, of course.) And what was with the manservants, the guys who screamed hired muscle and what was with the way that the staff regarded him? "What are you to this place?" She watched the candle. It was more interesting than Slate at this point.
Her little laugh then was more normal. Or, at the least, less like a person you did not want to be alone with in the darkness. Now they had a candle and pancake jokes; this was an improvement.
>> "It's only a fuse. It happens all the time. Find the one for this area and replace it, everything will work again, easy as pie."
He tilted his head curiously. “Is that how it works? Did you not draw more than we would normally use... just faster? Or harder?” Slate: not a master of common electronics functioning. Somewhere in Calley’s apartment was still hidden the remains of his first Blackberry. The one their first roommate had given him for Christmas. The one he had dissected, with great curiosity.
The woman seemed much better when she strode towards him. The metal in her arms really did not seem to be hurting her, which was good to see. The stand she made was interesting. He looked up at her from his cross-legged seat, and blinked curiously.
>> "You're not just a healer. What are you to this place?"
“Its owner,” Slate replied, without guile. “You are currently at Mondragon Labs Medical. I became CEO in January. It is mine.” The compound finality in those statements had been earned; he spoke them simply, as the facts they were. Idly, Slate readjusted the cuff of his pajama pants, so that they didn’t drown his feet quite so thoroughly.
“How deep into New York’s Faction politics are you?” He asked, baby blue eyes quite unobtrusive. That question, so very understated, placed him quite far in.
Slate seemed genuinely interested in what she'd done to the outlet. It sure wasn't communion to him anymore. "Faster, harder, yeah. Pull too much all at once and the fuse goes kaput." What was a fuse to her? Now that she'd had more than one kind of snack, she could readily create her own energy.
She was weary, yes, but she'd also been dropped off and kept company by the strangest little man. Sometimes when he blinked at her, she wished that he had that other eyelid that reptiles had. His slow, purposeful way was just unreal. Too... refined wasn't the right word. Maybe too precocious or fastidious.
He looked up at her, a pleasant height reversal for once, but the words coming from his mouth were not as she'd expected. CEO? Of a company? She let her skepticism shine through as she put the pieces together. Tarin worked for him. Lee too. He headed a company and he had referred to all of this as his. Barring the idea that he was just straight up delusional, that put on the same level as Syn.
Eyebrow level rising.
She didn't respect Syn. She hadn't respected Slate. A question so loud rolled around in her head that she was afraid he'd hear it somehow. 'Why are all the faction leaders so young?' It was frustrating really. Slate was bland. Syn's tact and IQ were on par with cork board. The X-men had yet to excite her. They didn't have the experience or the character to lead, in her opinion.
Lori regarded the compound and what she'd taken in so far. Admittedly she hadn't seen much, but of what she had seen it wasn't crashing down... yet. Except he'd said January, right? That meant this kid had some serious help (beyond Tarin). That or he was more interesting than he let on.
Could she imagine Tarin taking orders from this kid? She actually stopped to follow that avenue of thought. Probably. Slate did have a regal air. He was used to being listened to.
“How deep into New York’s Faction politics are you?”
She met his eyes again. Smug. Maybe that was the word for it. He knew just how many cards he was holding. He wanted her to see that he had cards and that she wasn't allowed to see them. "Not very." Which was true. As a member of the Order, she was just there to receive her Haywire antidote when the time came. She tried to wait for Slate to expound without her having to ask.
Eyebrows and minor disbelief. It was a pleasant reaction, actually. Quite different than usual. Usually... the people around him looked at him, and took his status as a given. He was nineteen years. Technically. He was also two-years-and-eleven-months old, equally technically. He did not really mind it when, occasionally, people did not think of him as in charge.
Unless it came to actual orders, of course. But that was a different matter entirely.
>> Why are all the faction leaders so young?
Blink. Blink blink. It was easy to see that Slate was startled. He had been slowly working on his telepathy, yes. But this was the first time that someone had contacted him. As he was beginning to consider proper manners, he answered her in kind.
No one else was taking charge. I did. That was his philosophy in life, roughly. Somewhat more dubiously, he added: I cannot speak for Syn.
>> "Not very."
“Ah,” Slate stated. “Well. Then, simply put, I am the Kabal’s Leader.”
“Who is Mars to you?” He did not need to ask about Tarin. Not when he could ask Tarin.
Lori jumped. The words didn't echo properly given the space. She actually checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was there before she looked much harder in Slate's direction. He had finally done something very interesting. He'd done more than she'd feared he would when he not only listened to what she thought, but responded by talking in her head. The fact that he had no concessions about Syn was a small comfort.
It was definitely his voice and it was definitely coming from inside. She had to resist the urge to smack herself on the head to get rid of him because that was an action that would surely make her look foolish if it didn't work. She was pretty sure it wouldn't work.
It really wasn't polite, you know, listening in on other people's brains.
Kabal. Lori was glad he went back to speaking. Perhaps he'd caught the thought about how rude he was for poking his fingers into her files. And then he asked a bomb of a question. Mars. Who was he to her? Her brain hummed furiously on that one for a moment. "He is my favorite book." It was the best answer she'd come to as far as he went. He was open, available to her when she needed, he was interesting and worthy of an occasional re-visit.
Speaking of brains, there was something she'd wanted to try. Since she'd fried her last psychic pal, Lori wondered if she could shut Slate out. She didn't like being an open book without permission. She mentally reviewed the brain and what she knew about where each center was thought to be held. The natural electrical firings that made it work seemed like something she should be able to tweak or at least observe.
But she had to do something to keep him talking, to find that one part she wanted. Did she dare try? If she messed this trick up, at least there would be a healer at hand to save the day.
"And what does your faction, the Kabal, do?" As if there might be some confusion on which faction she meant! Lori wanted to know, yes, but she wanted to really know about other things. When he spoke, what area would light up? When he thought, was it different from what was coming out of his mouth? When he used his power, did that even originate from the brain? What part? Could she snuff it out?
She knew what happened when those bio-electrical firings were forced to stop. Brain death. To Lori's knowledge, George Adler was still a vegetable drooling at her mother from a state hospital bed. But what happened in the brain, really? How did those non-natural perceptions work? Lori tried to follow Slate's brain activity.
(hope you guys don't mind me inserting Mars right here if belatedly. it shouldn't affect things)
Mars had watched over her sleeping mind for hours on end, he had fretted over her for a month before hand, he had searched her home, and went to the other guy's house, He schedule a private flight and tried to rescue the woman, with only her safety in mind. He did it all happily, knowing that it might help her.... He had even taken the advice that Slate would be able to help and abandoned his own healer Sebastion in a attempt at good will toward other people willing to help her and maybe a swipe at gaining a bit more favor with the new leader of the Kabal.
Slate entered and asked of him a question but he was distracted as she had finally came awake, he had hoped to have her healed before she was awake. but such was life. He was sure that Slate would help once he saw her so he simply opened the void in answer he tried to assure her as she left. guide her to the exit, but her instinct sent her to the exit quicker then most sensed it.
Slate spoke and she, she had the audacity to not even say a word. she looked at him, and nodded her head to the door....there was a certain point you could push a man to and she had just flirted with that line. He stood up slowly as to not notify either of them at the threatening storm. he stood and turned toward the door slowly, carefully. He consulted himself to patience. he stepped out side and then thought about leaving her ungrateful butt right where it was. She was safe, he was unwanted, perhaps he would be better off. He stared down at the ground in thought...making excuses for her, just like he always did.
He would wait for her until she was done, after that well she would have one more opportunity to care that he wanted to be there for her.
The teenager’s head tilted to the side. With a blue-eyed blink, of course. He wondered if, perhaps, he had overstepped matters with his comment about Syn. Lori did know Abyss, after all. It was possible that she knew Syn. It was even possible—all things being possible, if unlikely—that she liked Syn. Her hard stare would be warranted, in such a case.
He was not entirely certain why she had jumped, however.
>> "He is my favorite book."
Blink. Blink, blink. “What does that mean?” Slate asked. Not in the confrontational sense of ‘what do you mean by that’; more of a curious question, really. “That is a metaphor, correct? What does it stand for? Is it commonly used? I am afraid I have never heard it before.”
>> "And what does your faction, the Kabal, do?"
Back in the kitchen, the cook had found—with further rummaging—several more candles, and their associated stands. He unobtrusively walked over to set one on their table, then went back to his place. The added illumination was nice. It cast interesting highlights across Lori’s hair, face, and bikini top. It left enough shadows for Slate’s sudden blush to be overlooked. Potentially.
“To put things idealistically, we are changing the world.” Slate began, keeping his eyes quite firmly on the older woman’s face. “We recently rebuilt a school in Colombia; we are donating to various causes, such as the recent equality charity ball; I am hoping to establish a public front of unity between mutant and mutant-friendly business owners; and Mondragon Labs is currently seeking FDA approval for an organ cloning technique that could eliminate the waiting list for organ donations. Among other things.” ‘Among other things’ being the largest example.
A guard cleared his throat in the doorway. His eyes assessed the situation, somewhat protectively, before he held up one of his hands. Something glinted in the candlelight. “I brought the wire cutters you requested, Sir.”
Lori sighed. Yes. Apparently she did have to spell everything out for him. "Yes. It's a metaphor. No, I'm pretty sure it's not common." Not that she traveled in circles well versed in metaphor. "Think about the properties of a favorite book. You like to have it around. You like to read it over and over again despite the fact that you know what is inside the covers. You don't lend it out to others..." Or maybe he hadn't wanted her to explain it for him, but to explain it for herself. Dirty tricky rotten jerk face.
Explaining things felt all kinds of wrong to Lori. She almost never asked for someone to explain something to her unless the exact parameters were needed. She sussed things out for herself. Always. And the fact that he couldn't, or rather decided not to, was a black mark against him. A mark that was added to a growing number of marks on Slate's page. What an uninteresting little prick. Had she been so naive as an almost-adult?
Cerulean eyes watched the cook work at setting up a nice spot of illumination. She knew it wouldn't be that hard to do something drastic in such a situation. There just weren't enough people on high alert. She could knock over the tables by their metal bases, barricade the area. She could grab Slate. Shock his cute little PJ pants off. Or better yet she could sliiiiide her hand up under his shirt and send little jolts straight to his heart while she whispered sweet nothings into his ear... just to make sure something would flap his seemingly unflappable attitude.
Instead of capitalizing on these urges --she wasn't too keen on hopping right back into the fire and uninvited shock therapy to a faction's leader was almost certainly not the way to avoid pain-- Lori focused on Slate's brain. He was talking about changing the world, but all she was seeing was activity. Electrical activity.
It was sort of the crown of the head, but on both sides. She was sort of exasperated that nothing jumped out at her immediately. Why couldn't she just translate those electrical happenings into something usable? Ah. Cognitively, she couldn't look at them and know what it meant, but she was equipped to translate brain functions... Everyone with a working brain was...
It was just a matter of a little copy and pas-- Lori's eyelids fluttered convulsively for half a second before she affixed her eyes very prudently on Slate's face. It was important that she keep her eyes there because if they wandered lower, she might be distracted by his ...bikini...
Blink.
Someone cleared their throat behind Lori, but her face was already crumbling into ill-disguised laughter. It probably just looked like she was laughing outright about his lofty faction dreams, not the fact that she'd caught him checking out her ta-tas. Slate thanked one Mister Banks and Lori slid to her feet. She made her way over to the Banks in question and gave him her best aww-shucks-I'm-harmless smile. She held out her hands stiff fingered and palm-up for the wire cutters. From the wires dangling out of the tips of her fingers, it should have been obvious why they were needed.
“Thank you, Mr. Banks.” She echoed Slate's words exactly in a demure tone. Lori tried not to say thanks if she meant it. And he had done her no favors yet; Lori was pretty sure she couldn't get the hand held cutters to work on her own given the stiffness of her joints. On their own, the wire cutters were not only useless to her, but they were a guarantee that she'd have to ask for help at some point.
Slate’s explanation continued, but got somewhat quieter. And... slightly more pause-laden.
The woman was laughing at him.
Technically, she was only screwing up her face at him. And her shoulders were shaking, just the slightest bit. Or was that his imagination? Mr. Banks’ interruption was quite well-timed. The woman stood up, allowing the blush to creep further up Slate’s face in peace.
Slate watched the woman accept her wire cutters, her demure thanks missing only a flutter of eyelashes. Or perhaps there was one. Slate was not exactly in a position to see it. His head tilted slightly. Those wires were quite long. Those wire cutters were quite... designed for more mobile hands.
Does she need help? He wondered idly, as Nigel showed himself out. If his thoughts happened to carry, it was by no intent of his own. He was simply... thinking out loud.
She carried the wire cutter at a slightly higher level than was comfortable so that it'd be framed by the fabric of her orange bikini. It was kind of humorous to her to even attempt some kind of seduction when she smelled like ick, but bubble boy seemed starved for experience. In more ways than one.
"Of course I do. Here." She answered his mentally projected question without thought. Had she picked it up like she'd picked up his boobdar or had he sent it out? It didn't matter as long as he agreed to help. "Cut as close as possible. I'd cut into the skin some if it were me, but since it's you, you might want to keep out of the shock zone so that means no blood."
Unless he was into that kind of thing. Lori ran her eyes over him. His thin body didn't seem the type to enjoy pain in the least. That kind of thing was usually reserved for more experienced folk with a few crossed wires. So she took a seat at the table nearest and held out her hands like she was ready for a manicure. The concept was rather similar.
She closed her eyes fully confident in his capability of clipping her wires and thought of brains.
The wire cutters rose. Rose. Ro—Slate’s eyes snapped up even faster, back to the woman’s face. It was as if every time his eyes made contact, it became more tempting to look.
This observation was not in reference to her face.
>> "Of course I do. Here."
Slate sat up a little straighter, with a bit of a jerk. Had he spoken out loud? ...Had he spoken, but not out loud? Or could she simply hear him, without him sending a message? She had contacted him, a moment ago.
Tentatively, he tried to send a thought: Are you a physic, Lori?
>> "Cut as close as possible. I'd cut into the skin some if it were me, but since it's you, you might want to keep out of the shock zone so that means no blood."
Slate looked from the wire cutters in his hand back to the woman sitting so serenely near him. Weighing choices. “Precisely how much of a shock do you mean?” He asked, with all due reasonability. Pain was not something he was known to mind, in general.
Serenity funneled into amusement. There was absolutely no jumping this time. She followed the part of his mind that had activated and after she'd said her piece thought of an alternate usage for this new toy... She was sure where his speech center was. She was sure where hers was. Why did she have to always copy things to her mind? Even if it didn't work this was a fun game.
Her eyes opened slow and confident and locked on to her target. Test run number one: she got ready to copy her next thought to Slate. Did I say that? She was thinking it so hard that whether it was her ability or his or even some strange reverberation of the two, he would no doubt get the message.
It took her a moment to realize that he'd spoken out loud after she had. Geez, it was like carrying on two different conversations at once. No, actually it was exactly that. She had to stop and think about the answer to that too. "I don't know." And she didn't like admitting that. "The more the hurt, the more uh-- accidental reciprocation there might be. More blood means a more solid open in the circuit." She wasn't looking to volunteer her fingers for cutting off, but honestly the deeper he cut, the less chance she would have to accidentally create a circuit through the skin.
Lori looked down at her hands. This was going to hurt wasn't it? Stubbornly she met Slate's eyes again. "If you can take it so can I." The gauntlet had been thrown.