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.
No. No, you didn’t. Slate replied, with all due levelness. That had been an answer in itself, was it not? ...How does yours work, precisely? He asked, somewhat more hesitantly. Not, of course, to imply that he had no clue how his own telepathy functioned. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. And sometimes people seemed to hear things when they were around him.
>> "I don't know. The more the hurt, the more uh-- accidental reciprocation there might be. More blood means a more solid open in the circuit. ...If you can take it so can I."
A slight head tilt, as he considered her hands. It would be most effective to simply amputate your arms above the wire’s highest point, and then heal them. He offered, as any considerate gentleman would. I am fairly certain I can re-grow limbs. Fairly certain, indeed. He had re-grown Sebastian’s tail. Once.
Not, of course, to imply that she might be left as a double amputee.
Talking in her head seemed like a lot less work for Slate. Lori sighed a whining sigh. Dirty natural telepath. Some of us have to work for it, you know.[/color] Hmm. Did she think that out loud? This was getting confusing. He asked how it worked and she had to think of a way to say it or... think transfer it on purpose. Ah screw it. "You can do what I do, why worry about the way." Notice that was not a question.
She brought up the back of her hand to her forehead and the wires dangled decoratively in front of her face. There was something that felt rather like a pinch happening inside of her head somewhere in the middle and near the front. Out loud talking seemed like a better idea at this point.
Slate didn't seem to get that memo. And from the inside of her head, he offered quite amiably to cut off her arms.
Lori stood in an abrupt motion, the chair scooting loud against the tile. She wasn't amused. Though she was some inches shorter than Slate, some things weren't exactly about tall. The set of her shoulders and the sudden unfriendliness in her eyes made up for a lot.
"Listen here you little s***, you're not taking my arms off."
And then she shut her eyes and was mentally counting to ten in an obnoxious, loud way. Her fuse wasn't normally so short, but she had just gotten the use of those arms back... sort of. Extending her count to twenty, Lori tried to ball her hands into fists and got as far a curled fingers before the tightening coils started pulling hard enough to make a leatherish creaking sound. But she wasn't sparking anywhere. That was a real win.
Lori sighed and expelled a lot of the actual violence, saving the rest for potential violence. She sat and held out her hands again. "Fix it without lobbing them off." And if it hurt too much she would make sure it hurt him.
>> Dirty natural telepath. Some of us have to work for it, you know.
Blink. Blink, blink. Perhaps he was not the only one susceptible to broadcasting their thoughts without intending to. Still, ‘natural telepath’?
>> "You can do what I do, why worry about the way."
Head. Tilt. “Are you a power mimic of some sort?” Slate asked, not entirely grasping her aversion to questions.
And then there were logical offers. Chairs scrapping the floor, shouting, and kinetic violence.
>> "Listen here you little s***, you're not taking my arms off."
One. Two. Three.
Slate wince at the sudden volume in his mind, one hand instinctively raising up towards his ears before he forced it back down. That wasn’t where the noise was coming from.
Four. Five. Six.
Baby blue eyes flashed coldly at the woman who was—
Seven. Eight. Nine.
—counting in his head. Normally he liked numbers. In this particular instance, however, he was willing to make an exception. Wasn’t there a way to turn this off?
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. ...Nineteen. Twenty.
The silence rang suddenly into his aching head. And the answer to his question, apparently, was ‘no’. Either that, or he simply did not know how.
>> "Fix it without lobbing them off."
“Keep the counting to yourself in the future, Ms. Lori, and I’ll see what I can do.” The teenager levelly replied, gripping the wire cutters more firmly to stop from rubbing at his head.
She had been trying to think loudly to make sure that he didn't cut into her mind without repercussion and the scathing look on his face was soooo worth it. Well now they were both irked and prone to snap. It made her feel better actually. Self satisfied.
She had flapped him.
Lori made a small movement with her hands making sure he could easily see them and the fact that there were wires sticking out of her fingers. Only he could realize the fact that he did indeed have wire cutters in his hand. She dreeeeew those wires up toward her face. Her finger was innocently enough scratching her chin, but the ends of those wires were tickling something directly below. The only movement in the room demanded some attention.
"I am not a power mimic." There was heat in those words and definitely more avenues of release besides anger. Now that she hopefully had his full attention she offered him a hand, not the strategic one mind you. "Sit closer, avoid talking about losing valuable body parts, and maybe we can talk evolution while you... clip?"
His eyes went to the wire cutters in his hand. They were a safe place to look.
>> "I am not a power mimic."
Her tone of voice was... curious. He was not quite sure what it was meant to convey.
>> "Sit, avoid talking about losing valuable body parts, and maybe we can talk evolution while you... clip?"
The teenager avoided her eyes (and other areas) for reasons he was not entirely clear on. Nonetheless, the motion of her offered hand showed at the dangerous fringes of his vision. He accepted it. And the seat she lead him to; closer. So that he could... clip?
He tried to turn the hand that had clasped his, and awkwardly brought the wire cutters to bear. This would have been made easier if he had ever used wire cutters before. Nonetheless, the concept behind them was not beyond him.
"Evolution?" He prompted. She was the one who had offered it as a topic. A safe one.
She had to resist crossing her legs and flapping her foot impatiently. Really. It wasn't like she was going ravage him; you really can't rape the willing and all that. Besides. She didn't do kids. Not that she wouldn't tease them into doing things for her.
"The angle's all wrong. Are you trying to hurt me?" There was something sultry in her every R. She again led him by the hand as she helpfully trailed her arm up and over his head so that she lay her arm across his shoulder and her hand trailed down his chest. This way he could easily clip at the edge of her fingers without breaking them off. Really. What a helpless kid.
"Evolution?" He prompted her, as if she'd forgotten. It was the squeak of a drowning man.
"This is a medical facility, right?" She had heard something about medical... something... right? She hadn't just made that up? There was some motion of assent and she continued. "Surely you know about the body and it's... impulses...?" She was deliberately playing with her words now.
>> "The angle's all wrong. Are you trying to hurt me?"
Slate made the mistake of taking this seriously. A brief look of concern flashed over his face. And then there were arms. Everywhere. Draping, and... touching.
The teenager’s adam’s apple bobbed in a convulsive swallow. Well. That was... unexpected. Wasn’t it?
>> "This is a medical facility, right?"
Nod. Yes. Yes, this was. Nod. Her arms were very warm; skin touched skin where her hand rested on his bare shoulder. Perhaps he should have worn long sleeves to bed, this evening. Then again, perhaps the tank top had been a good choice. The lengths of the thin wires tickled and scratched, over flesh and cloth. He shivered. This was odd, because he wasn’t cold.
>> "Surely you know about the body and it's... impulses...?"
Slate turned his gaze towards the face that was very close to his. “Ms. Lori,” he stated simply, despite a slight rapidness to his words that he had not intended, “are you attempting to seduce me?”
It was clear to him what game she was playing. He had not been born yesterday, after all. He was two and three-fourths years old.
Her lower lip jutted. She was the epitome of hurt. "Electrical impulses." She actually managed to sound insulted as she stiffened around him. "Who do you think I am?"
She returned his look for a good... three seconds before her arm drew tighter around his neck until the lower knuckle of her thumb bumped against that bobbing adam's apple. It was a very nice adam's apple and her whole world revolved around it for a moment. "You know, you really shouldn't let dangerous people get this close to you."
Her eyes flicked up to his, they were close. Kissably close. She could deliver a fierce little shock to that curious little brain of his. Instead she tried tapping in... just one more time.
The woman stiffened around him, with an oddly all-encompassing sensation. Not so odd, perhaps, since she was... well, quite thoroughly on him. Slate was not to be fooled by her display of sudden innocence. Not for more than a fleeting instant, at least.
She was very, very close.
Warm skin brushed against his throat; his adam’s apple gave a startled leap.
Very, very close. Slate was not entirely comfortable with this.
>> "You know, you really shouldn't let dangerous people get this close to you."
The reaction did not involve much thought. It was, in fact, quite a reflex. To a threat. Spoken very, very close to his ear, by a mutant who he was essentially alone with in a dark room. It was a reaction from his time with Calley. If something was unpleasant, there was always an easy thing to do. He had once done this to Trista Evans, on the occasion when she had sweetly whispered words like Lori’s, and blown off his arm.
Slate slammed down a mental barrier.
It encapsulated the woman’s mind, quite entirely; she would be in a place much like the void, except lacking the void’s comforting ambience. No sight, no sound, no touch, no hearing, no taste; no connection to her body, or to controlling her mutant abilities.
Instincts. They are not intelligent reactions; mere reflexes, born of experience. Deer had the instinct to freeze in a car’s headlights, hoping the metal predator would not see them.
Slate had the instinct to cut Lori off from controlling her powers, hoping this would make her less of a threat.
He didn't like it. That was about as far as she got into his head before she was... no where. She tried to blink and there was nothing to blink. No body. No sight. She was back in the flipping Void! MAAAAARS!! She was pissed. What right did he have to snatch her away when she was about to teach the twerp an important life lesson? And he could hear her right? If she made enough mental ruckus?
Mars The Intempestivus you let me out right this instant!"
Just as suddenly as she was in the void, she was back out in the Canteen again. At least she... thought it was the Canteen. There was so much going on she couldn't seem to take it all in fast enough. The floors, the ceiling, tables, chairs... It was all very dark... It was all very not where it was supposed to be.
Lori shut her mouth and worked furiously on shutting down her power. She slammed her shields down in place and packed it all down, curling that fist of electric power back how it should have been: closed. A quick assessment let her know that the charge she'd sipped from the plug earlier was quite honestly almost all gone. 33% was a generous estimate. Take away her control and it was just gone. She could discharge 5 times faster than she could charge.
Lori ducked as the hovering metal debris dropped from sudden lack of magnetic support. She pulled her arm over her head to ward off most of it, but her other... her other arm was trapped underneath something limp and fleshy. And on fire. "Oh no, no, no, no, no. You did not." Lori used a magnetic field to pull some debris away and clear a spot for the kid in her arm.
Slate was so much limp meat. She guided him to the ground and knealt over him like a momma mare. As soon as she had him on the floor, Lori pat, pat, pat the little orange flame out on his shirt. Too bad that when it was out she realized that the little tongue of fire had been her only real light source. Where were those candles? What the frick happened? She felt her way up to Slate's face. The wires on her fingers were a real hinderance as she tried to feel with the pads of her fingers.
His eyes closed. She put her hands on his lips and nose. Was he even breathing? Lori leaned down to put her ear very close to those lips. Frick. Frick. And once more with feeling: "F***!"[/color] Oh damn. She had day dreamed about taking over a faction, but this was so not the way. If she was going to take a life, she wanted it to be on purpose. She wanted it to mean something. This...?
Lori pat the kid's face again and again. "Hey. Hey, buddy, wake up. This isn't really funny. Slate?" Her eyes were starting to adjust to the spill of starlight from the hole in the roof. She had to do something. Now. Or... no. No or's. She was doing something.
She pushed up the remains of his shirt and felt along his chest until she was sure her hands were past the sternum, on the correct side of the ribs, and up enough that she probably wouldn't crack them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 5 chest compressions. She tilted his head back and tried to poke a finger in there to see if he'd swallowed something before mashing his nose shut and making a seal over his lips. Breathe. Okay. His chest rose. her hands went shakingly back to that spot that should have been thumping away. She sucked at CPR. Her arm ached and it was hard work... did she dare?
Lori got one thumb near the top of the heart and one near the bottom. Wasn't this how defibrillation worked? A low level shock to the heart and his body jumped. Dizziness spread. She downgraded her original assessment from 33% charge to less than 20%. She had a tendency to go to sleep if it got too low, but that wasn't any reason to stop trying to restart Slate's heart. Lori put her lips back on Slate's.
Mars was on his way before anything bad had happened he had been on his feet the moment the first drain of energy went, he assumed it was just Lori recharging...well hoped really. He hoped she was behaving.
He stared down at Noin who looked no more intimidated than she might if a Chihuahua in a shoe box were threatening her. "You Will Let Me..."He took a deep breath. “Back there.” She looked up defiantly. “Or I will let my self back there.” He finished. His temper was growing strained and the only thing holding him back from storming back there was a respect for slates house and his rules. His choice in employees left something to be desired…then again he had found someone that would tell him no…she couldn’t be all bad.
She pulled out a tazer with a large battery pack on the back of it, it looked like it could take a down an elephant, unfortunately for her, his pinky held the equivalent muscle mass of a herd of elephants. it didn’t make him resistant to electricity, just hard to put out than others.
“I’ve slept with more voltage then you have access to.” And as if his words were a harbinger reminding the electricity that its mistress was here the lights flickered and then switched off again. That was followed by a pop and a crash and then an alarm. He stared at Noin a split second more as she raised a walky talkie to her mouth. He thumped the walky talky with his pointer finger sending it bouncing off her fore head and sending her to the floor with a thud. He didn’t have time to argue and honestly it felt kind of nice to shut her up. besides he wanted to be the first on the scene.
Mars walked up to the door that would typically take getting buzzed through and pulled it off its hinges, He then grabbed a large orange flash light off of the wall and began his Trek toward Lori.
He followed the scent of electric in the air…what had she done…what slate had done to elicit such a reaction…had slate done anything. He turned into the mess of the building and began to remove it…where ever the rubble landed in the city wasn’t his concern…what was his concern was that it was out of his way. He moved with precision and quickness toward the center of the mess. He shoved a piece of wall off of the door frame and then lifted a giant piece of building out his way.
The scene before him was predictable in that slate was down and Lori was up… however he didn’t expect slate to be out… why wasn’t he healing? Mars dashed over and set the bright flash light down and kneeled next to the pair.
His first instinct was to toss him in the void, but if he was dead he would stay that way…this way he had a chance….hopefully
Oh man she sucked at cpr, “You do the shocking, I’ll do the breathing and pump. Thump, thump shock, breathe, thump, thump, shock, breath, ok?”
His tail snaked up to Slate’s chest and the very tip sat on his sternum. His big red lips readied them selves to pump air into the young man once the current was done zapping him. his tail thumped two steady and by mars standards soft beats.
He was back in his dream. He did not remember going back to sleep; he remembered Lori, and—something. Something that had seemed very important at the time. A pain so intense, it had felt like a physical blow; a gasping rigidity to his breaths, as they did nothing. His heart had stopped. His breath came to an almost graceful stop: when the play is over, the actor must bow off the stage. It was nothing more that that.
"F***!"
That did not matter, though. He was back in the dream, and there was no pain here. Dreams do not have pain. Dreams should not have pain.
What was he feeling, then?
It was no longer gray; it was black. He could not see. There were sounds, though. Some distant, and some very, very close.
Creak.
The wolfhound was not here. There was nothing to lead him. Still, he thought he knew the way. Slate stood, and began to walk.
Creak.
Flashes of static lightning seemed to flash here and there, at the edges of his vision. His chest seemed to move now and then, without his consent. It rose, and fell, and lay still: this stillness felt quite natural. Like sleep. Like dreams. He felt no need to breath, himself.
The blackness began to break; the flickers of lightning gave way to steadier lines of gold and white. By those lights, he understood something: he was not seeing at all.
Oblivion has no color. No texture, no taste. The way his chest moved—the way he felt that—was unnatural in this place. The actor had left the stage, but someone had brought him back as a marionette. It was all right, though; that, too, would end. Everything ended.
Creak.
There was only one sense that had a place, here. Curious, because Slate had not even known he possessed it. The final sense, so easily drowned by the lights of the stage, was the sense of connection between souls.
These bonds are forged over a lifetime; people cannot brush past each other on the street without them forming, however faintly. In Slate’s dream, it seemed they were all that remained, after the curtain had closed. It felt as if these connections were supposed to be a bright and beautiful thing.
Creak.
There was not supposed to be pain in a dream.
Creak.
But there was no other word for the bright strands that tried to connect with him, but jarred to a halt. There was no other word for the space around him that should not have been empty, but was. Was it pain, then, when a soul came looking for Caleb Swartz, and found only a splinter named Slate?
Creak.
There was no other word for a hundred memories of death being shared with him—a bullet to the head, to the heart; a Giant’s hand crushing a skull; a sum of all their final memories and regrets, connected to the boy who had cut their lives short. They had not been good men, but other connections—to a wife, a child, a mother, a husband—shone out strongly from them. They had not been good men, but they had been human. Was it pain to share the memories of the times they had been happy? Memories of washing their little boy’s skinned knee after he fell off his bike; of their first awkward date, and their mother’s thoroughly unwanted (but surprisingly good) fashion advice; of dancing with their daughter at her wedding?
“You do the shocking, I’ll do the breathing and pump. Thump, thump shock, breathe, thump, thump, shock, breath, ok?”
Slate came to understand three things very quickly, in that place.
CREAK.
He was not whole.
CREAK.
He was a murder, and a human, and so was every other murderer. But that did not change their crimes.
CREAK.
There is no fire in hell. There is only eternity with loved ones who you did not know, and the memories of those you killed.
CREAK.
Slate’s chest rose again, by the force of that puppeteer somewhere above. The lightning charges flashed; a flicker of imagination, compared to the golden connections. But the lightning did not treat him like something broken.
There is no sound in oblivion; there is no feeling. Slate clung to those intrusive sensations, and clawed his way out. Back to the place where that unwanted sixth sense can be masked so thoroughly, just by living.
The teenager on the floor gasped a breath of his own. His heart lurched back into a terrified beat. Blue eyes shot open, onto a stage of rubble, dim stars, and monkey tails that could make a boy’s ribcage creak.
Where she had been furious with Mars moments before when he made the ruckus leading up to him joining her in the middle of the rubble field, Lori was very relieved to see the red man. She nodded and scooted back to allow Mars' tail full access to the heart while she kept her hands in the proper position for shocking.
Lucky for all involved it wasn't all that long after Mars took over on lipping Slate's face and pumping his heart that the poor kid breathed a reverse death rattle and opened his eyes.
Lori sat down on Slate's thighs just as suddenly relieved and exhausted. Her eyes locked on Mars' and a thought occurred to her. Mars had come from far away. She didn't know the range on the Void portals, but she was pretty certain Mars had been outside. Or at least not close enough to suck her up inside the floating nothing.
She didn't really stop to think about it. She just punched Slate. In the face.
It didn't matter that he'd been dead moments before, she was going to kill him now. Because this was his fault. Only, the moment her loose fist connected with Slate's cheek, the strangest sensation ran up her arm. Tingling. Tingling and biting and loose and holy frick ow!
Lori rolled off of Slate and toward Mars, her elbow connecting with the floor much sooner than it should have and with a much more metallic sound. She writhed for a moment, curling into a little ball around her arm to protect it against the sudden intrusion on her well being.
A slightly used fork stuck out of the back of her elbow like an exclamation point, the prongs deep enough that it had to be partly embedded into her funny bone. A small voice squeaked out from between her knees. "Why couldn't you just cut the damn wires?" She wasn't nearly as intimidating with her gas light blinking empty. She was always meeker when low on power. Being curled into a little ball on the floor wasn't helping her machismo much either.
A sigh of relief as Slate opened his eyes, he had hoped if he simply kept the parts moving the healer’s body would do the rest, if it worked for mere mortals well it was bound to work out for the boy Lazarus.
He sighed and let out a quiet “thank goodness.” He looked to the woman he had brought her to be healed and it looked like she was, how you thanked someone for saving you months of recovery by almost killing them he had no idea. It was about that time that she punched him in the face.
“What the hell?” Mars exclaimed more surprised than reprimanding. If slate could handle electricity to the power of knocking buildings over, he’d survive a punch in the face.
“What exactly passed between you two back here?” He knew slate in a way that made him error on the side of stability, but then again he was young…perhaps it was a misunderstanding of sorts? Or perhaps his…not his girl friend…not his lady….not his FB…Charge? Perhaps Charge simply was in a bad mood.
She wouldn’t be hitting him again, he wouldn’t let her for now until he figured out what was going on anyway.
~~"Why couldn't you just cut the damn wires?"
The sound of her voice stopped that thought in its tracks, so vulnerable. He hadn’t seen that in person. He knew it was there, but he hadn’t seen it this close.
He took full stock of the dangerous woman there turning in on herself out of stress and what he thought might be a low supply of energy. He leaned over and caressed one arm whispering in the ear of the other. "deep breathe." once she listened to him his other hand would be removing the fork from her arm, he wouldn't have liked his odds on surviving it if she were at full power, but with the limited juice that she had, he was a bit more comfortable. with a quickness he closed on the metal, which was covered in crimson liquid near the pronges and from there let an open current...that didn't give him much more than joke buzzers worth of hello, he held for a second and then removed the fork with as much care and speed as he could manage. it more than likely could have felt worse, but it probably couldn't have felt good.
He glanced around the room and spotted a pair of rubber ended grips and new exactly what they were before the tool end was brought out from under the debris. He moved toward Lori and gently took her hand, he studied them briefly and wondered how they had got there, he was already understanding the why they were there, she being who she was… “ How close do you want them cut.” He glanced again at slate to make sure he was catching his breath…how was he going to make this up to the young man, he felt terrible…so long as he didn’t have it coming, and it was hard to believe he did…if he did well he would be making the rest of this place look much the same…however the fact that Lori looked desperate as slate was dying made him think all the fault wasn’t on the healers side.
He glanced over to the young man and then back to the task at hand. "You back with us?"
Sensations returned to Slate slowly. There was some sort of weight on him—a moment later, he was able to be more specific: there was a weight on his upper legs. It was vaguely warm, and not heavy enough to be unpleasant. He blinked his blue eyes slowly, attempting out of reflex to focus upon what it was. It was... somewhat lighter in color than their dark surroundings. Flesh colored, he noted, as it moved closer. Much closer.
Thwumpah!
This is the sound of cartilage springing back into its proper place. Never having heard it before, Slate did not know what it was. He had time to blink in a vaguely questioning manner before a dull pain registered with his nose.
>> “What the hell?”
Huh. That had... hurt? Yes. That seemed right.
>> "Why couldn't you just cut the damn wires?"
The voice was somewhat familiar. He responded more to the sound than the words; he tried to turn his head in their direction. Blink... blink. The hazy lump of flesh tones was just beginning to define itself into a woman when it was overwhelmed with red. Moving red. This set back the identification process by a few moments.
>> "You back with us?"
The voice helped. It sounded different than the last one: that helped the red blur to separate off, and focus itself into another person. A very large one.
“Abyss?” The teenager croaked. No. That... wasn’t right. Abyss hadn’t been here. The one who had brought the bad thing was—“Mars?” He tried again. “I thought you left.”
His arms shuffled against the floor for a second, but his body didn’t seem to want to move. It very much did not wish to move into a more vertical venue. The tile floor felt good, in any case. Smooth. Cold. Slightly... rubbly. His eyes tracked the movement of a red hand, with a familiar pair of wire cutters that looked distressingly drowned in the man’s broad grip. Did they need rescuing? No; no, Abyss wouldn’t hurt them. Neither would Mars.
The wire cutters were moving towards the woman. She was... “Lori?” He asked, tentatively. “Did you... blow up my Labs? And—” What was the word? “—punch me?”
‘Overkill’ was another word, but it would not have fit. Grammatically speaking.