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.
The last of the green tea made its way into her cup. Lenna raised her glass and nodded to the waitress. "Bottoms up!" The tea cup clinked back down. One gulp was all it took. Lenna swept her fork along the plate to scoop the last of the sweet and sour sauce onto her piece of pork. She brought the fork to her mouth, then set it back down on a clean plate. The meal was complete. Lenna raised an arm to proclaim "Check, please!"
Service was swift. Tip money found its way to the table top, and Lenna found her way to the front desk. She paid.
Bells jingled on the front door as she left.
~*~
The hands on her watch didn't lie. Lenna stood outside the predetermined Chinese restaurant waiting for Slate at the set time. She'd timed her meal perfectly, down to the last bite. The building behind her was tanned stucco with strips of red zigzagged across the restaurant's side. A neon sign overhead flashed the words 'good food'. A Chinese dragon wrapped its body around the sign's edge.
Lenna wore a black leather coat and a pair of black jeans. Underneath the coat, a bulletproof vest hid. Her hair was cut in a brown bob. Hints of mango shampoo trailed amid the scent of sweet and sour grease.
A black limousine rounded the corner and pulled up in front of her. The driver nodded curtly, and Lenna returned the acknowledgment with a two-finger wave. She looked at her watch again.
It was not a matter of being late. It was, simply, a matter of differing watches. When Slate parked the weather-beaten jeep in the restaurant’s parking lot, he was ten minutes early by the jeep’s cracked-face clock. It had been a long drive, but he had left the village with ample time to reach civilization, and the rendezvous point for his meeting with Lena.
He stepped out of the jeep, lifting up his hand in a wave that he had observed as being quite amiable, when others preformed it. In addition to Lena, there was a black limousine waiting. This was to be expected: the true meeting place was somewhere else. Drug lords were not known for making their exact location an easy matter to know. The Kabal’s Leader had taken standard precautions; it was not as if he had told no one he was coming, nor who he was meeting. He was not counting on needing those precautions, however. If Senor Cortez wished him dead, there were more direct methods than this.
“Hello, Ms. Lena,” the teenager said, with his best attempt at a smile of greeting.
"Mr. Slate," Lenna nodded. She politely returned the smile. If he was making the effort, she would at least reciprocate. The brunette gestured towards the limousine with a sweep of her hand. "Shall we?"
A man exited the vehicle, wheeling around to pop open the door for them both. Lenna slid past the man without a word, and claimed her seat in the back. The limousine was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, with beige interior and red carpeting. It was shorter than the average stretch limousine, built for parties of less than three. Cortez had decided it'd be bad show to send a lengthier Lincoln Town Car. There would be far more space between parties in that vehicle, and excess space didn't promote communication. A small cooler sat in his affixed location ahead of the back seat, at arm's reach. Two bottles of fine vintage wine sat chilling, held in-place by ice in a basin.
Lenna glanced out her tinted window at the parking lot on her right. The weathered Jeep Slate had chosen to arrive in was quite visible, quite dinged up, and quite… interesting, she smirked. He had unique tastes. She’d give him that. Or he couldn’t drive, and had crashed the car into a tree. She’d give him that, too.
"How was the ride over?" Lenna turned to make smalltalk as Slate took his seat. The door shut behind him, and the driver walked around the side of the car to retake his seat. The limousine began to move. Classical violin music played low in the background.
((ooc: Feel free to get us to the place where for the action is to be occurring. I’m all for skipping long car rides, generally. ))
Slate’s eyes wandered the interior of the car curiously. This was the first he had been in a limousine, that he recalled. He had seen them, of course—there were some in the Mondragon Labs garage. They reminded him of elongated Hearse cars: he had never had any particular urge to sit in one. The back seat of this one was quite comfortable. He wondered how it compared to a real Hearse.
>> "How was the ride over?"
“It was quite pleasant,” the teenager replied absentmindedly, his eyes settling on a small refrigerator. Why would a refrigerator be in a car? “I saw a deer, but I did not hit it. I believe I am getting better at driving. Yourself?”
"Nothing of note," Lenna shrugged. "Did a bit of reading, studied your company." She glanced back at him with a small smile as the car rattled on. "I had no idea you actually owned a company. I suppose I should've expected as much." It contributed to the whole 'helpful benefactor' routine, after all. "Congratulations on your recent promotion to CEO." She added.
~*~
The limousine drew to a stop at the end of the road, then turned right. City whipped by on the other side of glass. Few other words were exchanged on the car ride to the drug lord's home. For now, pleasantries would do.
As the black Rolls Royce pulled up to the Summer home, Lenna ran her finger along the windowsill aimlessly. The driveway in was far too long... from the iron gate at the bottom, all the way up to the crest of the hill, lion statues stood in guard. The driveway capped in a cul-de-sac surrounded by shrubbery. Through the window on Lenna's right, a chalk-white two-story building was visible. Its roof was made of reddish tiles, its windows tinted sea blue. A guest house broke off to the left of the house, the reflecting pool and gardens to the right.
The car pulled to a stop, and the driver got out. He went around to Slate's side and popped the door, holding it open for the blue-eyed boy. Lenna slipped out her own side with the ghost of a sigh. She walked around to Slate's side of the car and bowed her head politely. "Please, follow me."
As she led the youthful leader up the front sidewalk of Cortez's mansion, two guards nodded in recognition and stepped aside, making way. They'd been briefed on this. They were to show Cortez's young guest the utmost respect. Their guns lowered noticeably, garnering a possible eye-raise. Lenna brushed past them icily, giving them neither time, nor day. If she didn't act as if it mattered, maybe the idiots would take note and stand guard a bit less obviously next time.
The two made their way across the red-carpeted hallways to Cortez's office at the end of the hall. She stopped in front of gold-edged double doors, hands clasped behind her back as she regarded Slate. "Cortez waits beyond these doors." Good luck. Lenna turned and opened the door, holding it open. After he'd slipped through, she followed him into the room.
Cortez stood at the office's window, massive and looking outwards. At their appearance, he turned and approached. His big hands struck outwards for a rough handshake with Slate. The smile on his face was obvious. "It is good to meet you. I am Cortez."
He stood thick and muscular, with rounded cheeks, wiry black hair, and sunken brown eyes. A comical black mustache stood out on his face. For a man of his status, he certainly looked well-fed. Dressed in a creme business suit with a red cravat and black shoes, he cut a striking image. A jeweled cane leaned against the side of his desk. It glinted with shine equaled by the jewels on his right hand. A ruby ring stood out on Cortez's middle finger. A gold tooth glinted in his grin.
On either side of his desk, a guard stood, arms crossed. On the right, the redheaded guard in casual khaki board shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt stood. On the edges of his elbows, blackened exhaust ports were visible. They also stuck out on the back of each calf. On the left, a man with dark hair and a squared face stood in perfectly-groomed professional Armani. Everything about him was straight and to the point, except his face. That twisted and bent at multiple angles drastic enough to remind anyone of a Picasso painting.
Lenna did her best to slip into the background. She caught the redheaded bodyguards eye with its noticeable glint. Picasso was impassive. Cortez turned to Lenna, massive smile on his face. "And Lenna. Thank you for introducing us. Have a seat." The drug lord gestured to a pair of comfortable red-and-gold satin chairs. Lenna didn't sigh. She merely seated herself, knowing deep in her heart he'd never let it go.
The house was rather nice, as two story buildings go. The lawn was very expansive. There were more statues of lions than Slate had found typical, in either Colombia or New York, and fewer armed guards than he was used to. Though perhaps he was the atypical one, in that case. The teenager gave the pair on duty outside an amiable nod, to make up for his guide’s ice. They were only doing their job, after all. Just as, presumably, Lenna was.
>> "Cortez waits beyond these doors."
“Thank you,” Slate said, as she held the door for him. The man inside was quite a bit larger than the teenager. Jewels glinted in gaudy abundance; a black moustache felt rather out of place, as if it had been glued on.
>> "It is good to meet you. I am Cortez."
Slate accepted the handshake, and accompanying rough treatment. “The pleasure is mine, Senor Cortez. I hear you are interested in aiding my rebuilding project?”
Two body guards, both obvious mutants. It was a rather disjoint show of insecurity, from the large, confident man. Slate gave them both a small, acknowledging nod. The one in khakis rather reminded him of Charles’ attitude; the one in the suit was more akin to Nigel’s formality. The teenager did not mind their presence. It hinted, strangely, at how much control of this situation Cortez was attributing to the teenager. Curious.
>> "And Lenna. Thank you for introducing us. Have a seat."
Slate sat himself down easily, baby blue eyes looking up at the man, waiting for this dialogue to begin.
"Yes," Cortez nodded, as he walked around to the other side of his desk and sat down. Fingers steepled like an arrow's head in front of him as he spoke. With every word of interest, the arrowhead tilted forward towards Slate. "That is why I called you here. To discuss your goals. Lenna told me, in too many words," He did not wink at Lenna. Lenna did not blush at the insinuation. She was far too old to be embarrassed by a blatant statement of fact. "what aim you have in Columbia. You wish to build a school that can stand the test of time, and you wish to see Columbia 'heal itself'." Another 'not-wink' Lenna's way. "By which we assume you mean that while building a school is great and admirable, you wish the people of Columbia to learn from their mistakes and do something better with their lives than fight each other needlessly in an endless war. You wish this school to be a single step towards lasting peace in the region. That's what Lenna tells me you said in your conversation." He gave Lenna a bastard's smirk. "But I don’t trust secondhand information. I prefer to hear things straight from the source. What are your goals in Columbia? Tell me about yourself.”
Oh, if Lenna only had the chance she’d reach across that table and throttle him. All her hard work disregarded at the bat of an eye.
>> “That is why I called you here. To discuss your goals. Lenna told me, in too many words,"
Lenna was quite the verbose speaker, from Slate’s own experiences. He decided that ‘sympathy’ was an appropriate feeling for Cortez’ ears.
>> "what aim you have in Columbia. You wish to build a school that can stand the test of time, and you wish to see Columbia 'heal itself'."
The man looked to Lenna, perhaps for confirmation: Slate himself gave a small nod.
>> "By which we assume you mean that while building a school is great and admirable, you wish the people of Columbia to learn from their mistakes and do something better with their lives than fight each other needlessly in an endless war. You wish this school to be a single step towards lasting peace in the region. That's what Lenna tells me you said in your conversation. But I don’t trust secondhand information. I prefer to hear things straight from the source. What are your goals in Columbia? Tell me about yourself.”
The man did not trust secondhand information? That seemed both wise, and odd, all at once. The vast majority of Slate’s information came second hand. It was very hard to exist everywhere at once, after all, and there was no guarantee that information gathered face to face was any more complete or accurate. A demonstration, perhaps.
The teenager gave another nod. “What Lenna told you was quite true, Senor Cortez. My company is doing quite well, at the moment. I have decided to put a portion of our resources towards bettering the world. The timing of the school’s destruction, unfortunately, fit with the timing of my decision; Colombia’s history rather speaks for itself, as a reason to help here.”
“As a fellow businessman, what vision do you have for Colombia’s future?” The Kabal’s Leader asked, looking quite easily at the large man across the desk.
>> “As a fellow businessman, what vision do you have for Colombia’s future?”
“Peace,” Cortez replied simply, then elaborated. “Our goals aren’t quite as far off as it seems. That’s why I fear for your plan. Something must indeed change, or all our efforts will do is place a band aid on the wound. I can only give so much help to the victims of the war. Little changes in their attitudes. Life goes on. That’s why I was curious what we could accomplish together to steer the people of Columbia towards a brighter future.” Cortez replied sincerely. His eyes almost looked… soft as he spoke. This was the man that taught Lenna how to lie.
Her eyes betrayed nothing, but inwardly she was rolling on the floor. What was he after? Where was he leading? This masked banter would lead them everywhere and nowhere all at once. Where was the good?
“Tell me… if you were to go about it, how would you bring about the change in the hearts of a nation? Given all the money and time in the world, of course.”
And there it was. Of course.
“Oh, and free reign given to be as ridiculous as you want with the suggestions. We’re serious folk. We can be hypothetical here.”
He tapped a box of cigars pointedly, nudging one from its case. He proffered the box to Slate politely.
>> “Tell me… if you were to go about it, how would you bring about the change in the hearts of a nation? Given all the money and time in the world, of course. Oh, and free reign given to be as ridiculous as you want with the suggestions. We’re serious folk. We can be hypothetical here.”
The brown-haired teenager tilted his head to the side, as if in thought. Hypothetically speaking, if anything was possible?
“I would legalize coca, in all of its forms—cocaine included amongst them. I would do this in every country. It is the illegality of the drug that makes it so profitable, and which causes so much turmoil. Alcohol and tobacco are similarly destructive drugs, used by a wider percentage of the world, yet wars are not fought over them. Colombia’s war ceased to be about political ideals long ago; it is a war over drugs, and the money they bring. Legalize the drug, and you cut the war by its throat. This is what I believe.”
Such a global change in law—and in cultural perceptions—was beyond his resources, though. That is why he had to make his opening moves on such a smaller, more petty scale.
“What would you do, Senor Cortez? Further, what have you already done?”
A cigar was offered his way. “No thank you,” the teenager said, politely waving it back into its box. “I cannot heal lung cancer.”
“You mean, besides the ‘legalization’ thing?” Cortez tapped his cigar coarsely. His next words came around the casing of the smoke. “Hypothetically, I’d brainwash the nation into thinking what was right for them was to cease their pointless war. And while I was at it, I’d change the laws to make things easier for all sides, and give a speech wearing a really cool hat.”
The image of Cortez in an awful ten-gallon hat galloped through Lenna’s mind.
“Not so hypothetically… hrm… well, it really is hard to get a nice Cuban legally. I’d lobby for something like that, maybe… nah. Something more like this:” The look in his eyes flashed dangerously. “I would enter the country under the guise of peace, sweet-talking my way through all the formalities while secretly spreading my influence throughout all tiers of society. Like a cancer. You know that kind of cancer you eventually get better from? Not that. And then once I had my hooks dug throughout the nervous system of the nation, I’d get them to do what was right for the good of the many. For the good of themselves. Forget free will. I’d—”
He stopped to light the tip of his Cuban with a lighter shaped like a gun. Awful rude of him to start smoking in front of a three-year-old. If he’d only known the faux-pas.
“But, I guess that’s also hypothetical. Isn’t it?” He smirked at Slate through a puff of smoke. “More seriously this time. Let’s drop the hypothetical. What do you see as the necessary route to take here, and what would you do to pursue?”
Lenna shifted uncertainly. It was a bold move. And quite possibly, stupid. Then again, she was the one who'd blabbed to Slate the true nature of Cortez's work.That hadn't stopped Slate. How strange that it hadn't stopped Slate... her eyes narrowed conspiratorially.
>> “Not so hypothetically… hrm… well, it really is hard to get a nice Cuban legally. I’d lobby for something like that, maybe… nah. Something more like this: I would enter the country under the guise of peace, sweet-talking my way through all the formalities while secretly spreading my influence throughout all tiers of society. Like a cancer. You know that kind of cancer you eventually get better from?”
(Slate didn’t, actually. All cancers were fairly deadly, were they not? That had been his impression of them.)
>> “Not that. And then once I had my hooks dug throughout the nervous system of the nation, I’d get them to do what was right for the good of the many. For the good of themselves. Forget free will. I’d—”
It seemed that they thought alike. Though where Slate was somewhat disturbed by the moral implications of his commands, the man across the desk seemed to quit relish it. It was, in fact, rather odd for the man’s ‘hypothetical’ speech to align so closely with certain events. Had Slate made another mistake, somewhere? Bacchus did not know much; neither did Roland. The other Kabal members were not as unstable. If those two had been bought over, however (or bought drinks, in the case of the esteemed giant), the man could have gleaned enough to start suspecting something. But not that.
How very odd. A head tilt, and a mental dismissal; if it was truly hypothetical, that’s what it was. If it was a guess, that’s all it was. If it was based upon some leaked facts, then the man’s request for a meeting indicated a certain interest. No scenarios seemed truly detrimental, at this stage.
>> “But, I guess that’s also hypothetical. Isn’t it? More seriously this time. Let’s drop the hypothetical. What do you see as the necessary route to take here, and what would you do to pursue?”
“I would start precisely as I am, Senor Cortez,” Slate stated simply. “And I would continue as I am: by trying to establish sympathetic contacts within the organizations that drive your nation’s war, and open lines of communication between them and the government.”
Slate’s arms rested on the chair arms, the hands relaxed. “Are you willing to lay down your arms—and order your people to do the same—to aid your country, Senor Cortez? Are you willing to put your resources towards fixing the things that have been broken? As I asked previously—what have you done to help Colombia?” There was nothing accusing in the teenager’s level tone. His words were simply words; let them be what they were.
"Why, I've given work to all the people. All the soldiers and the drug dealers and crack whores on the streets. And it seems my little Lenna here blabbed about some key information while she was down in that little mindwash campus you've been setting up."
The pulse in Lenna's neck quickened. She could already feel the impending shock of reprimand. This was not good. "You're being too bold, Cortez! I thought you just wanted to talk with him. See what was up. Hasty accusations don't get you anything you could possibly wa—" Her voice trailed off with a guttural grunt. Oh, there was that eclectic electric boogaloo boogieing through her veins. Lighting persuasion for her to shut up.
Cortez jerked a thumb and the guards on either side swarmed in to restrain Slate. Each gripped an arm, forcing it down to the chair. Their free arms tightened on his shoulder as Cortez turned around. He released the grip on the remote, and Lenna’s neck slackened. She flopped back in the chair like a fish. Her eyes were glassy.
“Now… I know that seemed rather hasty right there. It was a bold move, I know. But the allegations you just made against my character… that was a gambit as well. In Chess, those can be strategic. You sacrifice a minor piece in order to gain advantage. But right here, you’re the only piece around. And my allegations towards you—” Cortez glanced over his shoulder, brown eyes serious as a sunset during nuclear winter. “Are founded on something a bit less fastidious than the word of another. You see, I’ve been sending men to check out that little school-building project you’ve been working on for quite some time. The occasional contractor here or there, a soldier with a broken wrist, a worker who inevitably, and to no fault of my own, severed his thumb… and each one was equipped with a wire and a small camera just out of sight. Well, we didn’t catch sight of much beyond the occasional overheard conversation between you and your subordinates. Nothing too incriminating. Still… the men who’d been injured suddenly rearranged their values a few days after they’d met you. I knew these men personally. They wouldn’t change their schedules for something as trivial as that. Not when I’d called them off and ordered they break contact after their initial interests had supposedly waned. They persisted, even… despite my orders. Tell me, Slate… Lenna… doesn’t that make it seem as if something’s up?”
Lenna saw red. He’d lied to her. She’d known in her heart in her heart it was more than he’d been saying. That wasn’t important. Neither was the fact Cortez had committed the act. He was CORTEZ. That’s what he did. No. Her eyes shifted towards Slate.
“… What exactly did you hope to accomplish by turning those men towards your cause. And for that matter… the hell did you do to me?” Oh god. He’d asked and she’d answered. The look of disgust on her face as she uttered those words was palpable. Just what did he do?
“Oh? Lenna too, huh? Better answer her. Otherwise, she’ll be wondering why she betrayed me as her talent burns in out in a dark room, cell by cell till she reaches her nerve’s end. Then I’ll kill her myself.” He jabbed a jeweled finger to his chest.
Slate did not make any move to resist as the body guards came forward; his arms had been relaxed on the chair, and there they remained, now with unneeded assistance piled on top. He gave a cursory glance between the pain-wracked Lenna and the remote in her employer’s hand.
Calley. He did not have any particular fondness for his brother, at the moment. But people like Cortez? Those, he had been born disliking.
Baby blue eyes went back to Cortez. The drug lord looked far more worried than the scrawny teenager.
>> “… What exactly did you hope to accomplish by turning those men towards your cause. And for that matter… the hell did you do to me?”
>> “Oh? Lenna too, huh? Better answer her. Otherwise, she’ll be wondering why she betrayed me as her talent burns in out in a dark room, cell by cell till she reaches her nerve’s end. Then I’ll kill her myself.”
“You keep making me repeat myself, Senor Cortez,” the teenager said, his blue eyes cold. “I believe we have been over my aims. Let me ask you, then: what are yours? You are the one who requested this meeting.”
“My apologies, Ms. Lenna,” Slate said, turning his head to the woman; “but you are not a good person. I had hoped to fix that.” That was the truth, quite simply. What the woman would do with it was a matter for her own conscience.
Not a good person… the hell?! She jerked her face to the side like she’d been slapped. But it was true… good people didn’t kill their best friends. They didn’t get roped into missions like this where the ultimate outcome come failure was death. They didn’t… get strapped into chairs or held down against their will by armed thugs. Her right eye crept open as she noted the facts.
Right now, the two bodyguards were on Slate. She, however, was scot free. She wasn’t tied down, was she? She bit her lower lip.
“You’re wrong, you know that?” Lenna’s eyes narrowed like the flame of a Bunsen burner as she glowered at Slate. “Cortez lied to me and roped me into this. What you talked of in the tent, I believed. And if he hadn’t lied and told me all he wanted to do was talk business, I—”
“I’ve developed a bad habit of interrupting people mid-thought, haven’t I?” Cortez sneered as concurrent currents rocked Lenna’s body once more. The way the chip worked simply was splendid. It could send off two waves of energy down the spine that diverged and spread throughout the body, or it could focus it all in her head. The same head that rolled on her shoulder now, trail of drool dripping from her mouth. “Oh dear. How unladylike.” He bent to examine her chin.
Pft. A line of saliva hit him square in the eye.
Then a fist flew forward to knock the remote from the man’s grip. Lenna drove a kick straight into his shin as she dove for the control. She rolled and landed on one knee as Cortez reeled. His shoulders slumped forward and seemed to loom up as he recovered, One huff, two. Fury was in his eyes. “A mistake, girly...” His voice came out a guttural growl.
Lenna shook her head once in reply. “No. The only mistake I made here was ever working for you. I’ve decided,” Her eyes snapped towards Slate as she slid the remote into an inner pocket and drew her gun. “That you’re full of it. I’m proving you wrong. Congratulations, buster. You may just get to get a crack at fixing me after all.” She smacked a clip of .45 caliber ammunition into the Taurus PT 145 with a smirk. “But first.”
A shot rang out. Picasso fell all-too-straightly to the floor.
Cortez slammed a button on his desk with a visceral scream. “GUAAAAAARDS!!”
And suddenly, it was as-if ninja were coming out of the woodworks. Guards popped out of closets, the doorway, the window frame... everywhere. If there was a place a guard could have hid, it was full... then quickly emptied.
Lenna’s head snapped back and forth as one tumbled out of a closet, and two more walked through the double doors behind them. Okay. Maybe ‘coming out of the woodworks’ was a gross overstatement. There were three guards carrying handguns, in addition to the two from before, of which one was now dead. The redhead took a step over his fallen comrade, drawing an M9 Beretta to bear.
Lenna skittered backwards a half-step as the first shot rang out at her feet. Okay. Now came the easy part.