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.
Sing and dance. This bird was singing and dancing alright. Just to the sound of its own little drum. A slow simmering symphony had already begun inside Garrett's own heart. This one was a classic, as the nerves began to sway in a hive-like rhythm, preparing to affect the sisters inside the man across the space from him. " What I did to the woman. Oh yes, well i don't think the police would have had an easier time questioning you than I am. I just hope that we are done telling stories. It's becoming old." Heat was rising on his skin as his little neural warriors joined the rank and file, ready to storm the trenches and dig their bayonets into their little nerve roots.
But then, Mr. Stein finally came around. The look in his unblinking eyes echoed of surrender, but more than likely it was a ruse as to what he could really do. Fighting against unknown mutants was always a game of roulette. Where would Mr. Stein's number be? The man stood from the table, the look on his face one that Garrett recognized. " Good. I'm glad you finally came around. Now we just have to decide how it's going to happen. Unfortunately I don't know what your gift is but you don't know what I can do either. So, here we are. Isn't the tension in the air exciting? Or is it tension at all?"
No connection to a neural map, but with the preexisting condition present it made for easier pickings than a healthy body and mind. Whether Stein knew it or not, the check was already in the mail. His neural energy was reaching out, tendrils of invisible malice stretching out to find those battered and already screaming nerves inside the mauled limb. Would it push him back, the pain too much for him to fight? Or would it push him forward, like an animal, thrashing out to end the pain's source. Time would tell. Whatever the decision, the fact that each moment of thought would be dripping in pain made the guesswork all them ore entertaining.
Posted by Martin Stein on Mar 21, 2010 17:51:37 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Good Mr. Wills was being bad. As he opened his mouth to speak, Martin knew. From the looks of his face, from the pitch, from the stance. Things were going badly. Really bad. Everyones gone to war. That young man had really no idea what he was dealing with, had he? And he still was confident as to his abilities to subdue him through means of his power. True: He had quite little idea about what the neuralmancer could do, but considering that he had already conceded his analgesic powers and the fact that he did not deny sending the woman into convulsions gave him a pretty good idea. Sadly the paranoid mutant had failed the Xavier lesson on how to structure your brain if you want to get off as a correctly wired person. Or as a living person for that matter. It was just so sad, that his fearful instincts were rightly judging Martin to be a threat.
His hand wandered up to the makeshift cast around his arm, scratching around, as if there was something really buggy around the thing. Under the thing. Insects crawling on your skin. That kind of thing. And he had already moved at arms length of the man, so it wasn't that much space to cover, when he, after his searching fingers had closed around the surgical instrument in a tight grip, thrust it forward in a quick motion. He wasted neither space nor time on said action, taking his time to aim, aim well through the ages, make only slight adjustments at the course of the instrument to follow the movements of Garrett's arm, for the spoken words were progressing toward their threatening crescendo, Martin had already launched his preemptive strike, was launching it, so that its arrival concluded, just as Mr Wills concluded the last letter of the last word. And there was silence. MArtin thought about his past fights for a moment. And he pitied the mutant with the dangerous power a little. After all: He had just been severly underestimated.
The sharp implement was stuck right in the cephalic vein, found its resting place near the beginning of the upper arm at the elbow. He had not aimed for the lower radial arteries, where one usually felt the human pulse, but for one of the upper parts, the radial recurrent, where the blood for the whole appendage was entering the lower parts. A place that was readily accessible. And readily incapacitating. Of course that would make a mess. A big one. But clothing... was of no concern now. That this youth really had to be that impertinent.
As was the retribution that followed. Quite immediately. Martin grimaced, as his arm started to feel... hot. Red. Blisteringly painful. And that was only the beginning.... He was beginnign to doubt that he had been underestimated.
it didn't seem to take long at all for Stein to respond as Garrett expected he would. It seemed as if he had some kind of twitch, maybe a maddening irritation in his arm. Could his ability be so potent so fast? It seemed strange and unlikely. Unfortunately, a lesson had to be learned and the pirce was pain. This time, though, it was Garrett who was the pupil. He should have listened to the inner voice ensuring him that his gift had not reached its mark yet. The scratching was a clever ruse to allow the seconds needed to pull a scalpel from the cast. A scalpel which slid effortlessly into the crook of Garrett's elbow.
The pain was crystalline and sudden as the blade disappeared into his flesh, only the metallic handle still showing. It had hit several things, bone, tendons, but most unfortunately, some sort of artery. Garrett tried to think about diagrams he had studied for his EMT certificate, but the training was vague and it seemed distant to him. Instinctively the pain of the injury was blotted out, lessened to allow for some movement, though he suspected movement would only aggravate it.
First blood had been drawn and now it was time for Garrett to make his own mark. No reason for catchy one liners or some kind of phrase. His free arm reached out as if he were going to cup Stein's cheek. Once contact was made, all bets were off as Alice and the rabbit hole itself went swirling away. What was it like, this sensation? Already he could feel the impulses of his own body attacking those of the neural network he had forced himself upon. The signals seemed to be lost in translation. That, or there was something wrong with his mind. that idea seemed to soak in fresh irony.
The room was no longer moving, nor was anything else. It took what seemed to be several minutes for Garrett to realize that he was frozen in place, as was his adversary. he couldn't look at the clock in the room because he was still staring at the cheek of Mr. Stein. Time? Or a similar gift to his own? Either way, while Garrett knew for certain that he was frozen on the spot, he couldn't be sure about the other man. Better to be safe than sorry, he focused only on the neural system present across from him. It seemed to write itself at a slower yet steady pace, as only from his head to his shoulders was written so far. What a great place to start! Fiery red lines of anger and retaliation made their way into the system, lashing out like spiky tentacles, attaching to any and every nerve they could find.
Posted by Martin Stein on Mar 30, 2010 3:18:28 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
He was moved. Touched the knife that spilled red life on his hands. Blood on his hands. Bloody blood flowing on the sterile ground. Paintings of a life so soon. End. The cutting scene. This operation was not planned so well. Not bent on healing illness. A surgical strike. An operation to heal stupidity. He was barely qualified. Not any EMT. Where orations failed, operations had to cut the line, lifeline, did they not? Was that not what militarists prayed for in their evening opening. Their overbearing hope to go to war? It was not his. Not this. The final crossing, not of any Jordan, Styx still awaiting, silent the carrier of doom and destruction of the mind, of the dark oblivion of the forgetful waters, yet, not for him, not ever, but of the one between the Ice, the Helcaraxë of the mind, the ice that crusheth. His hand moved, just so slightly, pushing the blade home with supernatural accuracy. Hit everything he had wanted to. Wanted to hit more. Dared not hit more. It was all that he could to, would do. His lesson? Pain? Not. Touched. Moved. Please let me be moved. Moved inside. Outside. Out of the way. Just out of the way. Of harms way. I don't want to do this again. Not now. In the end.... There was a terrible rider. And its name was War.
And things went all wrong as he galloped over the plains of his domain, riding for destruction. Riders forward. Hear my call.
A hand extended, white flesh vulnerable to his touch, touch of destruction, of desolation, it would end in pain for both of them, so much to feel, so much to think. Emesis of words through his eyes it was in those last seconds before Garrets hand, the menacing one, managed to connect. Connect to him another world. We got a Hotline to heaven. Or Hell?
Blue were the jewels of his mind, the young ones, the ones that deliberately shifted, from one expression to the other, to fool the unsuspecting onlooker, the overlooker of his true nature. And all it took to be revealed was a single touch. The blue was crumbling away, falling away to unveil the sands that were his soul. The grinding dust, eternity falling, ever so much falling down with every second to continue on, seemingly endless fountains falling from the place where sight had been before, clear sight now dimmed in appearance, yet not in function. True colors, were they not? His was the almost-yellow of fresh sand. Oh wonderful beaches, breached to the mind, ever falling down, eternally..... There was a terrible rider. And its name was Conquest.
The pain. Cutting through, crushing down, waves of agony falling on his mind with every passing grain of sand, the feeling growing, not slowing down, increasing virulently in intensity singing songs of death and decay. Utter destruction. The riders were there, as he had called upon them. And they were turned on him.
Two people standing. They found two people standing. Grown ones. One with a white cast. One with a metal piece lodged in his arm. Bleeding the one. Blood falling in drops, smaller ones and larger ones. Falling on the ground where they connected with the sand that fell. Fell from the other, constant rain upon the ground. Every grain bouncing with kinetic energy upon its first arrival. Bouncing, rolling away under cover, carpets – there were none- under the equipment, sand falling into these gears.
How long the agony had been? He did not know. Luckily, he did not know. He knew though it had been too long. Away from the hands of that monster. Away from the mirror for a change? Dont look into my eyes.
They were found....
And Martin was crying. He was old. And he was in pain. And there was another terrible rider. And its name was death. He had never come that close to calling it. Not in all his life. Never.
Long red lines pumped anger and pain into Stein. They throbbed and pulsed, leaking out destruction in every expression of unpleasantness. Or the red lines leaking could easily be the precise severance of what seemed to be a major artery. The tactile pain was of little consequence in comparison to the sensation of his life blood leaving his body. With each single intake of his heart, oxygen flooded the blood, giving him life. With each push out, the toxins were pushed away to be filtered out.
Why so angry? Garrett realized he had just as much fault in the present conflict as Stein did, maybe more. His mind reached back into the past, seeking his responses prior to his stay in the Order. He hadn't always been so full of rage. His grip of pain lessened on the man as his mind experienced the shock of loss. Physically, with his blood and in a deeper way, by realizing he had lost his innocence and good nature. While it was easy to point his finger at Haywire, was the virulent substance really the cause or was it a malevolence that had already existed?
The memories and trauma of the events which occurred in the mutant camps were validated in his mind, but these endless repercussions were just ego fluffing. There was no need to further precipitate the violence that was perpetrated on him by others. He sorely missed Iris. She was a point of logic and stability for Garrett, even if she herself was a chaotic mess. The pain he had unleashed on the Mansion that night was manufactured. However, the pain he had inflicted on the psyches of friends, that had come from him and he was therefore responsible for it.
His eyes slowly moved back toward the target. The man. The living being he was exercising pain on. As slow as time seemed to pass, the neural responses were still moving along at a regular pace, considering the billions of neural messages that flow through any given person any given day. If there was a tendril attached, it released. If there was energy coursing through the system before him, Garrett ceased its course. Pain would be reserved for those deserving, not just anyone he felt threatened by. It was a juvenile response to be so automatic. Garrett still bled heartily from the wound given, but he held no contempt for the man in question. The only response that could guarantee an end to the madness was a reset. Garrett would have to use his own abilities on himself. He only hoped that the man was enough of an acquaintance of Ingram's and Sebastian's to retain mercy.
Posted by Martin Stein on Apr 7, 2010 16:52:19 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
They were found. Two men in rather awkward positions. One standing erect. The other on the floor. Fallen. Convulsing. Twitching on the ground. In an operation room. A clean room. A clinic room. And then there was the younger of the odd pair. He looked organically healthy. Technically he was only damaged a little. But his eyes were fixed at his hands. His gloved hands. The one that was visible. The other lay in a cast. He was standing stiffly. Standing attention. And they moved him carefully. Removed him. Closed hands around the hand and lead him away. Step by step. While they took care of the man on the ground, who was resting in a pile of dust. Martin was crying. Water was flowing from his eyes. He did not notice. The soft-focus effect that it cast on his little world was very welcome. Embraced. He didn't really want to see, you know? He didn't really care to see. Just didn't. Want. Any. More. They took them both.
They would lead him somewhere. Somewhere he knew. It did not matter any more. Not today. In a way. Later he would only remember being led away, out of the room in which the double torture had occurred. And he was at Mondragon Labs in the hands of a rather unpleased looking man in a white laboratory gown. His eyes were dry. The world was sharp. He was looking displeased. In fact the lines in his face were engraved in a manner that revealed this expression to be his favorite one. He was disgruntled. And he handled the cast, the makeshift one, without much care. But with a casual professionalism that spoke a great deal of his experience.
The man in white was a professional. Asking simple questions. And the other one was too. At least now he was. This mask was. This part was. And he gave answers.“What did you do?” “I got hit by a car.” No “Ohs”. No “really”s. Just a nod. It was normal. Here it was. “The other man is the driver.” “The one with the epileptic state?” “Yes.” No “Oh.” Just a tightening of the hands. A sigh of Martins. “To him your a distant relative of my mothers.” This time the hands tightened more. Pain came. A small one. Nothing to worry about after today. Not yet anyways. Not here. Wrong time. Wrong place. Who cares? Ever? He? Them?
He had a brand new cast as he settled on a plastic chair in a room in which the body of the reckless mutant was being treated by the doctor. Nothing much being done. Just prodding. And some other things. Painful probably. The needles were prepared to sting. In his heart. An atropin needle.
Garrett's eyes fluttered open, the lights on the ceiling making them sting. They began to swivel as the room came into focus. they moved over his body, which was under a sheet on a gurney. his breathing began to become rapid as memories of years spent in such a position began to trickle into his mind. When he moved, pain reminded him why he was there. The stitches in his elbow were fresh. Doctor Ingram looked down upon him, a stern look planted there.
" I'll keep this between you and I. I'd hate for Sebastian's clinic to be closed because his orderly injured someone in an accident, fled the scene with the victim and then attacked him." Garrett stared at the man, realizing his mouth had opened and remained so. " Sebastian's clinic? Okay. Speaking of, how does Stein know Sebastian? I know you two are second cousins or some other kind of jargon, but really, where is the connection?" He tried to sit up but he felt weak still. Why?" It was fortunate our men found you when they did. Even then you had lost a few units of blood. It could have been much worse. Consider yourself lucky and go back to sleep." Sleep? didn't sound terrible, but something didn't seem right. He could see Ingram nodding at someone out of Garrett's vision. The IV bag was changed. Something in the bag. Some kind of sleepy stuff. ....he would get..bottom of this..maybe a small nap first.
When he awoke, he felt different. It had been nice not to dream. Dreams were too heavy. Looking down, he was covered with a sheet. this sheet was his own, however. Looking around the room, Garrett noticed he was in his bed at his apartment. Disorientation squared. Looking to the nightstand, a vase of daisies sat waiting. He reached for the card, wincing with the pain in his arm. He let the pain remain so he didn't tear stitches, reaching with the other hand. It was a generic Get Well Soon print. Who did that? What was going on? Was it Sebastian? his mind sank back into rest though he remained awake. His visions of the future and past haunted him like ghosts at the end of the bed. Watching. Judging. He had a long way to go.