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.
Site adaptation by Sen, Lix, and Tempest. <3
The other side of silver is a secret word (Invite)
Posted by Martin Stein on Oct 4, 2010 9:00:05 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
The silver tower. One of the many names of the office building in downtown Manhattan that was completely covered in semi-reflective glass. People in the outside, the surface, they were walking in the streets. And on the walls of that building. Ordinary people. Everyday it was the same. They were walking, a constant string that hugged the streets at all but the most dreadful hours. Right now, the massing was exceptional. Midday. People were leaving for lunch. Coming back. Never mind the tourists adding their own sounds and smells to business as usual.
The young man was clothed in a gray suit, expensive, but not too much for the surroundings was mustering himself, his reflection, like so many others using the refractive space as if it were a bathroom mirror. Probably not that the architect had intended. His hair was different now. The tight fit still sat snugly. Latest fashion he was told. He had even bothered to look as if he cared in that stuffy vintage shop. Bothered to look like the young credit card child that he never was. The white dress shirt was much too tight underneath that cloth. A tie, just hanging there, around his neck, as if forgotten, slightly lopsided in the way that suggested careful trimming, adding a speck of dark, nearly black, lilac color to the ensemble was the finishing touch to that very new old Martin. He was still slightly uncomfortable under his new mask. A single bead of sweat being the tribute to his unusual surroundings. The gloves had been lost. Much too significant. A marker to track him.
He was all new and shiny. Up to the bleached, gelled hair. He was all new and still the same. He could not help but wonder. His money he had made during his double assignment at the Mansion was more than enough to carry him over a few months of living underground. As much as a loft in one of the more noble parts of the city rented under a false name was a bother. Much too flashy thing were there for his innate taste. But taste was a luxury right now. One that he had rarely been able to afford himself when he had still been living somewhat more secure surroundings. Better times in a way. This was much more like a past that stayed much too close to the surface of his fractured memory these days.
Being hunted again was... easier in a way. It felt like coming home. A home in which bullets were flying instead of questions at the dinner table. He knew this. This way of life. It was a skin made for him. Fitting tightly like the clothes. Finding a dinner table. Just follow other be-suited beings. Those puppets of the big capital letter. Spilling out of towers that looked, no matter how much silver was invested, like the gravestones they were. They were marking the end. Giant monuments to humanities odd ends. A new frontier to discover on your own. Just reading the names of wasted existences from the signs at their entrances. These new rabbit holes. Down their maw he might yet go. Corporate existence.
Mirror was still walking around in New York City from time to time. There were plenty of ways, better way, more effective ones, for continuing the search for his mother; but he was used to this one, and although he decided to follow up on the others, walking around and trusting in blind luck could never hurt anyone. And sometimes, she did it just for fun.
The silver tower, with all the reflective windows you can possibly imagine, was one of her favorite pleces to go. So many people, so many reflections, and so many ways to mess with innocent passers-by.
Like, the rich kid in the suit, for example. Who bleaches his hair nowadays anyway? Seriously. Some stuck-up young adult with daddy's money no doubt. Maya was not one for judging people. Or hurting them. Some of them were just begging to get pranked.
Slipping into his reflection as he glanced away, Maya mirrored the young man's movements. She stared back at him; he looked kinda familiar. Hasn't he been around the Mansion some time ago?... Maybe?... She smirked, and tugged the reflection of the tie into place with one fleet movement, before she returned to mirroring him. It was only maybe just the blink of an eye.
Posted by Martin Stein on Oct 24, 2010 7:13:54 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
A car was honking somewhere close by. The smell of gasoline was strong as always; it had become something in the background that now itched in his nose again People were walking around. Their reflections moved unbothered by the actions of one of their own. They had not seen. For the space of a heartbeat to one was the space of eternity for the other. It just depended on where you were seen from the dividing line that was the silver surface. Standing on edge.
If you expected an event for a long time... when it finally happened... something like peace appeared. It was not quite the same. An imitation, a semblance, an old twin. It was like the two of them in the mirror. One on the other side. Always one on the other side. Somewhere in between the pair there was a change as one was now wearing a changed tie, tightening like a garrote around the neck. The other twin was all too well aware that it was not the case with his own small strip of cloth. The one that covered his neck. A concession to culture, to fashion it was, mask like so many other things he was. Inattentive he was not. Not in this form. Nor in any other. Something found me. The thought was welcome, warm, found itself in a tight embrace. Someone. And _he had powers. Embrace the thought, your very being. You are now... officially on the line. Lifeline. Dance?
So he motioned with one hand what should have seemed strange in any other situation. Which felt odd. Hello. Come with me. That polite smile. That little smile on his lips, it had barely quivered. Nailed to the edged of his mouth with some Botox perhaps? Anything was normal here. This was New York.
Everyone was normal. Alive. Death was far away. It waited just around the next block. But as long as you ignored it you were safe. Just don't listen, you don't see, if you don't know you can be free. Emergence.
Motion. The next restaurant. A bathroom. Chinese food. The smell of Jasmine and herbs. An expensive place to smell like that. No old grease, no duck in sight. Just a restaurant. Suited beings everywhere. And he. He headed to the bathroom after nodding to the waiter. A fish tank. Slowly the inhabitants were exploring what little their existence offered them. In the bathroom there was a large mirror. And a small flower standing beside it in a pot. “So why don't you come out?” He whispered to his reflection. His hand was wandering to the flowers pot... just maybe by accident.
He spotted her. Maya smirked, mirroring his half-smile. He was not shocked, or alarmed, and didn't wave it off as some weird optical illusion. The kid was either that good, or ws used to stuff like this.
He waved. Maya arched his eyebrow, and followed, making sure to keep her real reflection unnoticed; slipping from one mirror to another, she watched him enter a Chinese restaurant. The next minute, she was in the bathroom mirror, sill wearing his reflection, smirking back at him.
>>“So why don't you come out?”
She gave him plenty of time to start doubting himself, staring back at him and mirroring his movements. Maybe he'll just think he was losing it, and leave. He didn't. She counted silently to ten before she allowed herself a smile.
"Dude, ya're talking to your reflection." Maya grinned; she knew the girl voice gave her away, but that didn't mean the game was over yet.
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 2, 2010 14:51:35 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
He did not seem to notice time passing until the answer came. A fact that very much was the truth. He simply waited with a supernatural patience offered to him by his talents. And he/she/it was still there, talking to him. He felt quite smug. Without the grinning. And without the satisfaction. Just a little bit jittery and edgy as he pronounced the next words, lighthearted as they were probably not supposed to sound. He addressed his not-reflection personally and with the gleam of something icy in his eyes, his hand having covertly found the pot of the plant. His muscles were now tensing slightly in his shoulders, posture shifting, as if he had found something on his cheek that warranted a thorough examination. “I happen to have known my reflection for a few decades.” And with that his arm whipped forward, taking the yellow flower pot with its fragrant content with it and sending it or a journey that was much too short to enter the characteristic parabolic flight curve of thrown objects. He simply threw it.
And it hit the mirror with enough force to shatter the pot in a heap of earth and little porcelain fragments. The mirror was quite neatly cracked in a star shaped pattern around the point of impact, smaller breaks, like ripples in a frozen pond, spreading outwards. HE realized that he had held his breath and let it escape to form words at the cracked silver thing. “And you're not it.” It was done. And now?
"Hey!" Maya yelled, backing into the other corner of the mirror, and losing his reflection in the process. Now she was just a teenage girl with messy dark hair and a nasty look in her eyes, and a nasty cut on her upper arm surrounded my a series of smaller scratches from the smaller breaks. Blood tainted her dark blue sweatshirt. "What the f*** did'ya do that for?!"
Most of the mirror was damaged; Maya growled and walked out of it, landing on her feet like a cat, right before the annoying bleach-haired guy. "Fine, happy now? Geez. Can't take a joke, can you."
He was weird. Well, Maya could only blame herself. You follow around a weird guy, you get a mirror broken on your @ss. That was how the universe worked. In New York City, anyway. Maya's dark eyes narrowed as she looked at his face.
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 6, 2010 8:12:22 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
And there she was, cowering at first in the corner of the silver surface which had shattered under his (rightly) provoked wrath. Young, much too young to be one of them he realized as she stepped out of the reflective surface like it was solid ground to walk on. His right eyebrow raised quite visibly at her words and somehow he managed to conjure, like a trickster who pulled a piece of string from one of his pockets, an air of cold. His eyes were, as he was quite obviously interested in them, coldly eying at the wounds she had received during the breaking. A mirrorwalker who could shatter, yes? And a very badly behaved one, too.
It was her age though, that together with her last question most tugged at his mind, pulling it away from the small room they were in right now and towards the last building he had worked at. Surely she was not... Oh... not... there was little else to consider. She was a Mansion student, though at present he was quite unsure if he had actually met her. Those days lay behind him in more than one fashion and they had already dissipated into the blurry mass that was his memory. Faded in the background an old painting, hanging on bare bricks, overshadowed by what was now, the hunt, being hunted, murder on his mind. Murder in his mind. But if she was what he thought she might be, then he had quite little choice. Seeing that she was wounded by his hand. So young. The lump deep down in his stomach formed still. That weight that said you had done something terribly wrong. And it was only the difference in age, the difference in control that was keeping him from showing that.
“Look brat, there is very little humor round these parts of town. Especially with one of your kind.” My kind... as always that little stab near his stomach as he voiced the words with the socially appropriate disdain that this mask would feel. This mask was not him. It was different. As was the gardener. “I've never seen you in my life. But that looks like it will need stitches.” And even though the words might have sounded like they were concerned, it was quite plain that they were not. Not even the blood seemed to have fazed the be-suited man in the slightest. It was more like he was eying a type of particular insect. One that was buzzing around his head and was being – as far as an insect could – annoying. Haughty he was all he could manage.
He was still... too surprised. A mansion student. And his stomach was grumbling in disapproval.
>>“Look brat, there is very little humor round these parts of town. Especially with one of your kind.”
Oh. So he was not a mutant. Just a rich brat. Good for him.
>> “I've never seen you in my life. But that looks like it will need stitches.”
And with that, Maya went down with a severe case of déja vu.
"Oh, gimme a friggin' break." she growled, rolling up the sleeve of the sweatshirt to look at the wound. It did indeed need stitches. Or DocProf. Preferably the latter. "Y'know I've got a father figure just like you. 'Hey brat, ya're a mutant, how 'bout I shoot you dead, wait no, you're injured, let's get you stitched up first.'" she grumbled in her best Rupert imitation which was probably a waste since the guy didn't look like the kind who knows Rupert. "I bet you own a poodle too."
With a sigh she opened the tap and held her arm under the cold water. The woud was not really dirty, but it eased the pain at least.
"Nevermind. So, ya have a thing against mutants or what?"
Posted by Martin Stein on Nov 14, 2010 9:48:00 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
“It seems like you have good taste in father figures.” The voice admitted, while he was still quite coldly eying the child. He would probably have found a more personal end for someone like that he thought. Guns were loud and messy, not to mention their severe disadvantage of being near-absolutely traceable. (Hence his not all too long ago disposal – the watery grave had been quite welcoming of the mans body, falling silently around him, extinguishing existence without a sound, just flowing, of a body in the cities waterways) His hands were cold and white. Innocently hanging there, at his side. They didn't look dangerous. They weren't. For most people. Not a student. No. It was plain. He would not hurt a child. Not even a willful one. Quite plain also, that the father figures' taste was quite severely lacking in his opinion. “I do not thing my potential ownership of a poodle is of any lasting concern to you.” He seemed slightly ridiculed by the notion. Nonetheless the haughtiness was still there. Right there, standing in front of him. Water was running, swirling down the pipes, red drops falling onto the white porcelain, leaving traces behind, only regretfully leaving, loosing themselves in the stream, flowing.
“No, nothing that is particularly effective, I have to regretfully admit.” He added with notes of regret. Which was, strictly spoken, quite true. He had nothing especially to combat mutants. Neither had he the will to hurt them primarily. Otherwise he could not have worked at a mutant school for so long. Little brats they were though. That didn't differ from the normal ones. Only that these brats could start exploding, clawing or become any other kind of health hazard during both a sugar high and a tantrum. Behind him the handle of the door started to move slightly. And, quite suddenly his body moved, foot slamming in front of the door, keeping it shut tightly. The person on the other side was smart enough not to push hard or even harder. They just tried once and then went away. This mess. This kid. They were his. And he wouldn't have some high nosed overpaid manager take that away from him just yet.
>>“It seems like you have good taste in father figures.”
"Tell me about it." Maya smirked, holding her arm under the tap. She'd figure out a way to bandage it sooner or later, or at least stop the bleeding, but the cold water just felt too good right now. "I never had one of my own." And she never really missed him either. At least, not until Mom went missing.
>>“I do not thing my potential ownership of a poodle is of any lasting concern to you.”
"Geez, do you always talk like that?" she grinned, glancing up at him; he was the kind of guy who just doesn't have a sense of humor. None. "Maybe you should have a pet." Or a life.
>>“No, nothing that is particularly effective, I have to regretfully admit.”
The conversation was fast getting out of hand; it was as if they were speaking two completely different languages. Maya sighed, and closed the tap; looking at the blood still seeping from her wound, she wondered what she could bandage it with. I really gotta start carryin' around a first aid kit.
Someone tried to open the door; the rich guy slammed it shut.
"Relax, I'm not gonna tell anyone you cut me." she chuckled "And my name is Maya, by the way. And I'm a mutant. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill me for either of those things."
Posted by Martin Stein on Dec 20, 2010 8:01:17 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Lack of father figure... that might have been what had made that child so strange. So... unconcerned. So different? He had not yet abandoned his strange look, professor studying insects. He had not changed very much. Just the outside was different. The inside had always been different. “Maybe I should. Or maybe I should not.” Doubt was dripping from every word. It was quite plain that he would never bother to acquire something as mundane as a pet. Maybe some exotic fish that didn’t require maintenance, but certainly nothing that his alter ego would consider a pet proper. Blood was still dripping down the sink. It seemed he had injured the kid more seriously after all. Another someone grabbed the door and shook it. His food remained steadfast.
Another one of those strange shifts in appearance, facial construction, of his head that Mirror might remember form the Mansions gardener. Slightly tilted. Bemused and not. Critical and an invitation. And something more. “I very much doubt your revelation would do you any good. The fact remains that you are what you are and to these people that should be enough.” With the right words to guide them, the right gestures they would accept him as one of their own and Mirror as the outsider he was. Group consciousness was such a fantastic thing sometimes. When you were in the in-crowd. He nodded, more to himself, as something settled in him, a plan if you wanted, or more like an idea. “I have some experience in tending wounds. Come with me if you want that dressed.” Well it wasn’t quite the snob speaking. The snob would never have done this. But the fact remained that it was a child that had been injured. And some things were not supposed to be. He looked at Mirror expectantly.
>>“I very much doubt your revelation would do you any good. The fact remains that you are what you are and to these people that should be enough.”
"Tell me about it" Maya muttered. Most of the time, she could blend in quite well, and even the gender-shifting was manageable, but that did not change that fact that s/he was a mutant and a (former) street kid, and that was more than enough for people. Stupid people.
>>"I have some experience in tending wounds. Come with me if you want that dressed.”
"'Come with me if you wanna live?'" Maya smirked at him, arching an eyebrow "That's some pickup line ya've got there." she mused for a moment about the possibilities; the wound indeed needed bandages, and she was kind of curious about the guy too. She was almost sure she'd seen him before.
"All right." she sighed, looking at the door "Let's go. You first."
Because walking out of a locked bathroom with a guy was not awkward at all...
Posted by Martin Stein on Dec 27, 2010 17:29:38 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
His head undulated to the other side, whip-crack that it was, revealed by the slightly raising eyebrows. If you know why speak about it he wanted to say, quite silently as they were. Sometimes there were many words to be made. Sometimes not. If you were bleeding then maybe not. On the other had he had made enough words for both of them. And at her next sentence followed another shift, but this time of the hands, as they erected a barrier before him, palms outstretched to face her. A cutting motion followed, finally a finality, maybe also directed at her more direct approach of social interaction. Social wargames without words. Some things tell more, are more valuable. He was not outraged it seemed. Just... dismissive. His words were also.
“I can see where a father might have been useful to you.” In much more patient notes than one might expect considering their mutual situation.
His foot finally released its position barring the door from opening, but nothing happened. He just stood there, facing the bloodied girl. They foul-mouthed brat. “I really can.” That might have been a sigh. Children. They grew up at least. He didn't.
The door was opened in a blink, he strolling out with confidence in every step, and, just in passing, gripped a passing waiter by the elbow, totally uncaring that he had to carefully rebalance the dishes in his hands. Dishes full of delicious-looking food. His head looked past him already as he spoke a few words. And left some small plastic card with him.
He then proceeded to flow out of the place. Nothing had happened. No raised voices. No screams. They just walked out. It was loud and messy. And now there was a bleeding girl more on the streets.
* * *
The journey to his residence was quite short. He nonetheless offered one of his hands – coldly staring as if to dare her to take it, to the girl. Offering. Destruction. Smiling. They would be there quickly. But questions always arose here.
>>“I can see where a father might have been useful to you. I really can.”
"Bite me." Maya muttered as she carefully wrapped her arm in the sleeve of her shirt and sweatshirt; leaving a trail of blood behind would have been quite awkward.
They walked out, and nobody made a fuss. That was a nice change of pace. Maya smirked as she followed the guy in the suit, he was very mysterious, but she was pretty sure if he wanted to hurt her he would have, by now. Unless he was one of those silent psychos who wrap you up in plastic and... well. Whatever. She'd seen worse.
He offered her a hand. Maya blinked, then rolled her eyes. If only he knew about Gawain... not many guys were ever polite with Maya, not even when they thought that she was a full-time girl. She was just not that kind of a person. She did not take his hand.
"Just to be clear, I'm in this for the bandages." she smirked, walking with him "You really don' wanna take advantage of me, I promise ya that. Mutie, remember?"
Posted by Martin Stein on Dec 28, 2010 12:14:26 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Again she was muttering. There was always muttering, was there not? And his ears were sharp enough to have made out what the girl had said as he took her out. Gracing things with comments gave them meaning. Ignoring them seemed to be the better path. In lieu of the will to cause a scene that was. Boy trying to discipline younger sister or somesuch. Nonsense.
But the implication of him and her... this time cold became icy as he stopped and turned to her. “What might make you think that you are important enough to be taken advantage of?” Every syllable was pronounced sharp and perfectly audible despite the common New York ruckus being about them. They held a sharpness now in the consonants, vowels. Europe. He was from Europe somewhere. The east maybe.
Snap. The cold went away as if broken. He turned and stalked on, turning left at the next crossing. His hand was still extended. Mutie, remember? Well... So am I. Children.