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.
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 8, 2011 13:19:53 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Henry talked to him. Angrily pointing words at him, throwing them at his feet. Where they lay, twisting in his mind. Being judged from every corner. Analyzed. Just... apart in my mind that wants to congratulate you. The part that wants to tell you “But you failed. Miserably.” And that in even notes. Just like talking over tea. Just another part that want to give you a contemptuous hug just for trying. Henrys' arms went up, just after he talked, motion rippling through his body even as the last words were being finished. Ready to crush that insolent little bug that was standing casually at his side. Yes. Casually, not even having bothered with fully looking up. Not looking into his face really as he had spoken his words of damnation. Wrought his doom. The arc of Martins arm, angling upwards, was everything, but not really normal – considering what was in his had that was – but it seemed so normal. So usual. Just as the words usually dripped off him. Coated in Teflon, maybe he was. As if he had done this a million times over, this holding a knife at peoples throats. Holding a knife to a very precise point on a throat. Arms lifting upwards, forming fists, readily crushing, the three eyed almost-boy was not even fazed, did not fear, flinch, draw back. One quick movement. Steel flickering upwards. Just then. Just casually. The movement from his wrist. Extinguishing life. Cuts on the neckline, at least those he placed, mean unconsciousness quickly. Goodbye Henry. It has not really been a pleasure to know you. But it might have been your childhood. Now finished.
Martin stepped back, eyes normal again. His hanging shirt was clinging to his chest at several places, dots of wetness forming. No. This was not part of what had just been done. This was part of what he was. This was life.
I am the Alpha and the Omega )of my people( I am the only one like me. Alone. So very alone. The knife vanished. As it was. Shimmer of red, of ruby, it went into his pocket as he turned. Turned to face the other two, feet making only slight noises on the asphalt, the Cop and the Missus (distressed). There had been a Henry once, just now, a while ago for him already. Thinking about madness again, are we not? There had been a chance of dieing. There had been danger. There had been. Just now. Ages. Just walking away from where it had been. In those steps a person used on their walk through the park. Looking around with eyes that were back to their normal steely blue-gray color. Looking not back. Just on. They were falling on the things before him. Quite unseeing.
The dog had stopped whining. Thankfully. (It was now pacing on the other side of the street, fur fluffed with anger. Tail standing up high. Unmoving.) It was not walking. It was stalking. Throwing the kind of hissy-fit that was designated for a girl. Maybe the dog was a girl. But he was not wet. Not bloodied. And most certainly not wearing the remnants-of-pants that showed scratched skin. (Did I mention it might have been more then decent?)
“You... are safe now. He did not get away.” Said the kid (murderer!) with the three eyes, now normal, walking toward them. Not even almost away. Not from the minute he had been sighted by the timemancer. The blotches of red on him, on his sagging tee (fitting the surroundings, as were his slightly sagging pants) were ignored with the same air of casualty that the killing blow had been performed. Just like that. Wounded. Hurting a bit. It was the way he was. Normally.
Strangely, he did not feel bad about the murder. Not much. It showed in his voice. In his eyes. They were gliding over the pair. The wounded pair and then went on. Focused that dog. It growled at him. And then on again. Transitions. (In my mind I said a thousand prayers. Can the same be said for you?)
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
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Married to Gemma
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May 14, 2024 14:37:17 GMT -6
Jorge
>> "..Ah... I'm alive... stop prodding at me."
“Miss? Is anything broken? Can you stand?” the concern was evident in his voice as he attempted to look the woman over to make sure that she was okay. That was a mighty hard hit that she took and if he was hurting, he was sure that she must be. His most important task was to get her to safety right now and if that meant carrying her, he would. “Come on,” he said as he knelt down. He was happy she was wearing a helmet and, even though it may have been a risk to move her, he needed her out of here so that the behemoth of a mutant could be dealt with.
But that soon would no longer be a problem. As he painfully knelt down next to her, a flurry of activity from further up in the alley drew his attention. Turning back he watched as the behemoth seemed ready to take down the much smaller, three-eyed mutant. Jorge had been hit by a super strong mutant before and he nearly broke his jaw.
“Dammit,” he growled as he shouted at Henry. “I said to freeze!!”
But the rest of what happened was too much for him to really comprehend. Henry had tried to smash the kid, tried to wipe him off the face of the earth, leaving only a bloodied heap on the concrete, but he never got the chance. As his fist fell, Jorge could have sworn he saw nothing but tiny cuts appear on his arm, as if he were trying to punch through a vat of broken glass. Next though, the kid made his move and pulled a knife.
Crap. he thought to himself.
He wanted to scream out no! To shout that this was not the way that he needed stop and not take the law into his own hands. But before the detective could even stand on his weary feet, he saw the knife go in and quickly disappear back into the pockets of the boy. Henry fell like a loose sack of potatoes. He collided hard when his face met the ground and rolled up eyes stared into the nothingness of the darkness around him. The detective could only watch in shock and awe as he stood up, momentarily leaving the girl behind, but still attempting to protect her by separating her from the three eyed mutant.
Watching him closely as he advanced, Jorge wished he had his gun. His other arm slouched down a big lower, dislocated from catching the woman. He would have to force it back into place when he was not staring down another possible opponent.
>> “You... are safe now. He did not get away.”
Jorge paused as he watched him…then glanced to the dead body. It was self-defense, Jorge knew that, but the kid had to make that statement official. Otherwise it would be counted as murder and they would have to be forced to haul him in for questioning. A breath and the detective nodded to the boy. He was at least thankful they were alive…but the law was the law.
“Thank you, for helping,” Jorge stated. “But you need to come with me and make a statement. You killed a man. You need to answer a few questions.” He said it as sternly as he could and prayed it would not come down to a fight. Especially since he was already half-useless thanks to his arm.
“Miss? Is anything broken? Can you stand? Come on,”
Stand?... She didn't even want to think about that right now. Just holding herself up on her elbow sucked. She didn't want to think about what forcing herself upright would feel like. Copper knelt next to her and she blinked at him, holding back a sarcastic, biting remark as best she could. He was only trying to help, after all...
"I'm pretty sure everything is broken... Gimme a sec and..... " Her eyes ventured over his shoulder, to where dear old Henry was about to crush the small man. "..and I..." The cop noticed to, and turned away from her to do his cop-y duty.
Oh sure, just leave me here. Turn away! I'm not dying or anything... Her back screamed in pain as she forced herself a little higher. Megan winced and sucked in a breath through her teeth. Oh, that was going to leave a mark... she had been incubating a new batch of spiders back there... According to how it felt, not many were left. A whole new reason to hate the big ugly woman tosser. Lifting her eyes, she raised her palm to wipe at her eyes, an attempt to wipe away all of the makeup that was leaking down her cheeks. She succeeded in only making herself look Emo without knowing it.
Henry fell as she watched, little spurts of crimson pulsing out of his neck as he dropped like a log... and Megan felt like revenge had been served. The princess had been saved from the dragon, which had then been justly slain. All was right with the world...
Except the excruciating pain she was in, of course. That was not right. Not. At. All. The twenty four year old grumbled to herself, eyeballing the new figure as he walked forward to join them. Or rather, join the cop. Megan couldn't help but feel forgotten and mistreated. Laying sprawled out in god knows what, god knows where, with the worlds biggest headache and...oh, what was that? Sirens. She could hear sirens in the distance. Perfect. She listened to what the cop said, take you in, questions, questions, and rolled her eyes skyward.
"Just fine down here... really. Not in pain at all! Just peachy. Would someone mind getting me a strawberry daiquiri? ... with maybe a little pink umbrella in it? Oh... talking kind of hurt. She was going to stop now. Turning her grumbles inward, she turned her attention instead to figuring out what hurt most, and where. God... what wasn't hurting?
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 13, 2011 15:01:08 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
His head turned sideways a bit, changing position. All three eyes now fixed on George. What one saw, in the beyond, was now whole again, was now, in a sense, back to normal. The things before him were not. An arm hanging down on the cop, floppy, lifeless. It gave him the air (and appeal) of a badly manhandled toy. He was just being loved too much. Much too much love does hurt. “I do not think I need to come anywhere with you.” His words were quite even, emphasis on the need only slight, only nuances that were left to roam free in the close between them. Just in between them. And the woman. She was no threat, but Missus was now much safer then before at least. Things were different now. The world was different. Had stopped turning. For some. His head shifted to the side, inclining, as if George was a particularly interesting piece of machinery. Maybe an interesting case of fungus under the gaze of a Biologist. There was something wrong?
Dancing movements again. (Am I intruding?) Just flowing forward, to you. One hand on the cops appendage. The broken one. (Yes, you are defective, Detective!) Martins wiry frame was not very strong. It had to be enough. Just placing a hand here. Just so and so, just placing the other one there. His fingers were feeling their way over his arm. Over the cloth, fanning. Just looking along, tactually. And with a lightness that might be surprising. Or not. Given the fact of Henrys demise. They skidded a bit, his fingers. Pressed harder. No open fracture. This was good. And then there was a sudden, jerking movement as Martin tried, in the way that he had learned long ago – in a course on treating soldiers in the field – to move what had been displaced back into its native position. Just like that. If it worked, the pain would lessen after a sharp spiking bite. If not... it would be worse. After a sharp spiking bite. Well... oops. Also speaking, even tones, blue eyes watching (YOU!): “Well maybe this works... – Oh yes... I will come with you I guess.” Just because... just because I can. There is nothing you can do to me. You are quite... (h)armless after all. Armless. And I still can use my skin. My dreadful skin.
Why he hadn't done so with Henry? Because he could. (Also: Because of people having been thrown at him. That was not good.) Ooops. It seems now Mr. Cop got a bit of blood on him. From the hug. The almost hug. (Which might have made the Officer scream. Had he screamed?)
He looked down on the third party. (Part of their party, throwing.) Missus looked quite appropriately horrible after her ordeal. And was apparently not positively flustered, that she had been spared the 'face, meet wall' moment. She even got a 'face, meet man' moment in return. Some people might have been glad. About the man. About the not-unprettied face. This particular toy, apparently, was of the black-and-grisely variety. With a pinch of snark. It had, also, been given too much love. (Also: Too much hair on her teeth.*) The fact that she looked slightly sickened, lying there on her elbow, made him think of roman reclining chairs. Only that this chair was a ragged looking slap of pavement. (Dirty pavement). He wondered if it smelt down there at all. And why she chose to lounge there like the Queen-of-dirty-pavement. Also: In ruined pants. (For which he might, just might, be responsible. Well, now he could say, that he had ripped her pants off a woman. Needless to say, that he never would. But he could.) Good evening, your Majesty.
“Maybe they have Daiquiris at the Station.” That sounded dry. Like Martini served cold. A nudge of the head was meant to indicate a question to the Officer in attendance. A very small nudge. Sirens in the distance. They were coming closer. But the decision to remain had been made by him, was not made for him. I am free here. Just not free of you. “But most certainly they have an Aspirin.” Yes. I do care for you. A bit. Have I just done something weird? Killed someone? Assaulted an Officer without a gun? Just standing here, he was, like nothing happened. Chatting. He looked so normal. He sounded so normal. Except that he was slightly bloodied. (Those splotches of his chest were growing still) “They will also have a washcloth, which, in turn, might be pink. For your face.” All dry like Martini. Was Martin ever amused? Did he get the joke? Probably. Not.
= = =
*I do not know whether the idiom translates into English, but yes, in German you can make the non-compliment to a person of saying they have “hair on their teeth”. You may snicker now as you try to puzzle out the meaning.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
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Married to Gemma
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May 14, 2024 14:37:17 GMT -6
Jorge
Jorge had given his order. He needed the man to come with him. Yes, he helped take down the muscle bound mutant, but he killed him. That could be seen as excessive force but most will probably see it as nothing more than self-defense. Either way though, the kid needed to come with him in order to get everything squared away. He really did not believe that was the kid was going to injure anyone else, he had simply been trying to help; at least that is what it looked like. He hoped he was not wrong about that.
>> "Just fine down here... really. Not in pain at all! Just peachy. Would someone mind getting me a strawberry daiquiri? ... with maybe a little pink umbrella in it?[/color]
The detective silently rolled his eyes. Well, that seemed to prove that was definitely going to be fine. Though she did need to be checked out by the paramedics, he had a feeling she was going to be fine. But before he could reestablish his attention on her, the three eyed kid gave him an odd look as he walked up.
>> “I do not think I need to come anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you do,” Jorge insisted. He did his best to assert his authority but with his ragged look and his arm hanging limply at his side, there was little Jorge could do to not look like a beaten up old man. Still, he did his best to carry his voice forward. “Listen, you killed a man. You need to officially have your side of the story recorded so–”
Before he could continue, the man walked up and Jorge attempted to hold his ground. He had been in face-offs before so he was not shy in the least. What he was not ready for, though, was when the kid reached out and very carefully began to touch and look over his arm. Jorge merely took it as concern as he watched the three-eyed mutant look. He was about to assure him that he was fine…when the sudden grabbing and hard shove of his arm commenced.
POP!
“AGGHHHH F–!” the detective yelled out as he stumbled back a bit, away from the kid and began reached up with his good arm to rub his sore one. For second he believed that he had really been trying to harm him, but as he reached up and rubbed his arm, he noticed that it was sore, but it was at least beginning to feel better. He shot the three-eyed mutant an quizzical glance before he nodded his head. “Thanks.”
>> “Well maybe this works... – Oh yes... I will come with you I guess…Maybe they have Daiquiris at the Station.”
“Thanks for gracing me with your presence,” Jorge mumbled when suddenly the sound of sirens filled the air. At the mouth of the alley he could already see the flashing of red and blue lights. He glanced back to both of the survivors of this ordeal. “Wait here, okay? I’m going to bring them to you two. You,” he said referring to the girl on the ground. “Just, stay there? Don’t injure yourself anymore by moving. The ambulance will be here to look you over. And you,” he nodded to the man with the hidden knife. “Just…sit tight.”
With that Jorge jogged to the edge of the slimy grounded alley, moving closer to Henry and attempting to not look at him directly. His arm was cut to hell and his throat had a nice large stab wound in it. That three-eyed mutant was a good shot, Jorge had to admit. He just hoped he wouldn’t find himself on the opposite end of that knife any time soon.
>>“Maybe they have Daiquiris at the Station. But most certainly they have an Aspirin."
Great. Aspirin. So much better than a stiff drink. She rolled her eyes. "I should only be so lucky." She replied back, matching his dryness as best she could. >>"They will also have a washcloth, which, in turn, might be pink. For your face.”
Her nose wrinkled and her would have flushed if she weren't so damn tired. Yes, she probably looked like hell. Yes, her makeup was ruined. Yes, she felt like crawling over on her stomach just so she could stab the dead guy some more. Oh, wait... he hadn't mentioned that. "Rather have a shower..." She muttered, raising an arm to wipe at her eyes again.
“Just, stay there? Don’t injure yourself anymore by moving. The ambulance will be here to look you over."
Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she simply nodded and let her chin rest on her chest. Tch, like she had much of a choice. It was either sit here, or stand and fall flat on her face again when her legs gave out. Or god forbid, when Henry rose from the dead long enough to send her into orbit again. Picking at her neatly shredded pants, she inspected just exactly how far they had been sliced and diced, and where. Oooh. boy. She'd be flashing people bits of rainbow colored boy shorts until changed. She saw a scurry of black bodies come at her from out of the shadows, and pursed her lips in a grumpy frown. Blue eyes looked up at her, as concerned as spiders could get. She wasn't as sympathetic. "Lotta' help you guys were!" The spiders flinched back, before retreating into the shadows. Mother did not wish their company...
She watched as blue lights and sirens came screaming around the corner, just as the officer had said. Three paramedics separated from the growing crowd, heading down the alley. One stopped to look over the three eyed boy, while the others stopped at her side. Two relatively young paramedics. It was the first time in her life she realized, while getting picked at by two concerned (and cute) paramedics, that she was actually happy to see a squad of police officers. "Are you alright?" Turning her head, she batted her eyelashes (or tired to, while wincing at the action of turning said head) at the thirty something cutie kneeling next to her. "...Oh, My neck hurts something fierce, and I feel a little dizzy..." Milk it Megan, milk it for all it's worth.
The guy shot his partner a look, before helping Megan gently to her feet. With the support of both men, she was able to stand. Someone else, an officer, had come to inspect her and Martin. He blinked at the third eye on the guy, before shaking his head and pointing towards where Jorge was standing. "If it's alright, we are going to take you in with us Ma'am... I don't think it's best that you try to drive or walk home like this, okay? Plus, you might be able to help us with information about what happened here."
She shrugged, or tried to... her shoulder kind of hurt, and leaned on one of the paramedics. "Whatever you say, officer."
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 15, 2011 7:27:34 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
The now-slightly-less used toy seemed the commanding type. Might be because of the screaming. Might also be a good thing for a cop to be. Useful skills and all that. (Besides getting your butt kicked, that is) So he was to sit tight now. And stuff. Wait for people to manhandle him. Touch him even. (Uh oh, you won't) And people came. First there was the paramedic that approached him. Nice guy really. Most of them were. He thought. Needn't you at least want to help people a bit to become a medic? Martin didn't even bother to look him squarely in the face. Just said a few words in near silence. The medic seemed quite interested in the blotchy patches on his shirt. Martin seemed rather less interested in them. More so in waving at the medic. Just go get me some gauze and tape he might have said. Or something similar, for soon Mr medical was back. With an Officer in tow. Gauze and some other assorted things ready as well. And a pair of scissors.
More hand-waving insured. And the Officer started meddling as well, coming closer by the second while frantically trying to talk down whom he thought to be a retentive little boy shy of his ability to even buy alcohol. Not. Good. In short, Martin brought out, was forced to bring out, what could be called a quarterdeck voice. Complete with heavier accent. “Officer, let me make this short: You will take this Medic and leave. You will join your Colleague. And he might tell you who did...” Here he underlined his words with a pointed stab of a single finger in the rough direction of 'Muscles'. The Officers eyes widened slightly. He saw it. Smiled. That thin smile that held no amusement. “...that. So that this can be dealt with.” So that you can deal with me, too. Well I'm probably the only person who could wait for Parole with a sentence of 200 years. Just that I don't intend to. In the least. “Now let me take care of myself. Please.” And with a shake of his head that made him seem almost, maybe, irritatingly, sensible, afraid –or used to working with mutants; or all of them – he left Martin well alone. And finally, thankfully, the medic proceeded to hand him, not without loud protest, a few bandages.
Yes. Martin could be commanding too. Especially, when he did not wish to assault any more Officers. Not today at least.
Oh yes. And with that he calmly began stripping off the damaged shirt, looking curiously at the clean cut wounds that emerged underneath. He looked better then the arm of Henry. By far he did. But he still looked like his chest had been sliced at a few times with a knife. And yes, he did start to patch himself up. Then and there. The medic was sputtering about disinfectants. Martin knew better. These hadn't been made by a knife. And so he stood there. Half-naked. Maybe the girl would feel better now, too. At least her boxers were pretty. (So... Not. Urgh. Colors.)
Now... they wanted to leave somewhere. Or would they interview him here. Or do whatever it was they did. He looked up from his work and scanned the now seizable crowd for Mr. slightly-old-and-beaten.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
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Married to Gemma
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May 14, 2024 14:37:17 GMT -6
Jorge
Jorge stood there as the plethora of emergency vehicles flew to his position. He had never been so happy to see back-up. He still rubbed his sore arm as he watched his fellow police officers run to his side and the ambulance doors pop open and spill out with a pair of technicians. Jorge did his best to answer the questions he could off the bat but he didn’t want them to waste too much time on him. They needed to check those civilians that were involved in his whole fiasco. That was why a pair of them ran towards the fallen girl, another to the three-eyed mutant, and the last to the bleeding out Henry.
Only one of those three would be coming back with them in the back of a coroner’s van.
Jorge shook his head as he watched the ambulance work attend the muscle-bound, fallen mutant, but he knew that there was going to be no help for him. It was just part of the process. It was the other two he was more worried about, the girl particularly. She had been thrown pretty hard, he knew because he was the one who caught her. On top of that she was carried around like a pretty girl I a giant ape’s hand. He hoped she hadn’t received trauma from that.
“Cervantes?”
He turned to see that one of his fellow officers, a many by the name of Clemens was walking up to him with a grin. “Care to finally do some work?”
Clemens quickly flipped him a lewd gesture before he turned and pulled his notepad and pen from his pocket. “The rest of the guys filled me in on what happened when you got here. Care to fill in the rest of the story?”
Jorge nodded as he began to retell his adventure in the alley. He spoke on how he had cornered the massive mutant Henry and how the girl had been captured. The chase that followed and then how he was cornered, cut off by both himself and the three-eyed mutant. Lastly he recounted how, strangely enough, the massive man received many unexplainable wounds as well as was killed by ole Three-Eyes when he attempted to squish him. Clemens wanted to take the kid in for murder, but Jorge felt sure it was simply self-defense. His report would echo that as well.
Finally Cervantes just leaned back against the police, rubbing his arm which was finally near better again. The soreness was slipping away and he could lower it to his side again. He sent Clemens down to do the interviews and instead sat back to relax and catch his breath. Another glamorous night of at the MRC in the great city of New York…
Posted by Martin Stein on Jun 28, 2011 14:25:02 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
760
0
Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
Rides in Police cars tended to be boring experiences. There was nothing to see, nothing to do and no one to talk to. Officers tended to be quite sullen with some people. Not that Martin minded much actually. Not that he had much need to go to this office of theirs. To make a report. Reports were nothing Martin had a great liking for. Well coming from one of The Great Bureaucracies, if not the grandest of them all, he had a certain weary appreciation for them and the form-shovers, the banishers of fearful disorder and Knights of the cutting Edge of the Appellation in Triplicate Copy. He was more weary though from having his name appear in them. His name was not to be connected with certain doings and un-doings. They might raise suspicion. As it might have when he had gone – if they had not decided that putting a collar on a witness was a bit much he would have – for the deridingly unpleasant effects that accompanied him being outfitted with the vices of binding mutants. He even would have downed a few of them for that. With or without the knife...
~~~
Being a witness also has the added benefit of not being forced into one of the cozy cells-of-concrete that held so very much appeal. As much as a broomshed. Maybe less. Decidedly less. Right now he was standing at the MRC Offices. Waiting to be lead somewhere for questioning and reporting. Of course. He was humming Oh Happy Day. Because he could. And mabe because thy had taken his knife. As evidence. As if it was not evident by the form of the Hulk-wannabe what he had done with it.
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May 14, 2024 14:37:17 GMT -6
Jorge
The whole police ride back to the precinct was quiet and uneventful. Jorge had watched as his two witnesses disappeared into the back of squad cars and were politely taken away so that they could file their reports. The coroner stayed behind with his team to look over the fallen body of the renegade mutant, Henry. At least that mutant would be out of the picture for now and keep a few more people on the streets safe. That was a dark thing to think, but Detective Cervantes really didn’t care at the moment. He was happy that one more foolish, dangerous man was taken care of. While he would have preferred a set of handcuffs, and he did not condone the murder of another person…in this case the end justified the means.
Though he would never say that out loud.
Still though, as Jorge drove back to the precinct, his mind fluttered back to the look on that boy’s face. He seemed so…disconnected. As if he really didn’t care anything about what he did or how anyone reacted to it. It was almost as if he had an old soul in a young body. Whatever the case, Jorge knew that type of disconnection could be dangerous…
Once back at the precinct, he noted that the three eyed mutant. Identified as Martin Stein, was still there, standing, waiting to led to wherever he needed to be to file the report. As he waited, Jorge called over a nearby police officer to direct the kid to his desk and that he would be with him shortly. While he was busy with that, Jorge moved to a nearby officer’s desk that was empty and quickly typed in a search. He would preferred if he had some information on the kid, that would be murdered that had slain Henry.
The name went in…and…Jorge found nothing. Not that the kid was clean but there was literally just nothing on the kid past a certain year. It simply was as if the kid materialized from nothing and yet he was already connected with one crime yet found innocent. Needless to say the situation was extremely odd and as much as Jorge did not wanted to look into it, the knowledge was there. There was a mystery in that three-eyed mutant, a mystery that Jorge did not want to be pulled into unraveling.
Clearing the screen and logging out, Jorge stood and made his way back to the desk where the kid was waiting. Along the way the way, he snatched up a legal pad and pen. Both instrument and item tucked under his arm, he walked around his desk and smiled appreciatively at the boy. With that he set both items in front of him and slipped onto his chair in front of him.
“Well, Martin. That was some pretty terrifying stuff we dealt with today,” he said with a nod. The motioned to the papers and pen. “I’m apologize for bringing you in here like this, I need your statement. Thank you for not only saving the life of that innocent young lady, but also for saving mine. But…you did end a man’s life. We’re going to need to investigate that.”
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 7, 2011 2:48:25 GMT -6
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The place he was at now was a police station. There were desks. And many people milling around them. There were forms being carried and people in handcuffs being led along. Most of all though there were people in uniforms walking everywhere. Martin retreated inside a bit. Looking normal, so utterly normal, like he was supposed to be there. Just ordinary. Once officer came and found Martin quite young and pleasant as he directed him to sit in front of one of the many desks. Waiting for the officer whose arm he had mangled apparently. There was a thin smile on his face as he thought of that. Not for causing the pain he had, but for having actually worked this. It had been a while since he had had to do that. Toe officer came and set himself down across from him. Good, his arm seemed much better.
As he talked the three-eyed mutant looked at him with an interested air, pointedly ignoring the fact that he was wearing a blood-soaked shirt. Looking very normal. Except for the eyes. “Terrifying?” Martin said without so much as a second note of an edge. Just calmly stating things. This was, after all, what one did when giving a statement, was it not? Saying things honestly. Truthfully. And without the mask of emotions that he carried overhead usually. Emotions were a hindrance in finding truth. This man wanted the truth, so he had been informed. So he might get a bit or two of it. Enough at least to make him wonder. His hands were calmly resting in his lap, slightly folded, one over the other. Not the stance you used when you tried to deceive people. It looked not very childlike though. This calm. His eyes. Why try to be something you are not when they have already seen behind your mask? It would only raise eyebrows. And it might scare them. The way he could turn... himself around. Outside.
Inside? It was always the same. That wintery cold, hard things that broke. In him. Humanity? A thing of the past. Very, very long ago.
“Statement? Yes.” He recounted the meeting in a much too calm and much too accurate fashion. It might have been very, very eery for anyone else to hear this much statement. Actually he told the officer the pattern on Megans underpants. Just to make a point. Yes, he could make a statement. This included the way he had slit Henrys throat. In which angle he had done it. How far the cut had gone. All delivered as if talking over tea. And cookies. His eyes looked quite normal during all of it. So much too normal. The thing he did pointedly not talk about was his mutation. Its nature. Anything at all. This was a private matter. It was closed.
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>> “Statement? Yes.”
Jorge listened as the mutant spoke and Jorge nodded, listening intently. It was not just the man’s testimony that he was taking, it was also the fact that the detective was watching him intently. He eyed the look in his eyes, listened to the tone of his voice, made a mental note of the mutant’s posture and the only thing that Jorge could really come up with…was that he was creeped out. There was something off about the mutant, as if he really just did not give a single flying *explicative deleted!* about the world. It was as if he were a cantankerous old soul that simply did not care anymore.
Whatever the case was, Jorge was not going to be able to simply let the man walk away. Yes, he seemed as if he did kill Henry out of self-defense but…there was such a coldness about him that Cervantes could not really put his finger on. What was it about this kid that made him so disconnected?
But it was a not unheard of for someone to disconnect themselves after taking the life of another. People in the military unfortunately have had similar experiences after witnessing war for the first time. Then again, serial killers are some of the most disconnected people. There was a plethora of reasons as to why the young man was so aloof to what he had done. He recounted his story, naming practically every detail with a cold precision that really sent a shudder up Jorge’s spine. It was as if the mutant had surveyed the scene with a scientist’s eye and was picking it apart second by second rather than having lived it.
Jorge just was not sure what to think about him. He could not haul him in for murder if the boy was simply defending himself. But…it was such shaky ground that the detective really did not know where to proceed from. What made the situation odder was that there was simply no history for the boy that he could find. That alone was odd enough. What was with this mystery.
Taking the last note, Jorge sighed as he set down his pen and looked across his desk at the kid.
“Well…Martin, I’ve gotten your statement, your knife has been confiscated for investigation. You took a life, though it did seem to be at the defense of yourself. You should be expecting a call from us on what will happen next. Unfortunately you may be called into court to defend your actions. Are you prepared for that?”
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 8, 2011 9:11:16 GMT -6
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After the statement Martin fell silent for a while and looked around the office. People were still milling around, still folders were being carried around and the set of people being transported as well. Maybe there were fewer of those. Slightly fewer. The day was nearing its end. The workday at least.
At the mention of the knife Martin closed his eyes for a second and made a flinging gesture with one hand. Clearly he wanted to indicate that the knife was of little importance. Yes, he had liked that knife, but he would have had to get rid of it anyways after killing someone with it. You could trace cutting patterns after all. Not a thing that was quite safe for him. “It was the decision I made when I let you take me. And do not argue that you could have hindered me, we both know you were in no shape for that.” His voice even held a tiny bit of amusement there as he pondered the memory. He might need to write that down later. One-armed and beaten up as the Cop had been this really would not have been a difficult thing. Running that was. The fact that Martin still might have to move should certain things happen to him was quite another matter. You really did not want to get arrested. Even if you were nigh-immortal. It was just a exceptional waste of time. Especially for the people watching him.
“Take it as a sign for the fact that I have little too hide if you want to.” Or too much to let you know about. Just that little too much. Also: This is not a very elegant way to plant seeds. But maybe a bit of a hope to steer the conversation away. His eyes fell on the detectives hands.“Is your arm better?” Personal interest. He could do that. Or maybe he just wanted to know whether his skills had been too rusty.
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>> “It was the decision I made when I let you take me. And do not argue that you could have hindered me, we both know you were in no shape for that.”
The statement was true enough but it made Jorge just a little hotheaded when he thought about it. The kid seemed like he felt as if he were on an entirely different level that no one else could share with him. It was an unsettling thing to see in a person, the type of thing that an experienced police officer such as Jorge had seen many times. He did not want to believe that the kid was a complete sociopath, after all, he saved both his and the girl’s life. Unfortunately for people who disconnect themselves so easily, it left little room for how else they would turn out.
Martin slit the throat of a rampaging mutant and there was little to no fear or compassion or even anger in his eyes. Jorge simply did not know what to think of it. Technically it was self-defense but try as he might, there was really nothing he could pin on him. He killed a man…but at the defense of his own life. Jorge saw it, the girl saw it…
…there was little he could do. As much as he suspected that there was something off about him, he could prove nothing…yet.
>> “Take it as a sign for the fact that I have little too hide if you want to…Is your arm better?”
Jorge nodded. “It’s fine, thank you for asking.”
The kid was trying to deter him from something. Normally people switch to the personal stuff after they have been confronted with questions or topics they don’t want to answer. What easier way to distract a questioner than with questions? But as much as he felt the kid was hiding something, Jorge was not going to be arresting him this night, at least not until he got to the bottom of Martin’s past and why he had no records.
A shake of his head, and collecting the statement that Martin gave, Jorge nodded to the young man, though still keeping a wary eye on him.
“You’re free to go. I just need a phone and address where you can be reached,” he said as he offered him a slip of paper and a pen. The kid would go free, for now. Though the detective would make sure to keep a close eye on him in the future…
Posted by Martin Stein on Jul 9, 2011 4:59:53 GMT -6
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Jul 2, 2013 5:22:49 GMT -6
While he took the pen and the paper to write things down his voice rose again, quite personal now, almost not enough to cross the distance between them. “Would it have been easier for you if I had started to cry?” His voice asked. Completely innocent. Sounding like a childs' now. Well maybe not like a childs', but like a teenagers at least. A teenager that had been caught doing something naughty maybe. His stance shifted a bit, too. Until it looked like he was mildly uncomfortable, hunching down. Just because I saw you staring at me. Like a thing, a dangerous object. I really am like that sometimes, am I not? His hand scribbled away purposefully, completely ignoring the fact that Martin was speaking at the same time. He was not even looking down on what he write. His hands were simply moving along, snaking, drawing lines on the paper slip.
I am very, very dangerous after all. And I have to be. Otherwise I might not survive until I am a hundred. Which would be a shame really. I like to live. Sometimes when I'm not feeling quite bad for doing things to people. Well lately I rarely did that. Might be because I tend to kill more regularly now. You can get used to everything. Yes, his hand was working, his mind was also. On the paper stood an address. And a telephone number. There also stood the words: 'Have fun!' With an exclamation mark. Because there is nothing better than an understanding between the people that were trying to be hunter and hunted at once. He laid them down in a way that would force George to grab them across the desk, to bend over slightly. And he stood up, all his old self, the slightly dangerous one.
He smiled at George, expecting him to look up at him. Smiled a very dangerous smile. Not one of his thin ones. A full one. Invitingly. His eyes had traded colors again. Each was holding a different one, one the black of a pupil, night. One the pale blue of his irises with the texture of them. And one was lacking color, was white. Completely white. It was not looking very natural. In fact it looked quite unnatural. That smile. Those eyes. His stance. And everything gone in a blink. Like something you never really saw happen, he was back to being somewhat of a teenager. Slightly hunched down, slightly eyeing the surroundings as if intimidated. As if he really was. He was playing dangerous games now. He knew it. It was fun. He really felt a bit thrilled inside. Because Officers really were a fun bunch to scare. He hoped they were good fun later too. "A good day to you, Officer Cervantes." Because nothing makes people remember better than their names. Remembe rhtat they are human. In a way we all are. Im just a little bit less so. THe thought did not hurt much any more. It was a usual thought.
Martin turned around. He was a teenager, in many ways he was. He looked like one. Waslked like one. Talked like one. He got out of the way of an officer pushing along a criminal. Perfectly polite. As if nothing ever happened at that desk. Because nothing had. In a way. And in others? He was broken. He knew it. And the record was still playing, sending shards flying off sometimes. They hit people. And if they did, they left woulds. Deep cuts in their flesh.