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.
She could smell turkey. Of course! Thanksgiving Day. She hurried through the old corridor, heart quickening. She was a girl again, and Mother had dinner ready and -
“Why hello Miss Carrie, fancy seeing you here,”
Whirling round so fast Carrie had to put out a hand to steady herself. There was Melpsa, at nineteen looking the same as she did five years ago, picture perfect look of innocence. Her unnaturally round blue eyes penetrated hers, expectantly. Carrie’s own hardened.
“Where’s Mother?”
“Hmm?” Carrie watched her, too dumbfounded to speak. Watched her turn round, long waves of blonde cascading down her waist. Watched her pull down the oven door. Watched her delicate hands taking the tray out. How she wished it would burn her! But of course, Melpsa was a mutant with extreme heat tolerance. Carrie breathed deep, but Melpsa cut in her before she began again
“Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,” she straightened up, brushing cookie crumbs out of her checked apron. My apron glared Carrie inwardly. How she wished to - “Carrie, home to Carrie? There now. Not so hard is it? Carrie, Carrie, Carr-”
“Will you get on with it?” Carrie was furious, she had a long day coming and wanted just to rest, rest in her dear Mother’s arms, go back to times before, but here she was, that dratted Melpsa to ruin her day again.
“Carrie. Don’t you get it? You aren’t wanted here. I am the jewel here now, don’t you see? And Boon, dear mute Boon is the baby of the family, the man here,” she finished smiling serenely.
Carrie was shaking, her breath haggard. No she mustn’t show Melps that she was wound up, nothing would give her more satisfaction. Then a cry, and Boon was around his sister’s skirts, another cry and -
“Mother!” Carrie half ran, half tripped to her mother who came rushing into the room, caught her with a look of surprise, before turning to Melpsa.
“Dear me Melpsa, did you really have to bring home another child without letting me know beforehand? The house really cannot take more children. Your father will have to hear about this.”
“Mother, Mother, it’s me, Carrie, I’m home, I’ve come home, Daniel’s lying unconscious in a lab, but he’ll be up when I find a cure for him, we’ll bring him home then, oh Ma I’ve missed you so, where’s Father? Oh Mother I’ve missed you so -” Carrie buried her face into her Mother’s shoulder, work robes and all, not noticing the confused look on the vacant face or the malicious light in Melpsa’s.
‘Dear child, I am not your mother. Melpsa, lead her to the garden and give her something to drink,” said kind Mrs. Mietzl.
“Yes Ma,”
Carrie turned, confused, hurt, “Melpsa, what have you done to Mother? First me, and Daniel now Mother! I see what you’ve done, you’ve taken my place in a happy home and now you’ve turned Mother against me? You, you, how could you - ”
Carrie heard footsteps, and looked up, to see the tall wise professor she called Father strode in purposefully. “Father, you remember me. Tell me you remember me!” she shook him hard at the shoulders. She looked at him wildly, held him so tight her knuckles turned white. There was a silence as Father Mietzl gazed back into his anxious daughter’s eyes. Carrie watched as he turned to his beloved wife and look back at her.
“Dear child,” his voice was heavy with emotion “we cannot take any more children, this house is already run down with orphans and one more just won’t do. I’m sure a job will suit you much better then living here in this dreary house.” He turned away, then looked up again, his child was so grown up now, almost as tall as he but still a child, how dear she was to him! But alas… there was naught he could do. With a sigh he turned away. The silence that reigned was so thick Carrie could feel it. With a sudden vengeance she whipped up the laser gun, hands shaking had, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks -
There was a gasp - Mrs. Mietzl’s voice seemed to echo strangely - “Dear woman, by what means do you come breaking and entering and goodness knows wave a weapon…?” then Melpsa’s melodic voice “you want to kill me Carrie? Go ahead, and break your parents heart, dear me, Carrie, Carrie….”
With a cry of a strangled cat, Carrie fired. Zapuh-uhuhuhuh. Boon was on the ground at his sister’s feet mouth hanging open. Carrie noticed Melpsa twitch then regain her cool composure. Her mother was kneeling on the ground, weeping.
“Now look what you’ve done Carrie. You’ve done more damage. I wouldn’t have died. You should know I’m strong enough to bear that. A simple laser gun. My, my, your memory is disastrous Carrie…” Carrie stood there stock-still, jaw set. Melpsa continued, “but you killed my brother Boon, so congratulations… though he was a little weakling… Mother, she killed your dear boy…”
“Mother, Mother, I -”
Mrs. Mietzl looked up, eyes red with tears, “I am not your mother, get out, I don’t want to see your face on my premises again.”
“But Mother..!”
“Leave.”
Fist in mouth Carrie let out a silent scream, her body riveting uncontrollably as she skidded out the door, past her ignoring Father, the terror-struck maid and into the rain. Her last memory of the event was a twisted smile of triumph on Melpsa’s porcelain face.
‘That cat, that loathsome, ungrateful little brat, how dare she, how dare, oh how could -’ Curious heads turned in the direction of the seemingly crazy young woman, for she did indeed look crazy, in some weird green robe and hair drenched in acid rain. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in central Belgium to see the eccentric wander aimlessly in high streets in rain, but this was a bit much. Youths these days. Someone ought to ring animal control.
Carrie steered off down main street still hissing to herself. She was covered in muck and knew it. Up ahead was the most expensive hotel in the country, Don Excelsior. She frowned. Yes, she did need to get a bit of a cleanup, and she was sort of hungry…
‘May I help you, uh.. Mi’…lady?’
Carrie barely looked up as she helped herself to a set of keys hanging behind the short bald attendant’s head.
‘Yeah, bring up some soup and bread will you? Leave it at the door and I’ll thank you for it.’ She stumbled blindly into the elevator that just pinged its arrival and stabbing at a button up she went.
The elevator pinged again. Carrie left leaving behind a trail of mud-water often unseen at such grand places and uncertainty in the eyes of her fellow-travelers. Never mind, they can deal with it. She turned a corner, left, left, right, left… ah, here was the room. Carrie jabbed the key in and turned the handle.
It was a warmly lit room, with curtains drawn back, a small couch and coffee-table. On the table was a clichéd package of teabags and a small note card sporting ‘With Compliments.’ Ignoring these luxuries, the wild-eyed woman stumbled into the standing bath and turned the water on to the full. There… her mind was beginning to calm, her hurts subsiding… Hahahah...no Mother… no indeed… I’m free…ha..haha… Carrie pulled her knees in. Her drenched clothes got wetter still. It’s so warm and comfortable here. The exhausted girl was soon lulled to sleep, a silvery shell of ivory encompassing her.
<< 32 hours later >>
She felt something prodding her. Must be Daniel, up to his sleeves with tricks again. She laughed. ‘Get off Dan, get off…. Tell Mother I’ll be down soon… Dan five more minutes, just five, please…?’
‘Certainly not ma’am.’ There was a squeaking sound of a metal handle turning. ‘Wha - ?’ Carrie shot awake, head banging on something hard. She rubbed her head, silvery shield evaporating back into her skin.
‘Eh-hem.’
Carrie squinted. Who were these people? Then it hit her. Ah yes… she was in Don Excelsior. The Don Excelsior. Oh Carrie, Carrie what have you done? She shook herself. I’m sounding more and more like that cat Melpsa. She turned her attention to the people planted in front of her again, nice and dry.
‘Ma’am your untouched soup has been lying cold outside your door long enough to attract unwanted attention to this room. I dislike entering without advanced notice but this sort of - behavior,’ she turned her nose up, ‘calls for an exception. I will not have the reputation of the Don Excelsior fall beneath a single notch. Also if you’ll explain the water leak that has been coming from this room, I’ll be so pleased.’
‘I was in the shower.’
Prune-Face’s nose flared. ‘I knew that,’ she sniffed. As if looking for an opportunity to air more complaints the maid seemed to realize Bald-Head for the first time, hiding behind her bony apron. Carrie certainly did. She looked at the pair in distaste.
‘And here Tom wants to know why you haven’t signed in at reception.’
Carrie raised an eyebrow as the pathetic figure pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat running down his forehead. ‘Um, me good lady, if you’ll just sign… here… yes, right there, thank you mi’lady…’ He looks as if I’m going to strike him or something. Carrie took the clipboard and signed. Melpsa Galliheir. Unbothered she handed it back to Tom and got up, splashing the clean marble floor. Sprays of water bounced off Prune-Face and Tom.
‘Well I think I’ll be going, thanks for the wake-up call, I didn’t know it was fashionable to have live-alarm clocks these days.’ She smirked and strode to the door.
‘Not so fast. You have to pay first. This is a first-rate - ’
‘-hotel. Yea I know. Look up Melpsa Galliheir and you can have funding to spare for your stupid hotel.’
Carrie made way out the door but an arm blocked her. She looked up at Prune-Face’s angry face, ‘You’re a mutant, I know you are,’
‘Yeah? So I am. And thanks for the reminder.’ Grabbing her fallen laser gun she aimed Bald-Tom straight in the chest. ‘Shan’t need him. As for you…’ Carrie sighed as Prune-Face’s eyes opened in horror. Her body shook and within seconds Carrie was a shimmering solution as she dissolved through the wrinkled skin. It didn’t take long before she appeared again, full size, a whitish something in hand.
‘Thanks for that, Dan thanks you.’ With that Carrie dodged her and grabbing the crusty hunk of bread zipped to the emergency exit.
Carrie pushed the heavy glass doors open. Instantly an icy wind blew in her face, making her skin go raw. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she must get her thoughts straight. She pushed away her grief.
Tearing off a generous bite of bread, Carrie hurried along to the train station. They’ll lose me there if they decide to follow me, she thought grimly. It wasn’t long before she had hopped onto a caboose heading to the outskirts of central Belgium. No one noticed a shadow in green slip off halfway to it’s destination into the dry grasses.
Carrie pushed her way quickly through to the high grass to a demolished windmill in the distance. She paused at the gate and breathed deeply. The good Belgium air was soothing to the youth. She stood there, taking in the bright hues of oranges and deep-reds. Then as if feeling she had no right to indulge in such beauty, the girl aged much by the darker side of life pushed the creaky gate and trudged into the old windmill.
Stooping under the knackered doorframe Carrie made her way straight to the middle of the room. It was a small space, built mainly on wooden planks and stones. The floor of the old windmill held no sign of life except a lizard or two on the crates of pumpkins and squash stacked one on top of another in the center. This was Carrie’s space and one of her many tunnels to work.
Carrie wanted to rest. She wanted to sit down, lean her head on the old crates and rest. But memory of Dan allowed her no rest. Quickly and efficiently Carrie shoved the crates aside, revealing a trap door with a hole in the ground. Plucking it up, she hurried down the steps and replaced the lid. There was no need to move the crates back in place.
With the stream of light coming from the hole in the trapdoor, Carrie moved deftly on hands and feet around salted hams and apples until she felt another hatch. Here she jerked it up to reveal a tunnel of soil sliding downwards. With a deep breath, she slipped inside, curled herself into a ball and rolled down. It wasn’t long before there was a soft thud.
Carrie pressed her ear to the soft earth. There were voices, a crowd was making its way to the north. Carrie smiled wryly. Within moments a silvery substance appeared in her place as she slipped through the wall of earth and into her nearest victim.
‘My folks were so mortified when they heard I was coming here, said it was inhumane or something,’ Carrie listened idly as she picked at a random selection of her speaker’s genes.
‘My wife did too, sent me packing out of the country just with the clothes on my back and ordered me not to come back until I’d found something decent to do.’ The speaker’s voice sounded injured. ‘As if there’ll be any decent men willing to pay decent wages nowadays.’
There were grunts of agreement all round as Carrie sailed soundlessly from speaker to speaker. The next person’s head she entered was a skinny lad who eagerly interrupted next, eager to share in the popular topic:
‘Yessir my maw said I was bad as a mutant, scanning genes,’ Carrie’s ‘ears’ pricked up, ‘…said Rokha’s running an insanity lab here, but I don’t mind, it’s an easy job, good pay, good dorm…’
Carrie heard another round of agreement and, ‘what with the depression eh Rob?’
The skinny youth continued, excited, ‘I told my maw not to fret, bless her heart, always being hen-puckish. It’s not like I’m going to become a mutant, -’
‘Mutant?’ piped a girlish voice. Mutant? Carrie echoed.
‘Hello Miss Ginger, haven’t seen you in a long time, where’d you been?’
‘Daresay you quit the job for a while eh Miss Ginger?’
‘Nah just went on a little holiday. A little holiday to America, heard say plenty of mutants there.’
At this Carrie bolted and sliding out from her latest munch she appeared, slightly disheveled behind the men and Ginger.
‘Hi guys, hey Ginger,’
With all the buzz of voices, Ginger’s squeaky one towered them all: ‘Carrie! I haven’t seen you in such a long time - ’ mumbles of ‘yeah,’ and ‘eh Carrie,’ and ‘welcome back Carrie,’ filled all round.
The skinny youth stared reproachfully. ‘Yeah Carrie, nice of you to disappear like that without telling us.’
Carrie shrugged. Before she could say anything, ‘Well Carrie you’re always the best listener around, am I glad you’re back. Now…’ Carrie nodded impatiently, yeah, well I’m probably the only one who shuts up when you talk… she mused. Real shame you’re here Ginger, you can make a grand author in the big world. but well this time she wanted to listen. Something about mutants. Something about, about, about her kind.
‘So Ginger, what’s this about mutants in America before I interrupted?’ Choruses of ‘Tell us Miss Ginger, tell us!’ bounced off the tunnel as the earth walls hardened.
‘Don’t you want to know about my holiday boys?’ Carrie turned her eyes skyward, only to see a dead worm sticking out. ‘Well now,’
‘Ginger, the news on mutants?’
Six pairs of eyes turned to her. Carrie felt her face turn hot. ‘Well, you know, it’s good to keep updated with stuff going on outside…’
‘Thought you weren’t interested in mutants Carrie.’
‘Thought you were on the outside yourself during this time Carrie.’
‘Oh yes, Carrie, do tell where you’ve been.’
Carrie was getting irritated, come on, get a grip, ‘just out to call on my parents, nothing much, world news don't exist in our household, they prefer the quiet - ’
‘but why are you interested now? Never knew you were interested in anything,’
‘Ehh,’ the gold brooch down her front suddenly seemed very fascinating.
Cold institutional fluorescent lighting flooded the room as the men, Ginger and Carrie reached the end of the tunnel. With a few grunts, the workers lined up to check in, Ginger’s high pitched squeals punctuating the silence now and then. Carrie joined the end of the line hoping desperately to be left alone.
Her hopes were to be in vain.
A hand on her shoulder jerked her back a few steps, a hand on her mouth let out no sound as a mouth by her ear said huskily: ‘You want to know about mutants? Be careful. You’re meddling with dangerous business. A word from the wise, mind your own business.’ The man shoved her forward roughly.
‘And don’t think they’ll be fooled by a pretty nose stuck where it shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t.’
Mind whirling from event overload, Carrie shuffled forward, pressing her lips. In front was the only woman other than Ginger working at the lab to check her in. Things were happening so fast, too fast. The maid at the hotel knew what she really was, and she suspected the man with the husky voice behind her did too. She silently cursed herself. You and your stupid impulses, when will you learn? Ah Carrie…
‘Carrie Mietzl, you’re back. Number One-Oh-Five-Two. Here, here’s your sogwich, it’s seaweed and pickle . Take an apron, you’re in juice refinement today, fourth floor.”
Carrie jolted out of her thoughts. She might as well, being in the middle of berating herself for signing Melpsa’s name on the hotel bill. What can happen? The kid doesn’t even have a passport. As far as the government’s concerned, she doesn’t exist anyhow. Shaking her head she muttered thanks. Carrie took the paper bag with her ’sogwich’ - affectionately named for the soggy fungus that grew on it, and grabbed a black PVC-ed apron covered in mysterious stains.
Carrie strode forward calmly, but her pace quickened when she turned the corner to the left. She hadn’t dared look back at the man who had spoken to her. She passed the boiler room where an explosion seemed to be taking place. Ignoring it, she walked on turning into a dank room supported by corroding metal bars. Along a wall lined six elevators, all with peeling paint and a light bulb crackling in front. A joystick stuck out from the middle of the floor. Jerking it back, Carrie’s ears were blasted with a loud crash, a ding, and the creaking of doors opening.
Without a glance back, Carrie hopped into the lift and yanked the door closed, plunging her into the dark but for a flickering candle dripping from its stand nailed to the back. Putting her hands on the wheel next to it, Carrie turned it. She could hear the chains rattling. The elevator was going up.
Peering past the dried wax on the dial under the candle, Carrie could just make out that she was halfway between the second floor and the third. She slowed down the turning of the wheel. Then a bit slower… a bit slower… a bit slow… The lift came to a stop. This was the height where she had hidden Daniel. The only way through was through the elevator shaft. Inside, Carrie waged a silent war. Should I push open the trapdoor and go see Daniel? Up till now, Carrie was still having difficulty passing through anything with hard packed molecules - that including metal in elevators. I want to see Dan… I want, I want, I.. I need to see him! But with the suddenness of her return, it probably wasn’t a good idea. Besides, that man… and Ginger’s little group of fans, she reasoned. But still… Dan, Dan needs me to check on him… right?
‘Ow!’
Carrie felt something sharp pierce her leg. There attached to the buttons on her left boot was a scarlet scorpion. Jabbing it with the heel of her other boot, Carrie held her victimized leg to the dim light. Warm blood was oozing out, mixed in a nasty green solution. Good thing I’ve been allocated to juice refinement today, she thought grimly. At least I can give this poisonous mickey a spin. Carrie closed her eyes and concentrating hard, redirected a heap of health cells she had nicked earlier from a health clinic (leaving the poor man to collapse) to the tooth marks. A silvery-grey dust gathered as the cells knitted themselves into the wound. Giving the trapdoor a final look and sigh, Carrie put her hands back on the wheel with renewed determination, and pushed.
The elevator shuddered as Carrie locked it into place on the fourth floor. Stepping out onto the platform, her eyes scanned the large arena in front. Trashy workers too poor to spare a dime were either jostling frantically to their destination or lying around, wasted. As usual, traffic on the sleek railings above ground were crowded and stuck in a jam. As usual, Carrie opted to travel by engine instead of foot. But unlike the other days when she would hitchhike, Carrie wanted a seat. She flipped out a quarter.
‘Ticket please,’ said the guard in blue pompously. His buttons looks like they’re going to pop any minute.
Carrie gazed at him indifferently. ‘Don’t have a ticket.’
‘No ticket, no seat. Next.’ He pushed her aside.
She pushed him back. ‘I have a quarter.’
The guard’s watery eyes gleamed. ‘A quarter, you got, Colleen? Well you need a ticket to board.’ He clicked the ticket-puncher smartly under her nose.
He’s a squat little thing. Wonder how he’ll like a cell-eating-vegetation process, Carrie thought wryly.
‘I have a quarter. You don’t have to take it, I can surrender it to some other potlucky git around here. I’m sure there must be someone who wouldn’t mind keeping extra change’ Carrie stuck her neck up, widening her eyes.
‘Hold on Colleen, hold it right there.’ Carrie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’
‘Heh, the Fourth Express takes quarters. You gimme your money and I’ll handle everything pit pat right for you.’ Carrie handed him the quarter. He grinned and turned to the waiting driver in the puffing vehicle.
‘Horace, old man, save Colleen here a seat.’ The driver tipped his cap, pushing a button. Instantly, a gold bar shot out round a seat at the back, shining with the letters R-E-S-E-R-V-E-D. ‘And serve her a mug of chocolate, Colleen’ll like that, right, yes Colleen’ll like that.’
Carrie took the guard’s hand and shook it promptly. ‘Yes, of course I’ll like that. How kind of you.’ She climbed off onto the vehicle.
‘But you haven’t paid for it yet! Chocolate’s pays a nickel,’ cried the bewildered guard.
Carrie gave him her sunniest smile. ‘Deduct it from my quarter and keep the change.’
The guard howled.
‘Thank you, driver, if you’ll be so kind to remove the reserved bar… yes, that’s it, thanks.’ Satisfied she settled down into the plush mauve studded seat and buckled her seatbelt. Instantly, a mug of chocolate pinged, shooting out on a stand from the seat in front of her. She sipped, leisurely.
Her luxury was short-lived.
Angry voices filled the air.
‘I’m getting on that bus, no mistake. You’re not going to stop me, not now, not later -’
‘But you haven’t paid your fare for the ticket, I’m in charge -’
The voice was a familiar one - Carrie’s blood froze, it was the same husky one, the same one, she recognized the crack in it.
‘- not ever!’
She watched in horror to see the pudgy guard swiped to the ground with a single blow.
The bus was silent, the platform was silent. But all around them, activity was buzzing and busy as usual. It was as if nothing had happened. But then, these occurrences weren’t uncommon if you work for Rokha. You look out for yourself, and you live. You don’t and you get squashed to pulp. Right now Carrie’s stomach felt like it was on the verge of being squashed to pulp, and when Husky leaped over the boarding ramp onto the bus, her stomach was pulp. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her.
Carrie gulped. The other passengers suddenly became very fascinated with the hubbub down below. One guy sitting directly in front was twiddling his thumb, picking his nose, twiddling his thumb, picking his nose, twiddling…
‘Well y’all buckle yourselves in, now,’ the driver said nervously. He pulled his cap over his eyes. ‘Traffic’s thinning, so well we’ll be off soon, no more delay now, hey folks.’ Silence. The old man appeared to lean forward, and hand on lever, jerked back, as the bus jerked forward. Sparks flew as metal rods beneath screeched. The bus swung dangerously as it charged from metal rod to rod. The passengers swung back and forth matching the motion of the bus, narrowly missing another vehicle, another stop, another crazy hooligan trying to make it quick to his destination by walking, no running, the poled highways. Carrie could swear that the squelch she just heard from the bumpy ride was not a frog they had run over, but another stupid kid. She tasted blood on her tongue. Disgusting. This had been a sick kid. Sick with diarrhea and beer that is. Carrie’s face was blank.
Husky, who had been standing stock straight all this time, plunked into the remaining seat up front. He swung round, and elbow over his seat, repeated, ‘We, need to sit down and talk.’
‘We are sitting and talking what more can you want?’ Instantly Carrie kicked herself. Smart move. She rolled her eyes.
The man glowered. ‘I was rolling my eyes at myself,’ Carrie added lamely.
He strode over and squatted next to her. The tension was high in the air. Carrie flinched. ‘Don’t be a fool, Mietzl.’ Carrie stirred her chocolate. Up close he didn’t seem so out-of-the-ordinary. Trousers, collared shirt, blazer. Even his maroon sweater befitted him. In fact, he appeared quite comical. Except for the look on his face, it was calm and unexpressive, but his eyes glinted angrily. ‘Your mouth will put you in a hotbed faster than you can get off this bus. Get it rinsed with acid when you get to juice refinement.’
‘Gene archives!’ the bus screeched to a stop. Two passengers hurried off.
Carrie looked indignantly. ‘That’s right. Now that your attention’s on me, I’ll say what I need to.’ He paused, and considered, ‘I have some things that will interest you. 2am, fifth floor, men’s dorm 154-V6. Stay still and don’t do anything you would regret, or it’s game over already.’ Satisfied, he got up and went back to his seat. Carrie sat dumbfounded. Noticing the handle gleaming on the emergency exit next to her seat, she considered taking a jump for it.
‘Juice refinement!’ the bus pulled to a stop.
Jamming the chocolate back into its holder, Carrie leapt up and moved to the door, without looking at anyone. She needn’t have bothered, no one desired to look at her. Except Husky. ‘Tonight. 2am. 154-V6. Don’t be late,’ he warned. His basalt black eyes left no room for argument.
Tightening her hold on the lunch sack and PVC-ed apron, Carrie made a beeline for the doors to juice refinement.
Activity was buzzing inside as Carrie stored her lunch sack into a cubicle above the doorway. Tying her apron securely round her waist, she grabbed a small pink visor hanging off a hook and carried it to an empty stool in front of a conveyer belt facing a cracked stone wall. The visor was heavy, even for Kevlar. Metal helmets were useless against X solutions in juice refinement; the first workers didn’t have any protective equipment. That spelt death sentence on the spot. Then wooden ones were introduced but soon grew moldy. Plastic ones melted into skulls. The solution was thought to be in metal visors. These were the worst, searing into the brain, and burning eyes. Carrie shuddered. This one didn’t look much better, it was thinning from use and dirty, though it had only been in a shipment brought in two months ago.
Carrie plopped down in her stool and reached over the conveyer belt, helping herself to a few perfume-looking bottles lined in each small cubicle on a tall, thin shelf by the wall. Behind her, someone shrieked. Must’ve knocked over an acid dish. A stench of something burning, like rubber and odorous feet reached her nostrils.
‘Eughhh! You must’ve scanned mutant DNA, Mazimiyas,’ said a voice in disgust. ‘Why didn’t you kill it?’
Carrie froze.
‘I didn’t know he was a mutant. Anyway, he saw me and kicked me in the backside, here, look.’
‘It, kicked you in the backside,’ the voice muttered. ‘You probably deserved it anyway, should’ve killed it when you found it, no need to even scan their genes. Only human genes will be pure enough to…’ the man made a throaty noise, ‘haaaauu-tu!’ Carrie shifted uncomfortably as spit hit the back of her leg.
‘Come on, be reasonable,’ said the man called Mazimiyas. ‘There’s no way I would’ve known he was a mutant. Besides, how would you know this is a mutant gene?’
‘It’s foul, boogie-coloured and it reeks,’ answered the voice shortly. ‘Have you heard, of that act passed out against these creatures? They’re getting mutants registered and put into camps… Finally. The public can live in peace. And here you are just scanning and letting them go…’
Act? Camps? Mutants? Jamming the visor (hard) over her elegantly coiffed head, Carrie reached for her scanning handgun and quickly pretended to unload cloned genes, whilst all the while, leaking some of the real ones out through her hand. They fizzled over the acid stabilizer dishes on the conveyer belt. Carrie tipped them into the perfume looking bottles and sent them down the belt. The real genes, she added small amounts of stabilizer carefully, before dissolving them up her skin again.
Working methodically, she started to wonder how bad the mutant situation really was. Perhaps Husky would have answers. She shook her head. Must be daft to even think of going to see him. Then again, what had she to lose?
That night Carrie made her way up to Husky’s dorm, after checking on Daniel, who looked like he hadn’t moved in months (he hadn’t), and cloned him with ‘borrowed’ equipment. Clone Daniel was lying on a cot, (also ’borrowed’), that Carrie often used for catnaps. C-Daniel’s room was a large out-of-order latrine that Carrie had converted for her personal use. There were no locks as nobody ever went down there, and the few that wandered in usually fell into ancient pits dug around the place, never to be seen again. Within the flimsy walls Carrie had the bare necessities - a few cans of Spam meat, a blanket, two galleons of water and an emergency laser gun. Having planted a quick kiss on C-Daniel’s forehead, Carrie left at 1:50am to dorm 154-V6.
The sundial in the middle of the fifth floor’s sleeping quarters was useless, partly because of the balcony built underneath the small glass dome and partly because it was dark. A couple of men swaggered in, staring silently as they passed her to their dorms. One winked. Carrie ignored them. She wondered if it was like this all the time, if all the workers came back drunk every night. She also wondered how Ginger got along and where she slept. Perhaps she slept in a different bunk every night. Maybe that was why all the men seemed to adore he. Maybe that was why they made it priority to please her. Carrie shuddered. She’d risk the pits down below any night. Not that she was afraid. She could more than handle the lot of them. Well, most of them anyway, without her powers.
An elderly man sitting on a concrete bench near the sundial pulled out a pocket watch. He looks pretty harmless, Carrie thought. She walked over.
‘’Scuse me Sir, can you tell me the time?’
The old man looked startled. ‘2:30am. What in thunder are you doing up here lassie? You should be home and in bed. Your brother or father will come home soon.’
‘My brother or father?’
‘Sit here, lassie.’ the old man patted the empty spot next to him. Carrie sat.
‘Take a look,’ the man waved his hand around. In the dark, she could just make out poster upon poster tacked on the walls. The man continued, ‘Rokha’s closing the lab down…’
Closing the lab down?
‘… in a month. You should skidder back home to tell your mother to prepare a feast.’
In a month?
The old man must’ve noticed the shock written over Carrie’s face. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, concerned.
‘I work here.’
‘Do you, lassie?’
Carrie nodded, dumbly. It wasn’t a matter that she wouldn’t be able to survive without the job. She could survive elsewhere, earn a living, find food… she already had several shelters set up. She was just worried about losing access to equipment and chemicals she could use to test on the C-Daniels she cloned. Most of them would just explode, leaving her feeling dejected whenever she inserted samplings of genes or cells she had nicked. Other times, it would take a bit more time, sometimes weeks, before the C-Daniel would react… and disintegrate. These incidents would leave her feeling more hollow and dejected, having hoped and failed again. Now she would have to find a way to stash some more equipment, collect some chemicals and somehow move Daniel out of the laboratory. There were also several weapons she wanted to take, just in case. But then, that would be theft. And Carrie wasn’t exactly fond of theft. Although, this was an emergency. Sort of.
She felt a hand clap on her shoulder. It was Husky, Mister basalt-scary-dangerous-I-mean-business eyed man.
‘You’re late,’ she pointed our irritably. Carrie was too edgy to care what he could do.
Instantly whistling filled the room as Carrie and her accompaniment walked into the dorm. These men are drunk! One swaggered up from behind and smacked her, causing Carrie to screech and on instinct send out her shield. Even faster was Husky, who reached for the light switch and flicked it on and off quickly, waking a few of the more sober ones up.
‘Wotcher do that for, Cromalee?’
‘Slipped and hit the switch,’ Husky muttered. ‘If you gentlemen will clean up your messes there won’t be any wake-ups, Hitchins. Go back to sleep.’
Waving a hand at the rest of the men, Husky grabbed Carrie’s wrist and pulled her to the back of the long room.
‘Now, climb up,’ he motioned to the metal ladder in front of his bunk.
Carrie opened her mouth angrily to protest. Who did he think he was? She wasn’t going to –
‘Just go on up.’ He was getting impatient. Carrie was getting impatient.
‘Why don’t you climb up first,’ she whispered back, furiously.
‘Because if you fall, I’ll be able to catch you. Now go,’ he gave her a shove.
Carrie sat cross-legged on the bed, her hair gently brushing the bumpy ceiling with its paint dots.
Husky followed, crossing his legs as he slumped casually on the wall. ‘Now, we wait.’ He looked across the large room, ‘For the gentlemen to sleep.’
Carrie sat there like a stone. What had she gotten into? But she kept quiet. After what seemed like a long time, Husky turned quietly around to the wall he had been leaning on. To Carrie’s surprise, he produced an odd looking screwdriver. Inserting it gently into an equally odd looking hole, he turned it, and that was when Carrie noticed it has been a hatch the whole time. Inside was a space large enough to fit a man with pipes crossing all over the place. The smell was faint, of earth, like it hadn’t been used in a long time.
‘This time, I go first,’ Husky swung himself over the tiny hatch and disappeared down to his chin, swinging. ‘It’s a rope ladder,’ he murmured in explanation.
Carrie shimmied through the hole. Nodding to Husky, she closed the little door and heard a click. The door had locked itself back in and they were plunged in darkness. Not that it hadn’t been dark already when they left. The two deftly made their way down, Carrie balancing on the soles of her stilettos.
Beneath her, she heard a splash. Husky had taken a jump and leapt off. Carrie felt two hands round her waist lift her off from the ladder. Taking her wrist again, Carrie felt herself being pulled in various directions. It was like he knew exactly where he was going, and in the dark. She had thought she knew all about the underground passageways in Rokha’s place, but apparently there were walls to explore too. Then again, how could she have thought to find out exactly all the secrets of this freak place? Finally, they stopped.
‘Stay here.’
Water splashed as Husky walked away, and something nearby squeaked and scuttled. Carrie’s mind was reeling from the night’s events and the things she had learnt. Thoughts of her mother and Meplsa crept into her mind. She hadn’t even had time to pause and work those thoughts out. She heard footsteps and saw a dim light appeared. Shaking her head, she got up from the damp wall she had slumped against. She’d just have to deal with them later.
Beckoning to her, the two walked silently some more. Just when Carrie felt she would scream from exhaustion, they reached the edge of a pool and gate. Using that same tool he had earlier, Husky pressed it into the wall, turning the gate up and revealing a narrow walkway built just beyond the underneath. He took a large leap and indicated to Carrie to follow. Without light, unwary wanderers would very likely lose their lives from a misplaced step. She followed and the gate fell back down, landing silently. Walking on a bit more, Carrie wondered why she never thought to check out the rest of Rokha’s grounds.
‘Like you, I have my own haven away from prying eyes and the low level of mentality up there.’ Carrie nodded. There was no need for explanations. She was starting to feel this guy understood her, perhaps more than she could begin to suspect. But he seemed alright. If he played games, she would play along. The water was getting shallower and Carrie could see rocks beneath the clear, black water. Taking her eyes off the straight path, she took a look around. This underground hideout was like a cave, with its stalactites and mites. He needs private space to recuperate; just like me, she mused. Carrie drank in her surroundings. Unlike her, this was no camper. The place was styled for comfort, she could see a couch, a hammock, a queen-sized bed with its knobs and sheets neatly folded. She could also see shelves of - what were they, books? Locked up in glass cabinets which she was sure was bulletproof (or any other type of weapon proof).
Her guide seemed to read her thoughts. ‘I like living in comfort, that’s why I have this place.’ He shrugged. ‘But I also stay here because I have other work to do. Come over and take a seat.’ Carrie did. She hadn’t realized she’d reached the end of the walkway and stayed there. Flopping on the couch and she rubbed her sore legs. ‘Carrie, can I call you Carrie? I work for Rokha because I am in research on genetics. Mutant genetics,’ he added. ‘You’re a mutant, and not a particularly brainless one either. So that’s why I brought you here.’
Carrie propped her elbow up. This guy didn’t seem so bad.
He continued, ‘though your lack of impulse control was both uncalled for and childish when you released some of your powers up there with the men.’ Or maybe he is, she thought crossly. He face was serious again. ‘Anyway, I know what you’re doing here, I’ve watched you since you first arrived. It’s not difficult to decipher who’s desperate enough to work here and who’s not. And you’re not.’ Carrie opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her. ‘I know you’re here because of your brother, and I respect you for that,’ he lowered his voice suddenly, ‘I’m here until I find a permanent space to store all my findings in genetic research of mutants.’ He waved carelessly at the shelves. ‘You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this.’ Carrie raised an eyebrow which clearly said ‘obviously.’ ‘it’s because you’re a mutant and so am I. No don’t argue with me, don’t even try pretending otherwise.’
‘I wasn’t going to!’
He twitched. ‘Well then. Alright. Let’s see then. Carrie, call me Lucien - ’
‘Lucien.’
‘ - yes, call me Lucien. I have some things that may interest you. First of all, I know what you’re doing here for your brother. Like I said, I respect you for it,’ he paused. ‘But I think you are a fool, Mietzl. These are dangerous times to get attached, to mutants or not, especially if you are one yourself.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve got file upon file of research on genetic mutations stored here. Rokha’s part mutant, meaning his powers can be activated once a year - nobody knows when, and he has no control over them. That is why he is so obsessed to gain control by trying to find all every solution possible to fully ‘mutalize’ him, so to speak. That oaf…’ he said softly.
Lucien ‘Husky’ Cromalee got up to one of his cabinets. There was another gentle click as a glass door swung open. He hummed and pulled out a heavy leather bound book.
‘This here,’ he opened it, revealing a hollowed out space between the pages and pulled out a scroll amongst balls of twine and old bills. Carrie picked them up and chortled. This guy seemed to be in the habit of sweater shopping. ‘ - is something I have picked up on.’ He handed it to Carrie, who unrolled it to recognize a rough sketch of the Russian and Chinese plateaus.
‘Uh huh,’ she said. She wasn’t easily impressed with hand drawn maps of Russian and Chinese plateaus.
‘I’ll make a deal with you. You go over there,’ he pointed to a little area in Russia he had marked in red, ‘and figure out if the material there can work for your brother. I’ve done a little research around the site by stumbling in accidentally when my private jet crashed nearby a few years earlier. It’s not genetic material made directly from a single organic being, that is all I know. Perhaps it will be of some use to your brother.’ He could see that he had the girl’s full and alert attention now. Still, she looked at him suspiciously. ‘And in return?’ she asked. ‘ You couldn’t just want to help me out, simply because I am a mutant.’
‘You’re right, I’m one too,’ he said, taking the words out of her mouth. ‘What I want from you is to bring back some of the stuff for me. I couldn’t touch raw material myself,’ he explained, showing festering hands to her. ‘I want to find out if it’s of any use to strengthening me so I can join up with the Five Orders again. It’s a complex little brotherhood so to speak.’ Carrie nodded, knowing better than to ask. The job seemed simple enough. But he would have to provide her with equipment and food, she wasn’t about to go out on an errand without provisions which she wasn’t bothered enough to fetch herself. ‘I’ve got a plane ticket ready that will take you as far as Mongolia at the end of the week and preserved food packages that will last you for two. Then you’ll have to make do yourself.’ It was as if he had read her mind, this professional figure. ‘In the meantime, I can train you up in hand and foot combat until Friday morning if you want a bit of practice.’ He glanced disapprovingly at her heels. ‘And those showy things would have to go, that is, if you want to take the job.’
He stood up before she could argue. ‘I think it is time you left. Come, I will take you out another way.’ Lucien lifted the small rug in front of the couch, revealing a spiral staircase and a candle chandelier. He took a few steps down, ‘that is, if you decide to take my offer.’ He looked searchingly at her. ‘It will help fight against the Registration Act. And,’ he paused, ‘Daniel was my partner in the Order.’ He jumped over the spiral banister, landing far beneath with a splash and echo.
Thursday had come and gone. It was Friday morning, but in Lucien Cromalee's quarters it was pitch black except for the candles which were glowing steadily. Carrie had just finished a weeklong course in hand and foot combat training and had won most thoroughly in a fierce battle to keep her stilettos whilst sparring with Lucien. Her reward was eighteen hours of undisturbed sleep and a purple bruise on the jaw the size of a golf ball.
Whilst Carrie turned in front of the mirror adjusting what Lucien insisted was 'ordinary clothes' (something she hadn't touched since finding her green robes in a garbage pile behind a brick and shingle theatre), Lucien watched his trainee in quiet satisfaction. Carrie was nimble, with coordinated body and mind movements. He sensed a natural defense aptitude in her, dodging his kicks and unexpected cuffing, except the most severe ones which he had been weary to use for lack of training time. Her attacks were not so good, missing him frequently, though he would admit that she had polished up significantly. Or when she got vixenish. Lucien had been on the receiving end of many ear nipping surprises. Lucien checked the time; it was 5:45am. ‘Get going, Carrie, my pilot is not a patient woman.’
‘Hold on,’ said Carrie helping herself to a thick bowl of tomato stew simmering in the back. ‘Alright, I’m ready to go. You just want a little sample of that genetic material yeah?’ she headed out through the open latch under the carpet before he could answer. ‘I’ll be back in no time.’
Lucien gazed at his own reflection in the mirror. ‘I hope you will Carrie, I hope you will,’ he said quietly. And almost as an afterthought, ‘Don’t get caught.’ Lucien Cromalee had lost more than his fair share of friends to being caught in, so-called abnormal acts.
‘Whooooeeeeeeeeee!’ Carrie spun excitedly in the spacious jet cabin. It was a small plane, but since there was nothing on it but a sofa-bed, a few cardboard boxes dumped unceremoniously in the back and the pilot’s cabin, it was a very spacious area indeed. Carrie kept dancing, one moment to the left where the sun was setting and shining golden rays in and the next to the right where she could see the stars twinkling. It was a big child’s playground. And the promise of adventure appealed very much to her. ‘Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!’
The cabin door swung open as a very angry Jan poked her head out.
‘Will you shut up?’
‘Whooeeeeeee! No can do,’ grinned a very happy Carrie impishly.
‘Well keep it down then,’ muttered the disheveled pilot. She closed the door again.
Carrie knocked. ‘Excuse me, where are we now?’
No answer.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll sit quietly for the rest of the flight,’ pause. ‘So where are we, Jan?’
‘Just entering Mongolia,’ came the weary reply.
‘Oh okay, thank you.’ Carrie took a seat solemnly, as promised. She wondered if she could actually find the place and do the job. Should’ve thought of that earlier. Now she was starting to worry.