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.
Exposure. Like a raw nerve in a decaying tooth, Roland was in the open. A high school graduating class could be filled with the number of eyes on him these days. Those eyes crossed every line, be they legal or not. Wearing jeans and a windbreaker over a nondescript blue T, the man moved with purpose through alleys, a small bicycle mirror in his hand.
Incredibly useful items, they were, the little mirrors. He had used them often in prison and it certainly helped to avoid the telltale look over the shoulder. The eyes wanted that kind of backward glance to verify their staring. The side streets and sounds were becoming familiar with each crossing, his destination looming. There was no way to enter the hallowed halls of the Sanctuary without going the way everyone did, through those grand golden doors.That kind of exposure simply wouldn't do, however. His eyes scanned the scavengers of the alleys, looking for something that might work.
Something found him, in the form of a rattling shopping cart full of cans and refuse. Attached to it was a haggard man, long past his prime, an old scarf hanging over his head.
"You want something, Mister?"
"Yes."
Not long thereafter, a shopping cart rattled and squeaked down the sidewalk in front of the Sanctuary. The damp and smelly scarf hanging over his face, Roland walked up to the doors, shaking the cart so that the cans made an awful racket. He banged hard with the side of his fist, shaking the cart further, his best scratchy American accent voicing,
Idiots knocking at the Sanctuary door, or occasionally simply entering the building without warning, wasn't exactly an unheard of occurrence. Alcohol was usually a deciding factor in such actions. Testosterone was another. Sometimes both of them had been mixed together. A number of such events tended to be younger men with one or a few of their friends goading them into it. A sort of show of bravery. Knock on the door of the Freaks' Shelter without getting killed and get a pat on the back and another free drink. Once in a while it was just another bigot with enough gall to try and call someone out for a match of ranting and raving. If an attack occurred, it was just another event to add to their list of prejudices.
Lisa rarely ever answered the door. She seemed to prefer to stay at her desk and keep up with her never ended work flow. She'd become quite proficient at sending short text messages to various Orderlings if she wanted something taken care of. Isabel much preferred this to any sort of intercom system, especially with the other woman's penchant for using her hated last name when summoning her. The Receptionator was a bold woman and knew exactly how much she could get away with.
Upon hearing the echoing banging against the golden doors and the slightly quieter shouting from the opposite side of them, just such a message made its way to Isabel's phone, simple reading "Doors." As her phone buzzed and the message was read, she sighed and got up from her seat at the cafeteria, dumping the remains of her lunch in the trash and placing the tray on top of the bin before heading in the direction her attention was required. She really hoped it was something to do with a new arrival.
She should have suspected otherwise.
Isabel was definitely not on the list of most eloquent or people-friendly members of the Order. She was more suited to a title like hired muscle and was much better equipped to dispatch people than to converse with them. Her and the Abyssi were likely some of Lisa's preferred contacts for clearing away any riff-raff that intruded upon her lobby.
"Someone requesting cans from the 'freaks'," the blond woman informed her, her gaze never leaving the computer screen in front of her as her fingers tapped away at the keyboard. Isabel couldn't help but roll her eyes as she headed toward the doors and heaved a sigh at the though of dealing with such an individual. No one in any right state of mind would pose such a request.
Pulling the doors open just wide enough for her frame to nearly fill the gap that was created, she stepped just past the door and onto the threshold. She crossed her arms and leveled he gaze on the filthy person standing before her. Just another homeless nut, and an anti-mutant one to top it off. "Keep moving, you dirty rat. Us 'freaks' don't have anything you'd appreciate getting."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Roland imagined Lisa sitting at her desk, not getting up. He tried to remember when he had ever seen her get up, but came up with nothing. Maybe she lacked legs. He kept his head down and tilted away from the street. Paranoia was a valid response for his situation, but in Pruitt's case, it was often validated, much more to the tune of a kind of hypersensitivity. The thought of using that as a talent among the elbow bumping kids inside made him smirk.
What did have legs was the lyrical lilting monotone that caressed the man's ears. For a moment, Roland thought that he may have won the karmic lottery, being ushered back into the life by the only female worthy of the task. He was glad that the filthy strip of material hid his face. Not so happy about the impending delousing. Picking up the scratchy accent once more, he offered his own reply.
"Oh, I dun know about that, mama. I bet you got somethin I need indeed." He added a bit of a raspy giggle, to punctuate the inside joke known to all men. "How boout some of that M drug. I know you freaks like dolin that out. Gimme some o that and I kin get my own damned cans, ya musty crone."
Still hunched over the cart's handle, he suspected he might have to take a stab, but with it being lit up outside, he'd probably get the pleasant welcome, with a healthy dose of stabbing once the doors closed. Thinking about it, it might even be worth the stab to see the look on her face when he --gladly-- removed the louse shroud in a few moments.
Isabel's expression of slight irritation turned into a disgusted sneer as her chosen words were twisted into something crude. Those sorts of comments had become far more common than she'd ever have liked after those godawful posters and calendars had been released coupled with a certain redhead's news segments starring the bow-bedecked killer. Granted most people weren't brave or stupid enough to say any such things to her face, but it was amazing what one could hear in passing or when someone was under an influence.
She resisted the urge to spit as the street rat moved on to demand a dose of M, paired with a particular insult that she hadn't ever heard directed at her before. M had nearly exploded in popularity once it had hit the streets, especially since Faust Pharms had gone the legal route to distribute it. Isabel hadn't ever sold it herself, though. She wasn't patient or willing enough to deal with the kinds of people that were willing to buy the stuff. She wasn't so keen on the concept in the first place. Why on earth should humans be able to share in the abilities that mutants had? Sure, it kept their pockets lined, but there were other ways to do that.
"M..." she repeated, acting as if such a thing sounded completely foreign to her. "Hmm, nope. Nothing called M here, old man. Especially not for some anti-mutant worm. I guess you'll have to skulk around a gutter somewhere else. Besides, I'd worry about the cans you've already got. Wouldn't want to lose any." Shifting her weight to one side, her free leg lifted so that she could plant her foot on the noisy, can-filled cart and give it a shove. She hoped the wheels were abused enough that the thing would topple over instead of just sliding away.
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Like a schoolgirl all a-titter, Roland could barely keep his excitement down, bearing a smirk to show his restraint. He was really climbing up Duskmoor's panties on this one. If he didn't have the awareness of the eyes, he might let this tit for tat go for a while. However, as things stood, it was in his best interest to get inside the doors, where he could then harass the anorexic as much as he liked. He noted her proper denial of M, even its existence, which was a laugh. His mind was going to go somewhere even lower in the gutter she mentioned when opportunity reared its gorgeous head.
He saw her body turn and her foot leave the ground. She had really grown in her sense of dramatics, a thing Roland would not have believed had he not witnessed it. Once her foot was on the cart and she pushed from her hip to kick it, he made his move. Instinct and a rapidfire musculature pushed his own leg into the side of her standing knee. He did it hard enough to bring her down, but not hard enough to damage her. There was a slight difference when it came to bundles of tendons. Her bones could suck it if they broke. The momentum of her shove and the loss of her posture would send her body forward toward her bounty.
This would give Roland the opportunity to slide through the gap created by her now absent body, should all things fall as he believed they would. Once through the door, he would firmly close it behind him, pulling the wet scarf from his head and tossing it across the room. He leaned back against the door, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his windbreaker, the Zippo already in his hand being struck. A spark of flint and the appearance of flame was all that could be witnessed before the lighter had disappeared, its click closed occurring in Roland's pocket.
Looking over, he would see Lisa give him the courtesy of looking up, a rare treat. With the recognition occurring instantly in what Roland still thought might be a robot, he would simply say, "No need for alarms, Lisa. Just playing tag."
Should Isabel not fall so firmly as he had planned, he would skip the niceties and give her an equally good shove before entering.
Well, the situation had certainly turned in a direction Isabel hadn't been anticipating, and had done so very quickly. She'd never have guessed just by looking at the guy that the gutter dweller was capable of moving so quickly, nor in such an effective maneuver.
A sound of pained surprise escaped her as the man's foot connected solidly with her knee, causing it to buckle and send her toppling forward. Her chin and nose thankfully just barely missed the edge of the can-laden cart as she fell, though her hands and knees weren't quite spared the unpleasant sensation of skin scraping against pavement.
She issued a string of curses as she scrambled to her feet just as the large door behind her shut with a solid thump. That little bastard! He was so dead! She'd rip him apart and leave him to rot on the Sanctuary's doorstep when she was done. He'd insisted on pushing the 'freak's buttons, so now she'd show him what happened when that was done.
Pushing on the door that had been shut behind her had only managed to reveal that he was probably leaning against the damn thing as it didn't want to budge. It was simple enough to take a half step and repeat the action on the door's twin and let herself back into the building, still cursing all the while.
"You son of a bi-," she started as she stepped back into the Foyer and wheeled on the filthy individual just inside the doors. She lost a little steam when she realized that the older man's face had since been uncovered and she recognized the features that had previously been hidden. Now there was someone she hadn't seen in a long time. "Roland! What the hell is wrong with you?! You really wanna get stabbed that badly? Cuz I could do that without the theatrics."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Roland was immediately impressed by Isabel's use of the other door. He was nearly certain there would be a Nellie Olsen style tirade outside, complete with stomping and bone scraping. He watched her turn on her heel and make eye contact with him. She didn't even miss a beat. It was strangely exciting. Not to be confused with arousing. He moved a few meters back, well out of reach of probing bones. His fists went up like an old pugilist from England, a la cowardly lion.
"Come on, you old cow. You live for theatrics. That big duncy number you used to wear with the frills? Your big bow? Why don't you give the old man some sugar?" He put his fists down and his stubbly smirk went with it. He took a long draw from his cigarette before adding, "Kidding. No sugar, please." Turning on his own heel, he wandered the foyer, blowing smoke and examining the art on its walls. Exactly the same. Dust free and immaculate, probably due to the receptiobot, but still. One would think that with the money they brought in they might do an update.
"So, when did you get your hair done? Never imagined you as a brunette. Not that I imagine you that often anyway." He knew she had always been brunette, but doing a little skewering and jabbing of his own always made him happy. She was one of the Order that he could let his guard down with. No one ever needed worry about trusting her if they were on the same side as her. Loyal to a fault and too psychopathic to be a snitch. That was why he didn't mind turning his back on her.
Once her little fit was over, he got to the meat of the matter. "Listen, I need to lay low for a while. Like all the way down in the basement low. Think you could help me out?"
Isabel bristled all over again as she was addressed by yet another entirely unflattering title as well as an assessment of her previous clothing tendencies, all topped off with a request for some 'sugar'. Her look of disgust returned with that request. She didn't even kiss guys her own age, nevermind cocky bastards at least ten years her senior. Gross. This little reunion was certainly off to a marvelous start.
"Yeah. Nice to see you too, old man," she practically spat as she watched him turn and begin wandering around the foyer, seemingly taking in the decor. She was trying so very hard not to let him goad her into a shouting match. She rarely ever settled for just yelling. Sooner or later someone ended up with a spike through their chest. Usually sooner. And she wasn't supposed to be maiming her fellow Orderlings, not even the ones she didn't care for. It just wasn't something that was done. Teammates were supposed to watch each others' backs, not stick knives in them.
"I've always had brown hair and you know it, you ass!" she shot back, moving herself farther into the foyer and away from the doors. She wasn't quite trailing him, but she wasn't entirely keen on giving him too much breathing room, either, just because. "And I see you haven't changed much. Still a smartass old bastard just begging for a blade to the heart." She could certainly oblige. All it would take was word of his defection and she could really let him have it.
But of course there was no such word. Quite the opposite, really. He was looking for some assistance, trying to hide out for one reason or another. And of course, she could never deny a teammate such a request. It was simple enough as it was, and she was more than capable of providing some level of protection of it was needed.
"We still keep all our bedrooms on the lower level," she said, her voice losing some of its venom as a reason more than teasing her became the focus. "You're more than welcome to snag one for yourself. Abyss and his Brothers still live here, too, so if someone's after you they won't get very far."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
So, she kept gabbing. Her little pokes and prods were adorable, as the little bone b**** made her idle threats.She had to know he was armed. That led to the eventuality that a bullet through the eye socket didn't do much for bone armor. He would never intentionally hurt her, though. Not while she was an ally and a source of intel. His cigarette hanging loosely on the skin of his lower lip, Roland moved away from the foyer as Isabel began to soften, the focus being shifted to business.
"I'm still on duty, as far as I know." Looking over Isabel's shoulder at Lisa, his eyebrows arched. She nodded and shot him a sideways glance before returning to her beloved monitor. "Right. So, who's in charge right now? Still Magnet Mama?" The thought of the young Roman senator in the body of an electric bartender brought a little tidbit of later fantasy. "Any action going on? I need to stay off of the radar, so I will probably be limited to covert ops. Spill the beans, Duskmoor."
He kept walking and listening until he reached the elevator, waiting to hear about what his next few months might consist of.
Isabel heaved a sigh as Roland started wandering away from the Foyer, requiring that she catch up with him and accompany him to the lower level of the Sanctuary. She'd noted Lisa's confirmation of his status and allowed it to put her a little more at ease. It was hard to tell sometimes when certain individuals still considered themselves to be Order or whether they were still welcome in the Faction after they had been gone for a long time. It was a bit of a weak spot of hers to trust that returning members were coming back for the sake of the Order instead of suspecting that they may be up to something else.
" Lori's still in charge, yeah. Though Syn's recently come back to us, so I don't really know how things are going to play out power-wise," she admitted, trying not to let her mind dwell too much on the possibilities and issues that her oldest friend's return might bring with it. She'd rather not lose sleep over it until any possible altercations actually cropped up.
She slowed to a stop as they reached the elevator and punched the down button, waiting until the hidden door opened and they had stepped inside to start the short descent before addressing his second question. She tried not to grit her teeth too visibly at the sound of her last name.
"M is the big thing right now, as you so politely requested outside," she began, shooting him a mildly irritated sidelong glance. "We've got it out legally right now, so we don't have much trouble from the cops. Lori's got some of us out peddling it to whatever humans are willing to pay for the stuff." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Disgusting little rats.
"Other than that, it's really just collecting protection money from the locals," she continued, stepping out of the elevator as they reached the basement floor and the doors opened once more. "Pretty sure it's once a month someone goes out and collects. Occasionally we get to beat up some of the Russian Mafia, too. They give us trouble sometimes."
I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes to leave a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.
Listening to Isabel's candor, Roland realized that despite all of her little idiosyncrasies, she was a soldier. Sure, a bitchy one, but nonetheless, she followed orders and was always on guard at the Sanctuary, ready to root out and skewer any who may oppose her beloved family. It was an agreeable and respectable trait, but it still begged the question that wormed its way into the man's mind. What orders? Every time he had been in this bunkhouse for the lost, it seemed to always be the same situation. Different faces and different schemes, but nothing ever really changed.
While this would have set him to plotting of his own six months ago, for the time being, he was perfectly complacent. Some hot showers and beds for a week or two would do the thief good. He'd had none of that for a long time. As the elevator descended and Roland had a small inner laugh at Isabel's irritation, he was surprised to find that M had been made legal. It took most of its profit potential to do that, but he knew the ethos of the residents. Mutants over humans at any cost. As he was a member of the former affiliation, it made him cozy to be where he was. The idea itself wasn't terrible, short of the lack of easy prey.
The doors opened and she spoke further of collections and dealings with the Russian Mafia. Probably a job best reserved for those who had not gone AWOL during a job to get back with another kind of mafia. As he was led to a vacant room, he opened the door. A lone key rested on the nightstand of the stark but comfortable quarters. It soon vanished to the confines of his pockets. "I'd invite you in, but no doubt you are being courted by someone you pretend to despise." His cigarette dwindling to a nub, he smashed it out on the heel of his shoe before depositing it in a bin with a flick of the wrist. "I'll need an ashtray and a phone. That'll do, Miss Duskmoor."