The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Jack held the young man’s stare, his expression neutral but for the raised eyebrows. He ignored the fire he glimpsed behind the kid’s stare, but made mental note of it. He’d seen that look before, hundreds of times, in the eyes of young men. Had given it himself more times than he could count. Willing. Desperate. Violent. Don’t fuck with me.
Probably it should seem absurd, a person dangling above him with nothing to hold onto but thin air. Okay, it was absurd, Jack conceded to himself, even by New York standards. Uncommon though. The silence lingered for a stretched out moment before he spoke.
“How’s it hanging?”
That was how the kids these days greeted each other, wasn’t it?
Jack’s gaze moved slowly, from the floating kid, to the spray can in his hand, to the black lines reaching up the wall. Two parallel lines, dominating the brickwork. He pursed his lips as he considered the kid’s graffiti. He’d never been much of a connoisseur of art. Even less so of graffiti and street art. Jack’s teenage exploits in vandalism had gone from a few rocks though windows before rapidly escalating to blowing up Nazi transports.
He pointed at the paintwork, looking back at the kid. “I don’t get it. What is it? Is that an eleven? Or a two? You know, like Roman numerals?”
It was easy for one to be cynical with age, especially when it came to younger generations. Lazy, unreliable, ignorant, useless… He’d heard it all directed towards himself when he was a pup. He’d barked the same accusations at the mobsters-in-training under his wing, back when he’d been “Black” Jack Hitchcock. It wasn’t until Jack had unwittingly had to live through a ‘second’ childhood that he’d gained a newfound optimism towards the younger generation. He wouldn’t deny that sometimes a stereotype was a stereotype for a reason. But more often than not, youngsters delighted and surprised him these days.
Which was exactly what had happened when Andrea had followed up on her promise and called him up with the reminder of coffee and conversation.
Bless that sweet girl!
They’d arranged to meet at a diner he’d recommended. It was nothing fancy, a plain affair with basic tables and chairs. But it was popular. He liked this place. What it lacked in flash and pretentiousness, it made up in food quality. That and proper Italian coffee. Jack had no objection to the standard filter-brew one found in most places, but this place was where one came for the good stuff.
He sat at a table for two, coat draped over the back of his chair. With glasses perched on the end of his nose, he delicately sipped at his espresso, reading a worn paperback titled The Mythology of Mutation. A small flat parcel wrapped in brown paper sat on the table in front of him.
It was quiet moments like this that Jack cherished more and more in his advanced age. The comfortable awareness of simple pleasures and sensations. He smiled to himself, taking another sip of coffee as he waited.
Jack enjoyed the nighttime city. Always had. There was an otherworldly quality to New York at night, a Jekyll to the daytime’s Hyde. The neon-glow permeated the dark sky, creating an indigo shroud that blanketed the towering skyscrapers. Despite the late hour, people still roamed the streets, the distant sound of car horns punctuating the night. The city that never sleeps.
A sixty year old Jack stepped out from the diner, a satisfied smile on his lips and the aftertaste of bitter coffee on his tongue. The eggs and sausage sat nicely in his belly. The cool night air nipped at Jack’s face, and he buttoned his coat, sliding the newspaper under his arm as he headed off towards nowhere in particular.
It was a night off, no jobs on the books. As such, he was restless at home. He liked to wander the streets. New York was in his blood, and he enjoyed spending time getting to know her. Ninety-four years and she still managed to show him new and unexpected delights. Many of which did not reveal themselves in the neon streets, but in the shadowy alleyways and courtyards. Turning down one such alley, Jack spotted a homeless man passed out beside a slimy dumpster. Pausing to observe the man a moment, he wandered over to lay the newspaper over the man, before continuing on his way.
It was quiet tonight, not many souls to be seen. Except…
He glanced around as he heard a rattling sound, followed by the telltale sound of a spray paint can. Problem was, so far as he could tell, there was no one in sight. He sniffed the air, a faint whiff of paint.
Strange.
Something dripped down onto his head, and in instinct, he reached up to wipe it away. As he removed his hand, he caught a glance of the black smear on his palm. Was that...paint? Jack craned his head back and looked up. His eyebrows rose in curiosity and surprise, and he took a few steps back to better see what he was looking at.
“Huh…” he said to himself. You didn’t see that every day...
Standing beside Aura, Aion took in the building and its surroundings. Standard cameras, easy enough to avoid. Distracted guards. He shook his head at their disgusting laxness. What was it with people and their obsession with phones these days? If they’d been on security in his employ, he’d have them fired, if not beaten. Had they been guards in his company during the war, he’d have executed them for gross negligence. Happy situation then that they were the sentries he had to sneak by instead.
He took his time watching the cameras, making sure there were no sentries patrolling. When none were forthcoming, he grunted to himself. “If security is this bad on the outside, then I’d wager we need to be extra careful once we get inside. This screams cat-trap. Present a weak front, entice intruders, then trap and cut them to pieces once inside.” He glanced sideways at Aura. “I’m going to go on a hunch and say this is going to get more lethal than not.” He didn’t think that would be a problem, but she had requested non-lethal first and he felt professionally obligated to be honest with her.
If push came to shove, he’d take the first shot with no regrets.
He lifted a finger to a window on the far side of the building. “It won’t be hard to skirt around the cameras and guards. Can you cut us through?”
What kind of vigilante was this guy? For someone who had willingly inserted themselves into the scene, he seemed awfully reluctant. Almost put upon. Maybe it was nerves? Maybe he hadn’t realised how deep the end he’d thrown himself into was until he was already committed? Maybe he was just a crappy hero? Still, he had gotten himself in Aion’s way. If Aion couldn’t shake him soon, he’d be forced to take alternative action. He was eager to get away, but he couldn’t tip reveal hand yet.
Fortunately, the hero seemed just as eager to hand him over to mall security.
>> “Maybe we can get them to help you find mommy.”
Aion gave a snotty sniff, running the back of his arm across his nose and nodded pathetically. He let the waterworks ease a touch. “Okay...” he whimpered.
His gaze whipped over to the mall cop. A standard specimen. Middle-aged, gone to pudgy, and hopelessly out of his depth. A better prospect than this unknown helmeted variable. Aion knew that he’d be easy to give the slip. He turned his wide-tear filled eyes up to the grinning helmet, before holding out a small hand for the man to guide him.
He had to admit, she did a pretty spectacular one-eighty from bashful to bold. That was a question he hadn’t been expecting, for sure. Did he want to be her fun person? When was the last time he had partaken in that particular indulgence? He did a quick mental calculation. Shit... Had it really been that long?
He was getting old...
He smiled slyly, taking the time to let his eyes roam. He coudn’t deny that she was gorgeous. Maybe a bit scrawny for his tastes, but that was hardly a problem. Young, too. Part of him, the reptile brain, took pride and was somewhat flattered that, at the age of 94, he was still getting attention from sexy young blondes. Mind you, it probably helped that he was currently wearing his younger age...
So the question now became whether he wanted to mix business with pleasure...
His roaming gaze met Juniper’s and he held her eye, letting his lips curl into his most seductive smile. “My place, or yours?”
———————————FTB———————————
He closed the apartment door gently behind him, coat cradled in the crook of his arm. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, trying to tame it somewhat, before checking the time. He was nearing the limit of this form, and would have to age again soon.
Then, he’d have a good rest!
He glanced at the ID he had taken off Juniper’s hands, reading over the name and address. He’d let Davis spread the word for the night. That should be enough to spread the idea that Aion had a ghostly new associate. Now, it was time to clean up the loose ends.
He slid the ID into his pocket, checked that Juniper’s door was securely locked, then walked towards the exit. He offered a polite nod to a young dark haired girl passing in the opposite direction. Slipping his coat on, he slid his hands into the pocket, feeling the cool touch of his pistol. With a whistle on his lips and his head held high, Jack walked out into the early morning.
“Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” he replied, nodding in understanding. He didn’t frown, didn’t grin. In fact, he looked rather understanding for a man who had committed murder this evening. “That’s a bridge you can’t uncross once you’ve gone over it.” God knows, he’d spent a lot of time trying throughout his life.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was younger than you when I killed my first man. Different circumstances, but still... It’s strange how easily you can get used to dead bodies.” He sniffed. “Easy enough to make them, too, after a while.” He tapped his index finger to the side of his head. “It’s the living with yourself afterwards that’s the hard part.”
That, and admitting to yourself that there is a certain kind of pride in a kill well executed.
“Thanks for your honesty by the way,” he said. “I think it’s admirable that you hold to your principles. I dare say you’ve come across your share of psychopaths and lying scumbags in this line of work. It’s refreshing to be able to speak frankly.”
He grinned at the stink eye she was tossing in his direction. Oh, the righteousness of youth! It always amused and inspired him. When enthusiasm outweighs experience and time on life’s scales, He leaned forward to better see the photo. He gave a loud laugh, genuine admiration in his expression. “Oh he’s so handsome!” Jack cooed. This was the most emotion he had shown all night. “Aww! What a sweetie!” He looked up from the phone and smiled. “Strays look out for each other, and by the looks of it you’re in good paws.”
The portrait was beginning to flesh itself out. Girl from small town nowhere, committing bank robberies from the age 15, yet only what she needed. Fifteen. He gave a huff of laughter. “Good age,” he muttered, almost to himself. The same age he’d been when he’d enlisted. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he didn’t bother to check it. They were having a conversation, and he found it distasteful to fiddle with his phone while having a conversation.
He chuckled at her remarks. “All my life, two things have never changed in New York. Ridiculous rental costs and half-assed mobsters. Serves them right.” He raised a curious brow. “So are they still breathing?”
Jack sat back stretching his arms across the back of the booth. “I’m curious, have you ever killed anyone?” he asked casually. Like asking if she’d ever played baseball, or visited the Statue of Liberty. He was on the fence as to whether she had or not. She had the brass, he was sure of that much, but whether she had used it was a mystery.
He nodded, a knowing expression on his face. A drifter then. Not surprising. “Well, you’re still young. Can’t say I had much of a plan at your age either.” Other than survival, though he expected that his had been a different type of survival that of today’s young adults. Rent money hadn’t been much of an concern when he had been crawling through muddy, corpse filled trenches. “Besides, there ain’t no shame in living in the now.”
And, just like that, it was done. “Pretty much.” He smiled. “What’s your cat’s name?”
He reached into his coat, pulling out a pen. Grabbing a napkin from the dispenser, he wrote down his number with the name Jack, tore the napkin in half and slid the pen and paper across to Juniper.
Jack’s brows rose in genuine surprise as she dropped her working name. “Huh. You’re the Spectre? Well no shit... I thought you’d be older.” Now this was something! He’d heard the name. First in the various news reports. Then from Aion’s various contacts. Mostly in speculation as to who Spectre could have been, and how handy it would be to have someone like that onboard for business. Jack chuckled softly to himself. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d fallen into his life. Coincidence didn’t exist.
It was always a pleasant surprise when the Universe brought things into alignment.
“No wonder you’re not aching for cash,” he said, a newfound respect in his expression.
His brows rose, before he laughed lightly to her response. The girl was a curiosity. She had a moxie that Jack admired, and an air of self awareness that most people were sorely lacking. He wondered if maybe having the ability to simply take what one needed, when one needed it, made the idea of excess for money unnecessary. Most people stocked money like squirrels stocked nuts before winter. Or gorged themselves on it like a fat man at a buffet.
A lack of greed. What a worthy trait for a criminal!
Juniper jumped to business. Jack grinned. Time to cast the line.
“You’re right. I’m more interested in that ability you’ve got, and how I could hire it out for specialised employment. Or whether you’d even be willing to...” He pursed his lips, making a show of exaggerated contemplation. “I had been hoping to appeal to your sense of greed and avarice, but as it turns out, that’s not going to work. So I’m sitting here wondering what I can offer to a girl who can walk through walls, and who can make problems disappear...” A facetious sigh. “Excitement? Pride and satisfaction in a job well done? Risk and adventure? Friendship?” He tapped his finger to his lips. “Business?”
He shrugged and leaned forward to catch Juniper’s eye. “I dunno... What tempts you? What are you after in life, Juniper?”
Aion had done his share of mugging in his life, and had even killed someone with an axe once. Some poor German soldier who had been patrolling the wrong road at the wrong time. He’d been barely older than Aion at the time, but a Nazi was a Nazi, and an obstacle was an obstacle. Aion figured that the ‘grinning’ vigilante didn’t need to know either of these facts, and so declined to mention them. The fact that the self appointed hero practically admitted that he was out of his depth boded well. Still, Aion wouldn’t leave anything to chance. A lucky amateur can cause as much, if not more, trouble than an experienced pro.
He let some snot run from his nose, before looking up at his helmeted saviour. The bubbles he blew were a happy coincidence.
“M-M-Mom said sh-sh-she had to g-g-get something...” Aion stuttered. He pointed a shaky finger across the open way, towards a large PayMart department store. He scrunched up his face, letting out a fresh bout of crying. He let his breathing become ragged, panicked, threatening to overwhelm. Controlled of course, but anyone with a modicum of experience around children should mistake it for what appeared to be. A scared young boy, overwhelmed and frightened.
The temptation to shoot and flee was there. It always was in these moments. Aion recognised the fight and flight response. That was natural. That never quite went away. Aion, however, was a professional. The difference between a professional and an amateur was the ability to master the instinct, to have the will to overcome it. To neither flee, nor fight.
“Something happened to Santa!” Now he pitched a high scream. With all the parents and children in the vicinity, he may be able to spread some panic. If he could cause the herd to stampede, there he may find an opportunity to slip away before this hero took too much interest in helping him find ‘Mom’.
Aion calmly replaced the pistol into the holster he had sown inside of the elf costume. Some would argue that a .22 wasn’t worth the admission price, but the ruined mess of “Santa’s” head proved otherwise. One did not need a cannon at point blank range. He reached up, pretending to try and give Santa a wake up shake, whilst slipping the photograph into the dead man’s costume front in one fluid motion. The chain and locket he replaced into his pocket. His client would want that back, and besides, it would be too easily traced to its owner. He wiped the crook of his sleeve across his face, smearing the flecks of blood that had landed there.
This was the delicate part of the operation. The shock of Aion’s hit should ripple any moment now, provided no one had directly seen him pull the trigger. The idiot-dumb moment while people tried to process what had just happen. A small window of escape, or disguise... All he had to do was—
Something dropped out of the air.
>>”What the hell happened?”
Aion glanced around, following the voice. A strange figure stood amidst the crowd. Helmeted and leather jacketed. He narrowed his eyes, taking a moment to gauge this new arrival. Three fingered hands hinted mutant, as did the fact that he had apparently sprung from nowhere. A superhero, then? A vigilante? Time to act, and fast.
It came almost second nature to him. His small bottom lip began to tremble, and Aion willed the tears to come to his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he let out a spine-chilling wail. He pointed, and flailed, falling from the corpse’s lap. The dead man, unable to compete against gravity, slumped forward and flopped onto the floor beside him.
“Santaaaa...!” he wailed, rolling onto his stomach, hands placed near the opening of his shirt.
Posted by Aion on Dec 25, 2020 22:57:18 GMT -6
Elliott likes this
Zeta Mutant
45
4
Feb 14, 2021 0:03:20 GMT -6
*((Rating for mature themes))*
‘Twas the day before Christmas and all through the mall, Were bargains for shoppers, needs catered for all, Imported items at discounted rate, For shoppers who had left their shopping too late,
The children lined up in a line growing quick, For parents to photograph them with Saint Nick, With kids on his lap, and his white flowing beard, How could anyone know that this man should be feared?
A secret he held, a secret so ghastly, This man who played Santa was ever so nasty, A monster who lurked right behind a bright smile, Whose crimes were so vile they brought up the bile,
Some folk might suggest he be dealt with the law, A privilege for those who could simply ignore, But Aion had seen when his patron had shown, Photos of all of the pain that was sown,
What was needed was more than a slap on the wrist, And Aion knew this man would never be missed, So ’guised as a child and dressed as an elf, He clambered on lap as he grinned to himself,
“And what can I do for you, young man, this year?” Said Santa, hands moving towards Aion’s rear, That fucker! What nerve! Did he have no shame? “Why, Santa, I’ve got a gift with your name,”
The photo was pulled from out the boy’s pocket, Along with a singular chain and a locket, Now Saint Nicolas’ face was beginning to pale, As he stared at the locket, his attention did fail,
To notice the pistol slide under his chin, And suddenly fire, noise lost in the din, A red mist blew out like the gentle spring rains, As Aion blew out old Saint Nicolas’ brains…
He finished his stretching, taking a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Aura’s assessment of the plan was solid. Take out the power, blind their surveillance, draw attention. He visualised in his minds eye a vague showing of the night to come. Though he had no specific image of the building or the guards he would be facing, it didn’t matter. He could see it as clearly as though it were before him. He visualised himself as a shadow, passing unseen. He visualised himself as the breeze, passing unheard. He was the phantom, the spectre that would find his way to the target. He visualised the guards, blindfolds over their eyes, and he watched them, blind to their surroundings. He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. He repeated this process three times, the image in his mind growing sharper and more vivid with each cycle. He released the image, seeing it floating away into the aether.
He opened his eyes and smiled.
“We’ll walk. A car might draw too much attention.” That, and he hadn’t driven in decades. Hadn’t needed to. “It’ll give us a chance to scope the surroundings. If things go south we’ll have a better chance at slipping them on foot. If we get separated, we can rendezvous here.” He checked his watch. “If either of us fail to return by 0900 hours, we consider the job a bust, and we cut and run. Agreed?”
Not that he expected things to go that way, but it was always smart to have a contingency for the worst case.
He inclined his head to the young woman. He felt the stirrings of adrenaline in his body, and smiled. He was excited to see what the night, as well as his new colleague, would bring. Provided Aura had nothing else to take care of, he was ready.
Jack watched as Juniper gave Sam the money he had given her. Sam for his part, smiled politely and accepted the tip, thanking the young girl before returning his attention to the shelved bottles. She seemed eager to not come out of this night with a profit. Jack took another sip of his cola. Was it a moral code? Guilt? Perhaps she hadn’t been quite as at ease with tonight’s events as she had let on. Still, if that was the case, she had one hell of a poker face.
“For someone who doesn’t bat an eyelash at extortion and murder, you seem pretty determined to make sure you come out of tonight as poor as you started,” he quipped lightly, smirking at the girl. His tone was one of amusement rather than accusation. “Don’t like dirty money?”
He sat back, relaxing. He could tease this out if he wanted to, but that had more potential for misunderstanding. May as well get down to brass tacks and see where she stood. She had the stomach for action, that much had been clear. She was no stranger to crime. She had told him as much.
“Not that I’m judging. Just seems a curious contradiction.”
