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 was surprised. He knew that there were still good people left in the world, but to meet somebody with a genuinely selfless spirit, that was something rare indeed. How many others sacrificed their own comforts for the betterment of society as a whole?
“Wonderful!” A proud smile. “It will be here as long as you need it to be.” A wistful sigh. “Andrea, I am very glad to have met you today. You are a delight, and it warms this old heart to see that there are still such dedicated and caring people as you in left in the world.”
Doris had already wrapped the cheap copy of Isadora, tying the string into a small bow. Jack gestured to Doris, pointing under the counter, and she placed it into a plastic bag, which she held out to the young Greek. “My gift, dear. On the house. There’s no way I would make you wait to read the darn thing! Please come visit any time! I would love to have you back.”
Jack tore off a strip of paper on which he had written his name and phone number, in small, slightly messy script, and offered it to Andrea. “Feel free to contact me whenever you are free. I would be delighted to catch up with you so we could discuss mythology some more. I don’t keep many acquaintances these days, but I would love to pick your brain over coffee some day.”
He hoped that Andrea would accept his offer. Not only would he genuinely enjoy the company, but she was far too precious to lose touch with!
“You’d be surprised what Doris has seen,” he reassured. He nodded with understanding as Andrea described her medical instincts taking over. “That’s the medic’ curse, isn’t it? I’ve seen combat medics rush through sniper fields without a second thought. As far as impulsive behaviour, I can think of worse.” A grin to further ease the tension.
The next surprise was perhaps the most logical possibility that should occur, absurd as that thought was. The paper he had handed to Andrea turned to stone at the touch of her bare skin. Medusa’s curse, though tactile rather than ocular. Logical, yet still surprising. Jack didn’t remark as the young woman snatched her hand away. He placed the waste basket away, and watched patiently as Andrea cursed and gathered herself. He heard the back door open as Doris quietly made her way back into the storefront.
Then came the request. This, too, was expected. Jack understood. A power like that, the ability to heal with your own blood... Small wonder she would want to keep it hidden. There were all sorts of unscrupulous characters in the world who would want to exploit that whichever way they could.
He nodded and ran his pinched fingers along his lips, ‘zipping ‘ them shut. He glanced at Doris, who had cleaned herself. She was holding a small photo frame close to her chest. She nodded in silent agreement. Stepping forward, she held out the frame for Andrea to see. The photograph was an old and battered black and white square. Two young men in military uniform sat atop a Sherman tank, dishevelled, their arms around each other’s shoulders in comradeship. One of the men was a sharp eyed and wore a grim, exhausted expression, the barest curl of his lip. The other grinned widely, as though he had not a care in the world, despite the debris surrounding the tank. His face and hands, the only visible part of his skin, was perfectly bisected in colour: one half pure white, one half pitch black. “I’m sorry, dear. Your power... It reminded me so much of Earl’s.” She smiled at Andrea with wet eyes. “You have my word, I will never tell a living soul.”
Jack smiled. “Doris, put the Isadora on my account.” He nodded toward the expensive edition. “I’ll front it.”
A grandfatherly smile to Andrea. “Doris will hold onto it for you, until you can pay off your part. Don’t worry, it won’t be too much. A hard worker like you, I’m sure you’ll have it in your hands soon enough.”
Doris’ yelp and Andrea’s yells announced that, like most mishaps, it only takes an instant for order to fall into chaos. A mortar falling into a manned foxhole. A bullet through the head of a President. A pair of scissors mishandled by a startled woman. Jack heard the commotions and took in the scene: Andrea scolding her snakes while Doris clutched her bleeding thumb. The snakes must have startled Doris, causing her to cut herself, and then...
And then…
Jack had awareness enough to keep his eyes from widening as he watched the young Greek bite into her own finger, hard enough to break through glove and skin. With the cool focus of a combat medic, Andrea applied her own blood to Doris’ laceration like it was sulfa powder. He didn’t need to see the effects up close to realise what would happened. Doris’ reaction told him everything he needed to know.
In the myths, Asclepius, the god of medicine, was given a vial of Gorgon blood. Blood from the left side of the Gorgon could kill a mortal man, but blood from her right side…
As Doris left for the back room he strode to check on Andrea, concern on his face. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly. He stepped behind the counter, carefully removing the books which had luckily escaped any blood drops. Reaching underneath, he pulled out a small waste paper basket, a bottle of cleaning spray, and a roll of paper towels. Meticulously and methodically, Jack began cleaning up the blood.
“Don’t you worry about Doris, she’s a tough old girl,” he joked weakly, more to draw Andrea’s attention towards him so it wouldn’t stray. He snuck a glance at her hands as she stripped off her glove. “Probably feels more embarrassed that she startled than anything.” He smiled reassuringly at Andrea. He felt his pulse begin to race with excitement. “Don’t beat yourself up. Accidents happen.” He offered the paper towel to Andrea, so she could clean herself up.
...Asclepius used blood from the right side of the Gorgon to heal the sick and wounded from town to town.
Jack didn’t believe in coincidence. This was synchronicity.
Aion silently closed the door behind him, taking in the disused state of the room in a glance, before resting his gaze on the young woman, and the pink blade she was manifesting. He watched with interest as it sliced through her steak. This was good. He had visual confirmation of her powers already. He couldn’t guess at the limits or specifics of her ability, but knowing that she could create blades with her aura...that was something he preferred knowing up front. She greeted him as a friend, which boded well too. She was offering him...kangaroo meat? Huh. That seemed...exotic.
“Thank you, I believe I will,” he responded, making his way to the desk. It would be impolite to decline his host’s offering. It was somewhat disconcerting that there was no discernible stove, but that seemed an irrelevance he really didn’t need answered at the moment. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled a small pocket knife, unfolded it, and sliced a strip of the steak. Spearing it with the blade, he chewed mindfully, enjoying the flavour of the meat. It was...kind of like beef, but not.
Aura was right to business, which again, Aion could appreciate. That meant she probably had little interest in him besides what he could bring to the job. A professional, and judging by the fact she had began her briefing with no chit-chat, he assumed that she probably had information on him and had already deemed him appropriate. They could skip the measuring up.
It was a strange dance, meeting new clients and collaborators. Comparable almost to dating. Some people liked to show off - what they had, what they could offer. Others put on a front, offering one thing while desiring something else. Listening to Aura brief him on the job, Aion thought that she might be the sort of person who felt no need for deception or manipulation, for the simple fact that what you saw was what you got. Aion liked to play his cards a little closer to the chest, but saw no immediate reason for undue suspicion.
The job itself seemed simple enough. Infiltration and extraction. The names were not particularly familiar to him, nor was he particularly interested in what the genetic samples being taken were. What they would be used for was not a consideration that had even entered his thoughts. He was paid for retrieval, not cataloguing. Short of size and weight, what he was expected to steal was really none of his business. After all, the grocer shouldn’t concern himself with what someone will cook with their own groceries. He gave a satisfied nod as Aura finished speaking.
“Quick and quiet. Seems simple enough. What about expected defences? Do we have any idea of strength and numbers?”
Andrea blushed again, a trait Jack found utterly endearing. He smiled warmly as she discussed her thoughts on Medusa. Ah, now this was what he liked to hear! A beautiful young visibly mutant girl, reclaiming what it was that made her special, what made her unique. It was nostalgic, in a way. It reminded him of the heady Sixties, though he hadn’t quite been as in tune to the world back then as he was these days.
“Good for you! I think that’s wonderful. Ah, Medusa… That poor girl was a victim,” he lamented about the gorgon of classical myth. “After what was done to her, is it any wonder she was cast a villain?” He took a long breath, slowly exhaling through his nose. “The Gods make monsters of Men, so they may hide their own sins…”
And wasn’t that the truth. God knows, he understood that sentiment. He’s seen the difference between those who held power, and those that didn’t.
“But really, what are Gods and demigods anyway? Men and women with powers beyond mere mortals?” He scratched his chin, almost theatrically. “Which is odd. I mean, they certainly behave like us. Their pride, their ambitions and jealousies. Their rages, and lusts, and petty rivalries. Their flaws... Some of whom can throw lightning or control the sea, yes. We can’t deny that power like that is beyond the reach of most men and women.” He shook his head exaggerated exasperation. “I mean, have you ever seen anyone who could do amazing, wildly unpredictable feats that defied logic and reason..?” He smiled, his gaze lingered on Andrea’s snake hair, before glancing into her orange eyes, an almost knowing gleam in his eye. “There seems to be this notion that mutants are a recent phenomenon, evolved from homo-sapiens, but that seems backwards to me, don’t you think?”
Before he could continue, Doris had returned. Andrea’s attention shifted, and Jack grinned at her excitement. She exclaimed to the Lord in Greek, which confirmed the accent. Leaving the girls to their business, Jack relinquished his conversation and stood back, his eyes roaming the shelves once more.
Doris could not have been more delighted. Here was a young lady who knew how to treat a book! How to show it the proper respect it deserved! “I understand, dear.” She could empathise with the girl, and admired her pragmatic attitude. Doris had once had tastes above her net worth, and had had to sacrifice wants for needs. As all young people making their way through the world must in the beginning.
“Well, better late than never, I say! You seem like a perfect addition to my little store! Come with me and we can set you up an account. If you give me your details, I can keep an eye out for anything you might be having trouble getting hold of…” She let Andrea towards the small countertop, chattering excitedly. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a beaten old journal of accounts and a pen. She hadn’t stopped talking since she had started…
“...and I said to Earl, ‘Really? A bookstore?’ You have to understand that Earl, rest his soul, was a very sweet man, but…” Doris had taken Andrea’s purchase and placed it onto a roll of thick brown wrapping paper, a pair of heavy paper shears in her right hand. With a practiced hand, Doris’ shears began to glide along the roll. A task done thousands of times.
For close to four decades “Black” Jack Hitchcock had been a name feared amongst the criminal underbelly of New York City. A name that would cause knees to tremble and faces to pale. A hard name. A black name for black deeds. A name that, for all intents and purposes, had died twenty years ago.
For the past five years, the name Aion had been carefully and purposefully seeded in a bed of cautiously selected contacts and cultivated like a garden. Patrons chosen for their networks, resources, and discretion. Relationships built on mutual benefit rather than loyalty. “Black“ Jack had learnt the hollow cost of loyalty. Aion would take care not to repeat the same mistakes. So it was, the name of Aion had started being whispered by the right people, to the right people.
The message that had made its way to him via his usual channels had also contained a name. One that had made its way to Aion’s ears more than once. A bloodier name than his, by far. One that sent a shiver down even his neck. Written in bright pink ink, signed below a specified time and location.
Aura.
The message had sent a cold thrill through Aion, anticipation and dread mixed together. Aion supposed that the fact that a message had been sent to him boded well. Though he had never met her, rumour had it that Aura, should he have somehow gained her ire, was the kind of person who would be contacting him in a much, much more personal manner...
The safehouse was a neutral ground. An abandoned backroom, accessed through a dented steel door covered in chipped green paint, at the dead end of a filthy ally. Standard place of business in this line of work. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, a twenty year old Aion shrugged his coat tighter, lifting the collar high. He felt the bandoliers and holsters underneath the coat press tight against his shape-memory bodysuit. He rolled his neck, prompting several pops and cracks, before taking a long, slow breath.
Grasping the handle, he opened the door a crack, silently slipping through into the dim light inside.
He nodded his head in enthusiastic agreement. “Mythology has always fascinated me!” How wonderful that Andrea shared his interest in mythology! It would completely understandable for someone with such a direct resemblance to a popular figure of mythology to feel resentful towards it. “ I wasn’t much of a student when I was at school, but I do remember my mother used to read fables and myths to me. Something about them always stuck. Then the older I got, the more I started researching them, and learning all sorts of meanings and clues hidden within them.” His eagerness was up, and his hands had now joined the conversation. that generally meant he was enjoying the chat. Jack lived a mostly solitary life, by design, and while he enjoyed his solitude, there was an infectious joy that came from discussing favourite topics with other people, even complete strangers.
He glanced behind Andrea, to where the braid of serpents writhed. The effect was slightly hypnotising, as though Andrea were underwater and her hair being moved by an invisible current. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but meeting a real-life Medusa today is confirmation towards a long-time theory of mine.”
She listed her qualifications and occupation. Not a doctor, but a nurse. A truely dedicated nurse by the sound of it. Even better, perhaps? Doctors, while useful, rarely got their hands as dirty as nurses. Nurses worked in the muck, and the blood, and the shit. In a way, Jack had more respect for nurses than he did for doctors, save one or two. “Wow! You are very well read young lady,” he exclaimed. For all the youthfulness in her face, Andrea presented as an old soul. Jack would be the first person to admit that he wasn’t sure what kids these days were into these days, but he didn’t think that fads had yet extended to the studying the progression from ancient remedies to modern medicine. “I tell you what, the moment I start to break down, I’ll have to give you a call. You sound like a person somebody my age should know,” he teased, craning forwards and mockingly clutching at his hip.
From around the shelf, Doris appeared holding two books. One was an old large hardback, splendidly bound in rich leather, it’s pages leafed in gold. The other was smaller, hardback as well, but board bound and of a much lesser quality. Almost academic looking.
“Isadora of Milan, volume two. I also carry volumes three and five, but I am still tracking down four.” She held out the leather bound book to Andrea. “This one is not cheap, I’m afraid, but feel free to have a look. If it’s out of your price range, this edition is much cheaper.”
There was a short squeak as Doris’ chair slid back and the old woman hefted herself up, shuffling towards the back of the store. Jack smiled as he removed his glasses and slid the, back into his pocket. “Oh don’t let the quiet old lady act fool you. You get her going, she’ll chat you’re ear off.”
From somewhere in the back of the store, Doris sniped, “Shush you old geezer!”
Jack was impressed. A vintage lover after his own heart! The young still managed to surprise and delight him from time to time. “I must say, it warms the heart to see that there are still young people such as yourself who keep the old paper print alive. Most people seem to have their nose stuck in gadgets everywhere they go these days.” She asked about his interests, and he took a moment to think. “I suppose you could say I’m a bit like this store, old and eclectic. I find myself drawn to many weird and wonderful subjects. Though I do have a fondness for history and mythology. Philosophy, religion, stories from the ages...things like that.” His enthusiasm was growing, and with it, his hand gestures. “It boggles the mind to think of how much knowledge there has been throughout the ages...”
He smiled at Andrea. Poetry, fiction and medicinal. One of the three was not like the other. “Medicine? Really? Are you studying to become a doctor?” What a wonderful thing. Despite his own lack of formal education, Jack could admire people who were dedicated to study. The bright ambitions of young men and women who wanted to make the world a better place. Jack had respect for people like that.
Besides, doctors were always handy people to know.
What a polite young thing! It was always a pleasure to witness old fashioned courtesy in the younger generations. Sweet of her to think that he’d possibly been offended by the book, but then the young often thought as much about the elderly. It was a touching thought, that she believed him the kindly old man. He liked to think of himself as such, from time to time. It was an indulgence he allowed himself. Not that it made up for the horrible things he had done during his life. Still, it was a fun role to play.
“Oh don’t you worry about that. When you get to my age, there isn’t much you haven’t heard before.” He did not hesitate to take her proffered hand, giving it a firm, yet gentle shake. “Jack. It’s a wonderful pleasure to meet you, Andrea.” He smiled fondly at the surrounding shelves. “I have been coming here for...oh...a long, long time. And I don’t think I have ever walked away without something fascinating to read!” He felt a flush of reinvigorating energy fill him, that only passion can bring. “It’s not the easiest store to navigate, but if you’re looking for something in particular, just ask Doris. She knows every book on these shelves.”
He took in Andrea’s appearance once more. “And, I hope I am not being too forward in saying so, but you never need to worry about not feeling welcome in here. It’s a friendly little family here. No judgements.” He smiled. “About what people read, that is,” he said with a wink.
It was too much. Medusa turned mouse in a matter of moments, she scurried away to practically slam the book back into place. Jack laughed, and decided to try and ease the poor girl’s embarrassment. “Hey Doris, I think you accidentally put one of your private collection on the shelves by mistake,” he called out to the old woman, putting a hand to his mouth exaggeratedly.
The old woman’s chuckling redoubled. “Probably one of Earl’s. Silly old fool always was the optimist,” she cackled.
“Yeah, sure. As if he’d have ever been brave enough to suggest that to you,” Jack quipped and the two of them shared a fond laugh together.
He turned his attention back to the girl. She had practically buried her face into another book. He walked towards her, offering another polite smile. “I’m sorry miss, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. This place is a bit eclectic.”
Labyrinth was a suitable description of Bookman’s. Not just for its layout, but for its ability to cause you to lose yourself. There were books of all eras, genres, and subjects, carefully stacked side by side. Hundreds, if not thousands. Enough books that time had a habit of slipping away. Coupled with the archaic and indecipherable sorting system that Doris’ late husband Earl had devised, and that she had continued, there was no discernible order to the shelves, or at least none that Jack had ever been able to make sense of. Just shelves, and shelves of books, and Doris had always let Jack browse for as long as he wished. Possibly, she liked the company.
Jack spotted a book with a nameless spine, and drew it out to inspect it. It had a well worn leather cover. Old embossed lettering read Formations and Tactics of the Roman Legions. Curious, pulled his battered pair of reading glasses out from his coat pocket and flipped open the cover to look at the contents page.
A soft voice brought Jack from his reading. As he glanced up over his lenses, he found himself pleasantly surprised. A green face with startlingly orange eyes wasn’t something Jack encountered every day. Neither was the strangely writhing mass of what he had first taken to be hair. Fascinating. He smiled warmly at the young woman.
“Of course,” he replied. Replacing his book onto the shelf, he craned forward, squinting at the book the girl was holding. It was a lovely specimen, rich blue with red print. “Ah…” He managed to suppress the chuckle, but there was no hiding the wry smile. “The Sensual Arts of Eastern Tantric Lovemaking...” He offered what he hoped was his most sympathetic and non-judgmental expression.
He could hear Doris chuckling to herself from behind the counter.
Queues were an inevitable part of New York living. You queued to catch transport. You queued to buy groceries. You queued to see a movie, or a rock concert. To enter a museum. To borrow a book from the library.
So it was no surprise when one had to, inevitably, queue to eat.
In Jack’s experience, there were two ways of handling this inevitability. A person can resent the fact that, in a city of millions, they are being mildly inconvenienced by the simple fact that society revolves around one-on-one transactions. They can shift their weight irritably from foot to foot, clench their jaw, and mutter their impatient frustrations. Or a person could accept the situation as the inevitability it was always going to be, and enjoy the wait.
Jack preferred the latter. Better for the blood pressure.
He stood amongst the line of customers, watching the cafe workers run their hive of industry with remarkable efficiency. He observed the people in the line ahead of him. Jack had always enjoyed New York’s diversity. The melting pot of cultures and ethnicities. Add to it the modern sensation of visible mutants, and even standing in line for lunch could be a fascinating experience. When Jack was younger, mutants weren’t as visible in society as they were now. Indeed, Jack hadn’t seen his first ‘obvious’ mutant until he had been...recruited for special service. Even up until the 80’s, they were a mostly invisible population. Now, though, mutants flourished. Jack thought it was a wonderful thing, to see so many mutants living openly.
Like the young woman currently being served for instance. ‘Slug Girl’ was the only real way to describe her, a type of anthropomorphised slug. Her skin was moist and grey. She ”stood” upright despite the fact that, rather than legs, she had a tail that oozed along the floor. Two antennae sprouted from beneath a brown fringed bob. Jack admired her pretty floral dress. She was muttering embarrassed apologies to the cashier for the trail she had left, that had caused the line to stand a foot to the left of normal.
It was a shame that she felt the need to apologise. Part of Jack wondered if she was unhappy with her appearance. Whether it caused her self esteem any harm. Surely, she had been ostracised for it during her lifetime. That was as inevitable as standing in a New York queue.
He wondered if he should tell her that he thought she was beautiful when she passed him on her way back towards the door. Would that be creepy? Would she think he was being insincere or insulting? Sleazy? It wasn’t like he had any other motivations. Was a compliment really such a crime? Maybe if he’d chosen a younger form..? He sighed internally. Creepy old man. He could hear the accusations already. If not from her, then from someone else.
Jack shook his head, that familiar exasperated feeling creeping into his bones, and hunched his shoulders against the wind. He couldn’t understand the yelling, the threatening, the posturing. Fools swearing at each other, as though tough words meant anything. The barking of young pups, too naive to realise that hard word don’t make hard men. Flinging obscenities around as though they were bullets. Jack had a feeling that they’d be singing different tunes had bullets actually been flying. Besides, if you mean to do a man harm, you do him harm. No reason to let him in on it early.
“Kids these days...”
He sighed to himself, feeling the jowls of his face wobble slightly. Was that the “old man” talking, or the old man talking? Probably a bit of both. Still, for today it was better to put up with world-weary grump than risk the hot-headed stupidity of his own youth. There was enough of other people’s to go around. And really, had he not been much like these fools when he had been a pup? He took a deep breath, letting it fill his diaphragm, held it, and released his irritation as he exhaled. He’d be at the book store soon enough, and that would cheer him up immensely. Even now he smiled to himself, at the mere thought of it. Afterwards, maybe a trip to that deli he had discovered last week. He could still taste that pastrami and mustard rye as though it were yesterday...
Walking into Bookman’s Books, Jack took a deep sniff, savouring the scent of old second-hand paper books. He smiled at the old woman behind the counter. “Morning Doris. Chilly out, isn’t it?” he greeted, before losing himself within the high, cramped labyrinth of stacked bookshelves.
Posted by Aion on Nov 28, 2020 0:13:01 GMT -6
Juniper likes this
Zeta Mutant
45
4
Feb 14, 2021 0:03:20 GMT -6
Individual
Character's full name: Jack Hitchcock Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Aion Gender: Male Age: It’s complicated... Date of Birth: 11/13/1926 Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Queens, New York Nationality: American Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: Caucasian
Appearance
Hair color and style: A spectrum between brown and grey. Neatly trimmed and swept back most of the time. Tends to grow taller the older he gets... Skin Tone: Pale Eye Color: Blue Height: Approximately 3’5”- 6’0” depending on age Build: Average Visible mutation: None, unless his shift is witnessed. Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: None currently (tattoos and superficial scars disappear if Jack reverts his dermis to a younger age than when he received them. This doesn’t extend to injuries.) Other features:
Everyday clothing style: Age appropriate (smart casual as an adult, stylish and comfortable for adolescence...and the occasional dress-up costume for childhood) Uniform: Depends on the job. Sleepwear: Pyjamas (sometimes with dinosaurs on them) Miscellaneous clothing: Specially designed size-adjustable clothing Tactical and infiltration gear. A Kevlar-lined coat. An awesome T-Rex costume!
Character
Personality: For the most part, Jack is a quiet and reserved character, somewhat of a recluse. He presents a friendly and good-humoured face to the few people he interacts with in his day to day life. He does however have quite a wicked sense of humour and a silly streak that he occasionally indulges. All of these aspects hide a razor-sharp ambition that lays at his core. Professionally though, Jack can be cold, manipulative, and utterly ruthless. This is the combat veteran, the gangster, the criminal side of him. The side you don’t want to meet, and that you definitely don’t want to cross. Common between these two aspects of Jack is one constant: Jack is a stickler for good manners and abhors people who aren’t polite. After all, politeness costs nothing. Hobbies/ Interests: Paleontology; Ancient History; Mythology; Esoterica; Reading; Cooking Job or part time job and description: Freelance criminal Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Adapteds; dementia/Alzheimer’s disease. Special talents: Is a talented dancer.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Negotiable
Jack is under no illusions about who and what he is. He killed his first man before his 18th birthday, and has done unspeakable things throughout his life, both in war and on the streets. Still, there is no excuse for excess mayhem and no reason not to offer the occasional small kindness in the world, however one can. A man has to be realistic after all, and for Jack, morality is less of a guiding beacon and more of a faint itch at the back of his neck that rears up from time to time.
Mutations
Mutation description: Age Shifting
Jack can alter his biological age, making himself younger or older at will.
His physical body alters with this change, changing his size and mass and biological age to the average equivalent of whatever age he chooses. At a child’s age, Jack is small and twiggy. As a teenager, athletic yet gangly. As a young adult Jack is at the physical peak of his muscle mass and strength, healthy and fit though not abnormally so. As an elderly man, he is frailer and weaker.
Other physical aspects change depending on the biological age Jack chooses. For instance, as he grows older his hairline will recede and his eyesight will deteriorate. His voice will become higher at a young age, and will break at early adolescence.
While certain aspects of his brain chemistry will undergo changes, Jack’s memories and personality remain intact regardless of his chosen age, though aspects of his personality may become affected depending on his age - such as the dreaded teenage sullenness.
There is one known exception to Jack’s ability to retain his identity. If Jack regresses too far into infancy, he will lose his sense of ego and self, and his mind will essentially ‘reset’ into that of an infant. From here he will grow and age naturally until his mutant powers reveal themselves again. As his powers appear once more, Jack’s memories of his ‘former’ life will return in a flash, merging with the memories of his ‘current’ life, before dominating them.
Strengths: - Due to his ability, Jack is functionally immune to aging. Theoretically, he can avoid dying of old age. - A multitude of infiltration and espionage benefits. - Can be used as an effective disguise. - The potential for psychological manipulation. - Adds the element of surprise to many situations...
Weaknesses and Limitations: - Jack can safely shift from between 5 to 80 years old. If he goes outside of those limits he runs the risk of losing his sense of self. - Shifting takes half a second per “year”. - Physical weaknesses relevant to age, ie. Jack becomes frailer and more prone to injury when older, is physically weak as a child, etc. - His age can alter his mental faculties, which at times may compromise him. Children don’t always have the patience to conduct lengthy espionage missions, and memory loss is a real concern when you get older... - Jack finds he is most comfortable if he remains in the 50-60 year old range. The younger he shifts, the more effort it takes to hold. The approximate time limits Jack can hold a single form are: Childhood (5-12): 6 hours Adolescence (13-18): 12 hours Early Adulthood (19-34): 18 hours Middle Adulthood (35-49): 24 hours Late Adulthood (50+): No limit - Should Jack lose his powers (for example, from an Adapted’s aura) he would revert back to his true age.
Physical Abilities
General Physical Capabilities: Jack’s physical capabilities depend on the age he is currently in, and are mostly average for that expected age. Childhood: Jack is quick and nimble, but lacks physical strength. High stamina. Adolescence: Jack is quick but not so agile, has moderate physical strength, and moderate-high stamina. Early/Middle Adulthood: Jack slows with age, but is at his highest physical strength. Has moderate-low stamina. Elderly: Weak, slow, and fragile.
Fighting Style: Jack is trained in commando and infantry tactics, marksmanship, espionage and infiltration, demolitions and sabotage, assassination, close quarters combat, and knife fighting. Jack has no interest in fighting fair. He prefers to dispose of targets before they know what’s hit them. Guns, explosives, and if things come face to face - his trusty old Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife. He’s not ashamed to fight dirty. Or run, if things are looking against him.
Fighting Style Pros/Cons: A literal jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Jack has had ample training in several aspects of combat, mostly from his military background. While adequate, none would ever consider him a master, himself least of all.
So while Jack is a capable combatant, he relies mostly on stealth, ambush tactics, and surprise to assassinate targets, or misdirect them.
In a straight up fight Jack can hold his own against most average combatants, but should he come up against a more dedicated practitioner, he will often find himself outclassed. In these cases, or should he find himself outnumbered, Jack will flee to fight again another day.
History Of Your Character
Born to industrious and hard-working parents, Macy and Franz Hitchner, Jack entered the world a scant few years before the Great Depression ravaged the country. In many ways, this global event would be the first shaping influence upon Jack’s life. His childhood was one of self-reliance, delinquency, and comradeship. With his parents, being the lucky few able to retain employment during the Depression, Jack found himself bounced around from babysitter to babysitter, until he was old enough to tag along with the older children of the neighbourhood, who would begrudgingly let Jack join their games and adventures.
As the years passed, this would lead itself into the tribal world of adolescent street ruffians. Truant and delinquent, Jack found himself embroiled in boyhood struggles of petty crime, impressing pretty girls, and street rumbles against rival youth gangs, many of whom proudly modelled themselves on their child-ideas of some of the more notorious adults, who always seemed to have money in their pockets, and nice suits on their backs.
Underpinning the growing division and frustration between Jack and his parents, events were looming across Europe. The Second World War. It was this second major global event that would become the second shaping force in Jack’s life. Jack was 15 when the Pearl Harbour was attacked. A new, greater struggle had called for the young men that brawled on the streets. Caught up in the patriotic fervour that swept through his neighbourhood, Jack made a decision that seemed the only logical possibility at the time. He lied to recruiters about his age.
It was perhaps fortunate for Jack then that, unconsciously, his mutant power had awakened. The recruitment officer had not seen Jack as the 15 year old he was, but as the 18 year old he had desperately been hoping to pass himself off as. In all of his nervous relief, it wasn’t until later that evening that Jack was shocked to discover his newly grown stubble and build.
The third and final event that set Jack’s life upon its future course occurred during his infantry training. It was not unusual for mysterious senior military personnel to observe trainees, gauging and assessing candidates who showed potential. Whether by fortune, fate, or coincidence, some of these privileged individuals were in possession of certain classified knowledge pertaining to the...unusual recruits who had been appearing across multiple training camps. Such recruits were secreted away, assessed, and given specialised training. A new regiment was being formed to serve in the war - clandestine, experimental, and entirely expendable. A regiment with the simple designation ‘XX-0’.
As the man who identified himself only as Tertias relayed this information, as well as the truth of Jack’s mutation, the boy found that he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or wet himself. Truthfully, he did all three…
In 1954, Jack returned to New York City, swore an oath to never use his mutant abilities again, and attempted to reintegrate back into civilian life. He was not successful.
It did not take long for Jack to gain the attention of one of New York’s minor crime families. With a deadly skill set, and a lack of morality to match, “Black” Jack Hitchcock became a valued asset to the Genovane Crime Family. Soon, Jack found himself embroiled deeper into a world of crime, violence, and increasingly heavy drinking. Never to be initiated as a made man, Jack nevertheless devoted himself to the family. Despite not using his mutant abilities, Jack rose in infamy through ruthless violence and a willingness to do what others couldn’t or wouldn’t.
The drinking was taking its toll however, as was Jack’s increasing age. Younger men were entering the family’s ranks and questions started being asked about whether “Black” Jack should perhaps looks towards retirement. These questions, asked only once and never a second time, nonetheless left their mark on Jack, and would gnaw at him for years to come.
Jack’s paranoia and alcoholism eventually caught up with him. In a drunken rage, Jack beat a young punk who had made a poorly chosen remark, close to death. While the family mostly indulged the old dog his lesson to the pups, this time Jack had crossed a line. A boss’s son, no matter how obnoxious, was exempt from Jack’s teachings.
With a price on his head, and no allies in his corner, Jack saw that his loyalty had been for nothing. Now a bitter, jaded, and spiteful man reaching old age, Jack finally broke the promise he had made to himself all those years ago, when his feet had first returned to American soil.
“Black” Jack Hitchcock, some would say, had been a significant contributor to the Genovane Family's successes. None would dispute that Aion was the cause of its destruction…
Stepping from the ashes of the former crime syndicate, a broken and empty man, Jack stumbled towards the nearest hospital, stripping himself of all clothing, and pushed his ability further than he had ever attempted…
On the 27th of September 2000, Jeff and Lindsay Sommerman adopted their first child, a newborn baby who had been abandoned outside of a hospital. They named him Sam. Fifteen years later, Sam would disappear without a trace. Only a single clue was left behind: a note that read, “Thanks for raising me. When I make it big, I’ll send you your cut.”
Roleplay What’s your OOC alias?: Effigy Where did you learn about this site?: Google Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Formally Effigy and Adeline Sample RP:
The gunshot cracked sharply through the dim silence of the warehouse. The bullet tore through D’Marco’s right knee in a burst of bone and blood. His shriek was halted momentarily as he hit the floor with a hard “oof”, knocking the wind from his lungs. Didn’t take long for him to find breath enough to begin wailing again.
“Nobody is going to hear you, D’Marco.” The voice was high and reedy. And cold. “Vasinoff won’t be joining us, I’m afraid.” D’Marco, it seemed, didn’t have much to say to that, other than his cries which were slowly dying down to shocked blubbers. Jack sighed, and stepped from the shadows, slowly walking towards the man. He wouldn’t get much out of the man until the blubbers turned to soft whimpers. Still, he figured he had gone to the effort of beginning the conversation, so he may as well continue, even if he was currently the only active participant.
“You upset the wrong people, D’Marco. You and Vasinoff. And when the wrong people get upset, do you know what they do?”
D’Marco’s gaze snapped onto Jack, his expression one of confusion and fear. An understandable reaction, Jack supposed, when you found yourself meeting a bullet rather than a co-conspirator. Licking his lips, shaking, clutching his ruined leg. Not the way he expected to spend his day, one would assume.
“They call me. And they say to me, “We have a job. Two half-wits who think they’ve got the perfect scheme. Who think that no one...could possibly…” Jack crouched beside D’Marco, arms dangling across his knees, pistol lightly held in his grip. “...know.”
The confusion had mostly vanished now, leaving only realisation and fear. Jack craned forward, icy stare locking onto D’Marco’s teary eyes. “You know who I am?”
D’Marco nodded his head hesitantly, as though he knew the answer, but was too dumbfounded to believe it. He swallowed audibly. “Aion…”
Jack smiled with zero warmth. “Bingo. Maybe you ain’t so stupid after all.”
“You’re...just a k-kid...”
“When it suits me,” Jack admitted. He silently considered the poor fool for a moment, before aiming the pistol at D’Marco’s head. “Any last words?”
D’Marco, to his credit, didn’t beg. Didn’t plead or try to bribe. Jack admired that. The man simply nodded and closed his eyes to gather himself for his final moments. When he opened them, there was a hint of acceptance. But the fear was still there. Not that Jack would begrudge him that. Weren’t many, if any, that could face the end without regrets and fear.
“Why are you dressed as a dinosaur?”
Jack’s boyish face stared deadpanned at D’Marco from the between the open jaws of his green T-Rex costume. He thumbed the pistol hammer back, index finger lightly squeezing the trigger. His tiny foam T-Rex arms flopped uselessly at his shoulders.
