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.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jul 3, 2012 7:26:52 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
The breadcrumbs had been layed. Enticing people to her. It worked too, more and more people came her way. Step into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. They all died with the same confussed shock on their face. That and a considerable amount of molten glass. Their supplies were stripped from them, she took clothing these days too. Then they were thrown into the pit. It was a good system, worked great. Well, until people stopped coming. Between and the others causing the echoing screams the lower insland had been picked clean. Then some news reached her. A battery opperated radio. Over the air waves came an interesting bit of sporting commentary. Not football, no, nothing so boring, this was a fight. Not silly wrestling or deadly dull boxing, proper fights, no hold barred, to the death, or so it sounded.
"...rike, ooh, a solid hit, and now to the victor go the spoils, and to the dead, only the most fitting funeral. Hopefully he goes down easier than that!"
Spoils? What spoils? Shula did not know, but boy would she ever find out. She listened every day until the battery died. from what she understood, volunteers took to the arena and fought, to whatever point the boss thought was appropriate. The winner went home with a good amount of supplies. The loser. Well, he got kicked out on his ass and likely died from his injuries later. Suited her just fine. So she planned.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jul 3, 2012 6:41:41 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
She was curious one day. Her inspiration for building was drying up. as was her supply of glass, unlikely as it had seemed at first. So she had ventured out. The sun had been bright. She hadn't been exposed to it for prolonged periods in nearly a year and a half. Her path was marked for her by holes in the dust. the safe path well marked, as dust had not been allowed to settle there, and the rain had only served to turn all the dust around it to mud, which dried, and preserved the prints.
When Shula reached the end, she was suddenly aware of that which she had forgotten before. She was high. Off the ground that is. The edge of the Manhattan financial district was clearly defined by a body littered artificial cliff made of steel, stonework and glass. She suspected the fact it had remained a mostly vertical climb was largely thanks to a mutant. It looked like someone had put up a giant shield wall to protect the rest of the city from the raining debris. Or maybe just protect them self.
Still, no rubble from the financial sector seemed to be further than twenty feet from the edge, and what there was was a small amount, likely having fallen over time from unstable climbs. She was quite high up, twenty feet of so it seemed. Quite a scary distance below her. It explained why no one wanted to come looking any more. Not worth the climb some might say.
She could never get down. She would not try. Shula Nasser turned and strode away, looking for anything useful she could take with her, chewing a piece of glass like gum.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jul 3, 2012 6:29:05 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Construction on had been easy once the frame had been set up. Cleared of remaining rubble. Coat after coat of molten glass freezing into a huge crude window, other walls followed. The glass intake was near constant. The usage limited by her metabolism for glass. Metal pillars held up glass walls. It's own thickness the only thing that stopped it collapsing on itself. She eventually managed a nice glass room. Pieces of rubble were used to make ceilings, walls, frozen in place to stop light filtering through. She kept working.
Days passed. A few people came to see what was going on. those people went in the same hole as the first fool to run past her. Their supplies put to better use. Stupid humans. Stupid mutants, all died the same.
More days. Her house had developed a second floor, hanging doors, doors made from crude hinges set into the glass, locks made of whatever was available. Walls were thickened, reinforced. It was slowly becoming a mansion. A mansion of glass and rubble, incredulously large. She had to eat all that glass to start with. it had been a busy few weeks. Dust had started to settle on her palace exterior, the roof seemed to collect enough to block out most light. the walls gathered it where the glass was uneven, which was practically everywhere.
The months began to pass. Less people came her way, doubtlessly because there were simply less people in New York left, because there were no survivors to tell of her increasingly full pit. She had maybe fifty kills to her name since the end. she counted the bags every now and then to try and determine the number, but it wasn't a totally accurate method. She had started killing people simply for the fun. She still took their things. She also couldn't risk people finding her location.
By the end of the first year her food was looking pretty good, if she rationed it. She had made herself a solar still. From it she got both water and salt (though this she mostly used for putting into glass to observe the effect, or for throwing in her pit to try and drain the bodies of moisture, the river was far too polluted to use it for food). Her glass mansion was now more of a glass palace. She had taken it across a road and into the wrecked building next door. A sprawling complex in which to hid her food. Trap her prey. They still made it this deep, some of them. Not many.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jul 3, 2012 6:11:15 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
It suited her. Now that the screams had stopped. Honestly, how many days did it take to die? Too many, that's how many. Looters had of course tried their luck. God knows why, there was nothing worth having in the financial district. Most found out exactly why the area was abandoned. Glass and plaster chunks fell, desks, chairs, steel finally giving in to the stress. Heck, she had watched one receive the better part of five floors land on him. She had laughed.
Those that survived the debris from above unanimously found their doom below. Shards of glass, six feet wide and razor sharp, concealed pits with floors full of twisted metal and broken bits and pieces, chunks of metal that seemed safe but were ultimately deadly spears in disguise when one slipped on top of them. Really it was all quite the spectacle. Though all her possessions in the world consisted of a parachute, and what she could find. That wasn't a lot.
She knew she would be required to find something or die. No longer could she rely on money and fear to get her things, now it was up to her. Well was she ever glad she had opted for sensible shoes on the flight. Heels would have been a death sentence.
Speaking of food. A man dashed by, a back bulging on his back, rattling. He never saw her. The heat would have shut his brain down instantly. Glass engulfed his head. It cooled quickly. He fell instantly limp. She tried not to look as she took the bag off his back. Inside were some supplies. "Well well," though Shula, "That was much easier than finding this myself!"
Indeed it had been, that was the result of over three days of carefully picking through rubble, trying to avoid his death, looting everything he could. It was hers now, for no more than a few second's work. She nudged the body of the edge of the hole he had been running along. He fell loudly below.
Shula enjoyed some of the spoils. all about her was ruin, piled high. Well, at least there was no lack of glass. Shula began work.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jul 3, 2012 5:48:49 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Down town had fallen all at once. She had watched with dispassionate, clinical interest. The company jet was coming into town just in time. The steep climb told her the pilot saw what she did. They couldn't outrun it. The jet wasn't supersonic. They made some good distance though, as she calmly watched the financial centre of the world collapse. The heat should have incinerated everything in the city by now... No fireball, no heat, no bomb... Mutant. How long had they been capable of that? What had made them lose control?
The blast hit. The plane shuddered, and the wing tore itself apart. The pilot and co-pilot skipped the Maydays, they ran from the cockpit, tossed her a backpack looking parcel and stepped into the harnesses of their own. Shula Nasser was a stranger to parachutes. She would follow their lead. As the plane tilted dangerously she connected herself to the little package that was supposed to save her life. The men opened the door, looked at her, and jumped. Shula followed.
What struck her was the the rushing air, carrying with it a scream. Her own. Yep, there went APCI HQ, a pillar of glass and steel reduced to a deadly rain of debris. Below her a parachute blossomed like a flower all of a sudden realising it was spring. She tugged her own cord. This had been explained in the pre flight brief. Like she hadn't heard it a hundred times. a few moments of uneasy sounds and a slight slowing, then, a tug, and she was falling at a far more acceptable rate.
Controlling a parachute was interesting. So much adjustment, so little knowledge. Through what had to be the biggest amount of luck bestowed to any mutant in the world, Shula eventually drifted into a huge cloud of dust that had once been down town Manhattan. She pulled herself out of the rig, and found some space to breath, though it was no easy task. there she waited out the dust, and the screams. Nothing she could do, the streets were easily twenty yards under her, and the rubble weighed as much as, well, a sky scraper.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jun 18, 2012 22:45:17 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Keen to get started and willing to jump through the hoops, Shula liked that, this girl was turning out to be an instant winner. that she was also a mutant helped immensely. " That is exactly what I like to hear, I have a feeling you will do tremendously well. Keep up that same enthusiasm for the work for the rest of your life and Quinn designs will be sold as timeless masterpieces well after the end of your life." It never hurt to bolster confidence, though, in an empath, as this girl implied she was, Shula would have to be particullarly careful about the nature of any lies, be they white or not. Though in all honesty it was true.
The beeping sound of Shula's work phone detonated through the room. Why on earth was it that loud? She must have knocked it off silent at some point. She drew out the phone, a latest model of some brand Ms Nasser cared nothing for because they made neither cloths, nor jewlerry, nor men, and certainly had not had bussiness with APCI. A button was pressed on the touchscreen, and the phone raised o her ear.
"I really don't see how that concerns me. No Carly, that particular request should be put through HR before you send it to me. The executive board has a vary busy schedule right now. Alright, it seems you have left me no choice." Ms Nasser hung up without a word more and dropped the phone into her bag. She was somewhat angry, partly dissapointed but mostly simply frustrated that her day was to be cut short. Still, HR couldn't be used in this case, sexual harrasment against the head of the department, her direct inferior.
"Sadly, duty calls. I am sure I will see you tomorrow Ms. Quinn. Best of luck with the rest of your day, if you are being assessed on this, I should very much hope they recognise talent when they see it." Shula smiled, bowed her head slightly in way of farewell, and proceeded to attend to her duties, though not before ensuring that any teachers knew how high her opinion of Ms. Quinn was as a designer and a proffesional.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jun 4, 2012 0:10:38 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Well she was right about one thing, Armani was not an empath. Shula smiled though, if this girl felt she could take critisism on that scale, more power to her. She was at the very least happy to know the girl had spirit, enough to believe she could stand before people worth millions and accept what they had to dish out. Shula laughed, just a touch, at Quinn's last statement. Funny story, far too long to tell now, but one she would hint at.
"An empath, no, that he is not, but between you and me, I've seen the man weave fabric from thin air and shape prototypes in seconds without moving so much as an eyelid. The man is a mutant, the style though, is all natural."
That wasn't half of what the man had learned to do in his seventy seven years, but the rest was a closely guarded secret, and much as Armani was honoured she had trusted him, Shula was honoured to have been trusted in return, so those secrets were safe.
"You never know, you may yet meet him, he'll be interested to see who we had replace him. Don't fret, he's never seemed angry about such a matter yet."
So logn as you ignored his initial reaction to the board deciding to take a new person, though he brought that upon himself and seemed to accept that fact.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Jun 3, 2012 23:38:37 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Hearts of gold weren't really Shula's thing. Now if his heart had been made of a more useful substance, or perhaps a diamond, she would have an interest in it, but, well, emotions weren't her style. "Humble men don't tend to look half that good, though I accept that there is almost always an exception to every generalisation." For instance, multi millionaires tended to have people murdered, not actually get their own hands dirty.
So it wasn't the pink haired boy, good, she couldn't stand to see any more of him than she had to. Running around like he was invulnerable, cockily causing public mayhem in the name of justice and keeping the peace. Though at least he didn't seem to be quite as arrogant about people filming their little show downs as he used to be. Not that Shula particularly liked Maxine Ralls, but it had detracted from office productivity.
"Well then, congratulations. I wish you both the very best." Mostly because they were mutants. Shula was quite happy with her day's work, though it did seem like she had simply gotten very lucky. An X-man and a talented unheard of fashion designer who would accept significantly less money than the usual big names, not to mention she would give them the look of helping the unknowns, help take away the faceless corporation look.
"Leadership is of course going to be a big part of this project, if you have objections to others doing the sewing for you, because there is a lot of production to do, and not a great deal of time comparatively." Also a great deal of stress in the last couple of weeks, but leave the unpleasant times until the unpleasant times. "I would also like to apologise in advance for the board in charge of the project, they will be extremely critical, more so because they have not seen your work before. These people make Armani cry on occasion."
Posted by Shula Nasser on May 7, 2012 21:29:13 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Shula laughed at the first comment. It felt foreign. "Are they ever?" The short answer was No, the long answer was HAHAHAHAAHAHA no. Oh, so the eyepatched vigilante was her boss, so that made this woman, and X-man. Well, that could be very useful. Ms.Quinn apparently felt the need to tell Shula too, either that or her mind was being controlled by another mutant who felt the need to tell Shula, either way, it didn't matter.
Shula nodded. "While I might not agree with everything the X-men do they have done more for mutants than any of the mutant criminals out there. I feel I should thank you for that, it has made my life a lot easier." Though this did pose an issue as far as certain indiscretions may be concerned, such as the man from the previous week, almost entirely encased in class, wherever the sewer had washed him.
"I would certainly like to meet your boss, with a proffesional life like mine it isn't often you come across decent looking men, mostly overweight balding ones who think too highly of themselves." Except Collins from H.R. but he was so uptight about rules that Shula knew it would not go anywhere. Pity, maybe his wife aught to disappear... No that still left the workplace conduct, and getting fired wasn't very condusive to a good relationship, however short it was intended to be.
"So which of the Uncanny X-men is your fiance?" there were a few decent males amongst the X-men as far as she could remember, the news liked to cover them every second day or so. "Not the pink haired one I imagine, it seems to be rumoured that he has a boyfriend." Which explains the hair colour, among other things... She refrained from saying it, she felt it may be inappropriate, gossip was all well and good but badmouthing people, not so much.
Posted by Shula Nasser on May 2, 2012 21:17:57 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Good, she knew interview technique, and her questions were absolutely relevant, and best of all, not about payment, because that always seemed to come up. It wasn't going to be huge, only a quarter of a million, but if she did a good job there was potential for a bonus or an offer of a more full time position, plus it meant having her name, however she chose to brand herself, attached to an international advertising campaign.
Shula felt good about this decision. "You may start as soon as you wish, Ms Quinn, I shall inform security that they will need to issue you a pass, there will be some paperwork, most of it simply security contracts to sign, I will have my secretary get the relevant job contract ready for you, I'm on the top level." Security would give her the elevator code for that level on the day it changed so often, and so randomly that Shula herself never knew until she asked.
Fools. I could defend myself better than any elevator code.
The second question was, if anything, easier to answer. "The theme will be bold, elegant, sustainable and practical. I know you will have no problem with that. There will be multiple levels to the campaign, one level is directed to the everyman, it will be in real estate magazines, television, advertising our residential sector, the main bulk of the campaign will be billboards, magazines such as Time, and will include a further set of television ads more focused on our innovation, and the third level will be aimed at corporations, for our large commercial buildings, skyscrapers and the such. This will feature advertisements in the major prints of our industry, as well as corporate mixers and press functions."
Shula knew she was going to get the same brief at least twice more, but it never hurt to hear something three times, at a moderate volume. "The models for the ads and convention, the executives at our press functions, the actors for the television ads, all shall be wearing your designs. You will answer only to the executive committee in charge of the campaign, who answer to me, so I will more than likely sit in on some of the meetings."
Ms. Nasser was happy with how the process was going, she texted her secretary to get all the forms sorted and to inform security that Ms. Quinn would require identification when she arrived at the building, then returned her attention briefly to the woman's portfolio. She flipped towards the back. "Now, tell me, this work for the X-men, you would have interacted with them of course? The one that seems to be their leader, with the eye-patch, is he that handsome in person?" Shula felt business could be over for now, there were important things to discuss!
Posted by Shula Nasser on Apr 24, 2012 20:50:14 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
Shula accepted the portfolio with a smile and nod of thanks. She stood in silence for a few minutes, inspecting every page. The work with the X-men was a welcome surprise. Though likely to have turned others off her in some circles, it told Shula this woman had no qualms working with mutants. This was good.
Shula had seen enough from the portfolio well before she had reached the end. The work was good, the designs well documented and annotated. The final few pages she looked through only out of personal interest in the fashion than proffesional interest in the woman, her mind was more than made up, and what with Armani not returning their calls at the time, she was willing to give an unknown designer the job.
"Ms. Quinn, your portfolio is quite impressive, and your work with the X-men, especially in consideration to their individual needs, makes me very hopeful for your future in the industry." Ms. Nasser smiled, more conciously this time, and more obviously. She was happy to have found someone she could tell so early on would work, and hadn't had to settle for one of the talented but far less proffesional designers they had been interviewing all week.
" I must admit I had made up my mind well before finishing looking through your portfolio. Ms. Quinn I am the Chief Operating Officer of All Purpose Construction International. We will be running an advertising campaign, starting in the new financial year, leading up to our annual showcase and bussiness convention." Which was coming together all to slowly for her liking.
Shula shook off the brief resurfacing of the frustration the project had so far been causing her and continued. "We have spent several months looking for a designer for the project, which I have been taking a keen interest in, after all, I will be wearing their work at the convention. It is my belief that you would be perfect for the job." It was not often shula handed out job offers without several levels of interviews, however she had a feeling about this woman, and those feelings hadn't failed her yet.
Ms. Nasser reached into her handbag purse for a moment and retrieved her bussiness card. It was simple, the company logo, white background, her name, office phone number, bussiness mobile number, work email and fax number. The company logo, at least, aught to be familiar, almost every construction job in New York was being handled by APCI or a subdivision of them. They hadn't quite secured the monopoly though. "Please, take my card. Now are there any details you wish to have about the project?"
Shula Nasser, for a rare instance, was feeling secure and oblivious to anything but the part of the world her and and Ms. Quinn occupied. She could tell that she was at risk of perhaps liking the woman. It was not something she was used to.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Apr 24, 2012 19:48:02 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
The woman hesitated. That was the usual responce, so Shula was hardly surprised. She would have put it down to nerves, but nerves weren't something she had truly felt in a long time, so the thought hadn't even begun to cross her mind.
”Everything I make is supposed to be about form and function."
Shula politely looked the way she was directed. It was true that all the clothes looked good, and quite fashionable. How they held up on function, well one had to wear something to truly judge that.
"From casual things to business wear. People don’t just sit around all day…they want to look pretty, but they also want to wear clothes that are comfortable and functional too.”
It had the feel of a pre-recorded message, which was good. To the average consumer it gave the sense of being organised and prepared, to Shula, it told her the woman knew how to behave as a proffesional. A smile, slight as it was, crept its way onto her features.
Shula was aware, suddenly, that she liked this woman, despite having known her only a moment. There was somehing about her that told Shula that, at least on some level, they would be proffesionally compatible. Gut instinct like this was important to listen to, in Shula's experience. "You sell your work well Ms. Quinn, though it is more than up to the task itself. Tell me, what other work have you done? Do you have a portfolio on hand?"
Shula already knew she did, they always did, she was more interested in her previous work. Some people had bad habits of leaving things out of their portfolio that they would not leave out when discussing the matter.
Shula's hopes for this girl were rising, and with that her contempt for the others in the room was dropping, out of nothing more than the fact Shula was starting to forget those people even existed. For once, she was glad she had come to one of these events.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Apr 23, 2012 11:10:50 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
On the rare occassion Shula Nasser chose to take on roles that were quite frankly beneath her, it was never to maintain an image. In fact her image was anything but that of a woman who took roles beneath her station. So one always knew it was something special.
In this case, it was clothes. Not those things you pull off a rack, not that suit that fits you just enough to be passable, but real clothes. That was her sincere hope, at the very least.
Shula strode into the room they had so helpfully marked with paper signs sell-o taped to the walls. The door was open, and the room rather large for New York. Rather less majestic than one was used to, though it was in an educational facilitie. It seemed like it would be more at home on the Titanic. Present day Titanic.
Ms. Nasser's hopes, also rather like the Titanic, sank. Not that she had much hope to start with. The calibre of talent in the room was mean at best. Shula was an eagle among starlings. Contempt boiled within, and a feeling of being ill-at ease set in. It was a familiar sensation, one she hardly noticed, though it drove her every move.
While shula was no fashion designer, neither were some of those whose work was being showcased. A select few were above average, less still truly exceptional. A single exceptional student attempted to lure her closer. What she had in the way of fashion was certainly balanced out with her skills in advertising.
A disappointed and disdainful Shula continued past her with hardly a second glance. The next had nothing of interest. Ms. Nasser came at last to be standing before a blonde twenty-something girl, who's main feature, aside from at the very least good work, was a stylish and very much co-ordinated outfit. It brought on a spike in Shula's enthusiasm.
Shula looked for some form of identification, she found some. "Ms. Quinn, is it? How are you? I'm Shula nasser, pleased to make your aquaintance. Please, do tell me more about your work."
Posted by Shula Nasser on Feb 6, 2012 17:34:18 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
The commotion behind her tipped her off to something; she assumed it to not be her problem. She had, of course, assumed incorrectly, but she was spared the consequences of her mistake and subsequent inaction. Shula turned when she heard the roar and the screams that followed.
Oh good, a show.
Before her stood a mutant. There was no way that it wasn't a mutant. He towered above her, facing the fleeing protesters, and when he removed his shirt his skin was red. The tail also kind of gave it away. It seemed, from the paint dripping off the freshly removed shirt, and the substantially greater amount that covered the pavement, that he had just spared her an attack by PETA. She had nearly walked into him turning, which now seemed like it may have been an extremely painful process.
A fleeing protester had gotten himself injured in his hurry to flee, and was limping away slowly, though clearly as fast as he could. Sadly it would not be fast enough. Sad for his family, that is. Moments after the red mutant had stepped out of her way a series of three glass 'fragments', each no further across than a quarter, made a beeline for the fleeing protesters head. He turned just in time to see the cooling, but still extremely hot glass hit his face and neck.
Die like the vermin you are, human.
He collapsed on the ground, and never stood again. In the panic and confusion no one had seen the source of the glass, and after an impact with bone the fragments were likely nothing more than a group of glass slithers. Shula was satisfied it would never be traced to her, especially not after the car accident his collapse on the road caused. She turned to the large red mutant, who she caught with an eyebrow cocked at her. "Thank you, friend, I think my company may have offended them. Pitiful bunch of humans trying to deny natural selection and the food chain."
There was no one nearby to hear her, they were all busy screaming, dialling emergency services and trying to help the man who had just collapsed. It likely didn't help him that a car had gone over him. A smile crept over Shula's face knowing that another human had been punished for not knowing its place. Perhaps she would have been subtler, under different circumstances, but they had attacked her, and more than earned any retribution she could reap upon them. She would have complete files on them within twenty-four hours. The power of having power.
Posted by Shula Nasser on Feb 5, 2012 5:25:11 GMT -6
Epsilon Mutant
54
0
Nov 24, 2012 0:30:22 GMT -6
As far as Shula could tell, there was a direct positive relationship between the floor of a skyscraper, and the workload of the secretaries on it. The graph representing the workload of the higher ups on that floor was exactly the same, but upside down. This was why Shula was out front, caving to her cravings, while her secretary (who was pushing two months in her employment) was inside working through a mountain of paperwork. Not that he complained. He was good like that. Good and scared. Though she just knew he was up to something. The cameras she'd had installed in his apartment didn't show anything yet, but she was sure they would eventually. Men like him were always up to something, all humans were.
Shula would never forgive them for how they had treated mutants. It had been the holocaust all over again and she would not stand to be treated that way. Not by something so inferior. She would make sure humans were put in their place, one way or another. In fact she had already starter, promoting mutants, subtly filling the upper levels of the building with her own kind. The humans there were outnumbered, and they didn't even know it yet. It also helped that they all knew exactly who to thank for their fast tracking to success.
Another mouthful of hot liquid, barely palatable, from the little stand ll of ten feet from the office doors. It was still better than what they had inside, ever since the executive lounge had been hit by a freak storm. That particular executive had taken a dip in his salary, but she took it easy on him, after all, he was a mutant. The lack of control though, that had to be dealt with, and she had told him that. She would not excuse another such outburst within her building. Especially not when it ruins so much good coffee, and the coffee machine (and, to be honest, her day, because there was some paperwork her secretary couldn't do....). It had been two weeks already since that incident, and the repairs were still ongoing.
I'm about to kill the moron with the drill up there too...
Her doctor had warned her off caffeine. She had warned him off molten glass to the face. He had assumed she had been making a joke. He really ought to have known better. That one had been harder to cover up than any of the others. Doctors had a way of being important. Still there was no denying the constant stress and paranoia were only made worse by the addition of stimulants.
The dentist agrees with the doctor though, and the constant grinding of my teeth gives me a headache.
Still, she couldn't resist. She was addicted. This addiction was precisely the reason she was outside in the slush-covered street drinking the vilest substance to have passed for coffee since Nescafe instant blends. It was cold, it was wet, but it beat working. Another long drag from the cardboard cup. Another rush of relief. Another craving given in to.
