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.
There was a definitive difference between these two right now. One of them was playing games, and didn't know when to quit. The other was not a fan of games, and very rarely did he ever play at all. While the kid wasted time talking, fidgeting, checking wings and pump faking on reaching into that pocket Romulus' dropped to a knee to brace himself for a close-set shot, butt of the gun into the fold of his right inner elbow, left hand gripping the tripods as one would a commander-grip. The sights were set and the moment big bird put a tree between he and him thinking 4 inches of spruce was going stop a sub-sonic tungsten tipped AP-Round, AT THIS close a distance---He'd have reminded him otherwise.
"-BOOOM!!!!!!"
There goes that sound again, and boy was it hell on the ears. Carrick was a strapping young changeling. Good size on him, shoulder to shoulder he was wider then any tree here, especially if you include the wing-span fucked or not. Would be no surprise that the next bullet was intended for what could be seen of the injured wing, targeted through the tree which would fail to stop the round outright but definitely alter it's trajectory and worse still, explode out the back end of the tree not only sending the round careening toward the actual wing-arm itself to inflict massive trauma, but at least subject his face and eyes to a wild and violent exploding plume of wood/bark shrapnel. Surely that would more add to unpleasantries and with any hope, disorientate him enough along side the wing trauma to fell the boy out of the tree as a whole. Carrick needed to see the act for what it was---MORE MERCY, clearly the man was a far above average shot and could have spared himself this and One-Shotted him through his skull from the git-go.
Had he found success, The rifle was poised and kept trained on him while he approached and with any luck a phone being produced for him to take, had he not and a manuver was made that brought the slow mover out into the open for an easier shot, he'd ready himself to indulge in that as well.
Once he heard the roar, it confirmed that his intentions had been successfully conveyed and Romulus immediately begin to press the issue. The mutant was knowingly but unknowingly aware of at least some of what Romulus was capable of, namely his ground speed. It hadn't been put together by the kid yet that the bigfoot he was looking for was really a rifle toting gunman with gifts, and NOW, a rifle toting gunman with GIFTS and a bone to pick with him. His boots were like machine gunfire against the ground moving from asphalt to grass and now scattered brush. He had just previously put a Puma to shame in the sprint with more gear then he had on now and currently with peerless eye sight and a profound adeptness at tracking targets at a distance, he began closing the gap between the two of them. The mutant was far to large in trees and branches that were far to small, and the branch to branch act was no where near as fast as he flew or Romulus could run as he picked up the pace, rifle tucked close to the chest, eyes forward and leaning into a half-sprint that would see him break into speeding-ticket ranges of ground pace in his mad dash to clip distance.
The machine gun fire stopped and instead advertised a sliding sound, like brakes being applied over a low-friction surface from something or someone large coming to a halt, and that was the case. 30 yards away on the ground, some 60 or so feet down from the mutant, Romulus would stand with his eyes once again peering into the scope---but not close. It was spaced, as if he didn't want to totally sacrifice his peripherals when it wasn't needed seeing as how the target was so close for a rifle that was meant to be used for things insanely far. His voice was LOUD, once more calling the mutant to at "Im NOT a fan of asking twice and im not! So when I say DROP YOUR PHONE DOWN TO ME NOW, I expect you to reach into your pocket and do just that. Don't OPEN IT. Don't press any buttons. Don't even BREATH ON IT or LOOK AT IT LONG or I'll PULL IT OFF your CORPSE after I put one in you and your body drops down here instead! I winged you! That's the only freebie you're getting! The NEXT one is for keeps!"
If the phone came down, Then Romulus would infact collect it and be on his way. If it didn't----Well it was clear he wasn't anything for play and he was everybit a man of his word.
The M82 is a Semi Automatic Anti-Material Rifle firing a 50-Caliber Armor Piercing slug capable of penetrating armor surfaces on LAV's, Hardened Structures, and Aerial Combat vehicles as well. 10 Rounds. Magazine fed and in capable hands was accurate out well beyond a MILE under optimal conditions. During his time in service Romulus would use this Rifle in an overwatch capacity to do everything from disabling the engine blocks of terrorist vehicles, to shooting entire helicopters out of the sky. For it's his current intent it would be an absolute act of over-kill were he seeking a lethal response to basically being ignored. He'd have put his right foot up on the bumper, widening his stance while cradling under with his left hand, his right hand finding the top of the scope that met his eye and beginning D.O.P.E Procedure. Internal calculations that occur quickly, taking in factors present in plain sight such as the wind direction (Sway of the top of the tree's), Speed of the target (Depicted by targets actual movement time between two points), and distance from target which was a distance that was No LESS then a 1/4 of a mile but no where near that of a 1/2. Actions that at this point in time where literal muscle memory conduct themselves accordingly, all orchestrated by breathing which heralds in an almost machine like level of performance in accuracy and target tracking, even if he made it over the canopy line, so that at the moment he took the final inhale....
-BOOM!!!!!-
His targets senses like his own were enhanced, and sensitive. While Romulus cannot speak to the bird man's experiences, he can rely on the many decades of experience he has had at focusing them in and utilizing them under combat and environmental duress. So if he was in fact still flustered by the punishment the cars engine put on his hearing, he'd fail to hear the kinetic uproar caused from the violence occurring within the rifle of the gun. The expelled gasses out the side of the muzzle brake which coughs up an armor piercing tungsten tipped round at over 853 meters per second. He MAY FEEL it, This round would travel from the barrel, and seek to go into and through the right wing (At the feathers/Membrane dead center), and while presumed not to be a vital area, or lethal, the combination of the large round and the air-wedge around it would make for QUITE the large, and presumably incapacitated flight were he successful at all. If the shot was true to intent he'd see the mutant either fall freely from the sky or manage some form of hobbled flight which could presumably making a second shot easier to have----pursuit as well. For now Romulus removed the rifle scope from his eye and began going into a light jog after setting his feet down and coming around the car to head toward his target and into the trees.
It was brief but he caught it. That moment when someone with hyper-keen senses looks into his rear view mirror and notices a picture of his vehicle was taken without permission and more so, done under-handed. Now the Irony of it was that Romulus was here to take pictures and then some, but he was a paid professional, and had managed to do so without being caught for the most part and to his credit he deserved to get off scott-free if that was what the sum total of his actions resulted in. This one did it under-handed, and if it wasn't caught he would have gotten away with it but it was, and well----he wasn't getting away with it. Bird-Boy would probably think nothing of it, the sudden DROP in sound as Romulus came off the gas and pressed the clutch cutting all power to the wheels, while the shifter was pulled outta 3rd gear and into neutral. His right hand moved to the hydraulic-E Brake 4' o clock of the shifter and was pulled, locking the rear wheels while his left hand yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise from a 12 to 6 position, swinging the massive coupe around in what can only be described as a precision execution of a "180" at over 130mph. Once the car was facing the direction he came from it was pulled into second, while pinning the rev's at 4,000RPM's causing the rear tires to immediately become ensconced in smoke before theTTS-system vectored power to the front wheels, causing the car to LUNGE forward and back down the road. Romulus was at pace now, throttle pinned, and all that could be heard was the fury of a 7.0L V8 and the howling 4L Supercharger whining loud over it all. He doubled back faster then he'd have left. That time spent chuckling to himself---was probably best spent flapping away.
What emerged out of the coupe that came screeching to a halt pulled over to the side of the road was the same man, far different disposition and the trunk flinging open as a button was depressed on it's way out, the same fob locking the car before being stuffed into his pocket as he reached in and pulled the same high-caliber Anti-Material rifle from the rear of the trunk and had his eyes to the sky. Assuming the bird boy had begun flying away, all he'd have heard was a piercing, powerful and absolutely booming baritone resonate over the entirety of this area as Romulus yelled out, "HEY BIRD BOY!!!!!!!!!!!" The Ghillie Wrap had been pulled from the rifle revealing a stout Barret-M92 Assult Rifle, being easily handled and held as he would walk around the car to stare down Carrick or wait for him to RE-engage in conversation which at that point Romulus would calmly and coldly ask, a simple question. "DID YOU JUST SNEAK A PICTURE OF MY CAR??"
Romulus was hardly that uptight, or slow of mind and capacity to be taken for this kinda ride. He could appreciate the mans humor though, and was quick enough of wit to pick up on someone over selling something, and this guy was laying it on thick. Fair is fair, Romulus asked a fairly obvious question that deserved to be remarked with some fairly obvious, borderline sarcastic responses. He sat there and heard them to, "Can't be that mythical if you're HERE, flying around in New York. That would make you quite regular, quite NON-Mythical....like a hawk or a Pigeon." Romulus would eye the man up and down again and continue on, "Some would say there is something wrong with being a mutant, or a mythical creature.....but not me. Im good with it all Big Bird.." Romulus would offer the kid a sincere tight lipped smile and nod.
"In any case, best to get going. Good luck with the whole sasquatch thing.." The interaction in and of itself went against everything he was accustomed to. Recon assignments were to be low impact, with little to no indication of his presence to be left in his wake, To even sit here and have an individual capable of putting him at this place pulled violently at his own instincts and training which would call for the immediate neutralization and disposal of this guy. This was society. Civilian environments, his methods had to be tweaked and adjusted and those methods were reserved strictly for deserving. In any case he'd have turned and sat down (If uninterrupted) into the car before reaching and closing the door before pressing the Push-Start and firing up the Twin-Charged 7.0L Super-Coupe, the likes of which had an exhaust note that was nothing short of DEAFENING at close range.
With a push of his left foot on the clutch, and shifting into first gear with his right. A blip of the throttle while coming off the clutch had the black coupe LUNGE forward, kicking sideways while laying down a thick patch of rubber while blitzing away ---Hopefully, none the more interesting to Carrick, or worth following or looking further into.
Romulus had halted right in his footsteps and had to double check what he heard. The question in and of itself had confirmed SO MUCH, clearly he had a sufficient gap. He was successful in shedding the incriminating pieces to his apparel in time to avoid the obvious being assumed. To that effect the next question had him thrown off as to whether this individual was jesting or seriously inquiring about a mythical creature---then again considering who was asking, a bigfoot seemed to be an understandable inquiry. Eventually Romulus had turned around have responded with "Can't say I have, was getting ready to scout out camping grounds around here and saw something moving through the way there...then I see something, or I guess someone with big wings and a mythical look flying through the air...figure it may be smart for me to go camp somewhere else. Not the kinda problems i'd want stalking up on me at night.."
Presumably alot taller then Carrick, Romulus would cross his arms and look him over. His transition into the role of passer-by was flawless, immediately softening his stance and laxing his mannerisms as to not be as rigid and intimidating as he was normally despite possibly never being able to devoid himself of the innate disposition. As if his scrutiny had come to an end, Romulus would inquire about something he already knew, "No disrespect intended, but im going to take a guess that you're a mutant? Is the bigfoot you're looking for another mutant?" In this day and age ti was a fair question to ask. He was neither prejudiced or even caring, they all bled the same when it came down to it and so, Romulus would have opened the door to the two door coupe and stood there and awaited an answer of sort, but still giving cues that he would be taking his leave soon.
The seal-Door to the main drainage channel had been forced smooth off of it's hinges into the concrete wall of the drain-tunnel. Romulus emerged , peering right and left before entering ankle deep water levels and transitioning through the complex maze of tunnel and water ways until he found himself facing the open bay and had plunged into it's cold and inviting depths ---where he would go continue to go about escaping and evading further confrontation. Alot of time for a man to think while moving under water toward jersey, like how from a contractual standpoint this mission was an absolute success. The objective had been killed, and he was enroute to obtain another bargaining chip to use for money, influence or a get outta-deep-shit-for-free card. On the other note, a personal one, the two women put a god awful taste in his mouth. One that no amount of alcohol will drown out. The next time they'd cross paths there would be no morale code, no ethics, no passes. He was going for broke. He would aspire to settle scores indefinitely. In an hour or so's time the armored obelisk of a man would emerge from the Newark River, literally 200 meters shy of mcarter highway right near the Train-Park behind Newark, Penn Station.
He'd have entered the train park, and in possession of intimate knowledge of this area had him confident about not being seen picked up on any camera. His hands found the sides of his helmet, an audible depressurization occurred and the helm would release on it's magnetic bindings and open, right as he took his hand down and grabbed on a tarp and yanked it free from over his vehicle which had been parked and waiting here the whole time. Moving around to its rear the trunk was popped ajar and he began the process of removing armor pieces and storing them in the trunk, pulling an ear piece from a compartment in the back and putting it to his ear. An unknown on the other end had picked up and he'd respond. "I need whatever you have on a Mutant or inhuman. Codename: Aura...."
It was the one name that had been mentioned during their confrontation and it stuck, and would be the name he followed back to her on his own time and terms. For now...he'd have entered his vehicle...and taken leave.
Their timing was a gift and a curse. He had already found himself taking a knee to cope with the pain afflicted on him by the bands. His body was racked yet transitioning out of the slump when his vision suddenly was impaired and a force was at play around the entirety of his head. It tugged on him, but not with more force then he could exert, so the user would find more resistance then even she could assume someone as physically strong as he has displayed could muster. As a reaction he'd have rose from a knee but taken a secure stance, still keeping his head from being wildly jostled and the magnetic sealing on the helm would hold it true and firm. Impaired as he was in adequately tracking the obstruction behind his legs, once his sight returned to him and the phenomena working against his helm had vanished he'd have been impacted squarely in his solar plexus. Again the physical forces they were working with would have proven inadequate in actually harming him or even testing the limitations of his suit, however impaired as he was by his current afflicted state, and as irresponsive as his body was at the moment of their pressing attack they found a measure of success, but he would to. The seams of his armor would once again glow red, this time in activation of a single spell (1), as he toppled over backwards and landed squarely and audibly on his back. Beneath his mask his face shuffled through several expressions starting at slightly startled to flat out annoyed. That was insignificant when compared to what occurred the moment his back had hit the ground. Albeit it was with force----it was hardly with enough to cause his massive frame to continue going downward, yet it did! Crashing through half meter thick concrete floor, snatching an additional 1sq meter of flooring out with him, followed by another fall more then 30' and into the floor below---which he did not pass through, and that glow long having gone.
Now while it wasn't his intention, were these two overly committed during their attacks and not mindful of the floor beneath them, could find themselves taking the fall with him. How they'd fair in comparison to him, one could guess, as Romulus would almost immediately sit up growling in a bestial like advertisement of his frustration. Were he successful he'd be looking upward at the hole he made, before once again going into a sprint, now moving through the Sub-Levels of this prison wing and toward the Main-Flow Junction---A massive door at this main halls in 100 yards down and a huge water way used to prevent flooding of the island by venting excess water out into the surrounding water. With any luck they wouldn't follow or press pursuit, as the closer confinement and tighter space and lower light conditions wouldn't serve as the best environment to combat someone like him at all---Especially so light on patience and vastly annoyed and devoid of any further mercy.
1 - Spell of Perpetual Motion (Unstoppability) - Utilizing the mysticism that empowers him Romulus embues himself with "Perpetual Motion", Absolutelty negating the effects of any resisting force, regardless of it's form to his movement in any direction This enables him to breach through any obstruction in his path regardless of it's size and mass in relation to himself, in this case the floor beneath him as his body fell into it.
Romulus' straight line pace was moving from remarkable to flat out amazing. Despite the uneven terrain, and occasional obstacle that needed to be cleared via hurdle or a vault he maintained a 67mph pace that put him well above contention with the feline in pursuit but surely wasn't enough to pull away from his aerial pursuant. Rom had managed to pluck audibles, the flyer was a male, judging from his intel on this location and his currently displayed abilities he was clearly a mutant, but more important then that ---a curious kid. Definitely not a combatant --- at the moment and did not need to be engaged if it could be avoided. With 100 yards between him and his vehicle it's auto-unlock feature tripped causing the high powered performance vehicles lights to flash while granting access. He'd have only turned his head a few degrees and peer over to spectate the predatory cat had given up chase and a stray gaze to the forest canopy allowed him to catch a glimpse of what was chasing him from above---key word, what, because from details he did managed to obtain it barely passed for human. From the tree line there was a 20' elevation change in slope form---Romulus breeched, surging forward and out as land was absent beneath his boots while his body dropped, and immensely powerful legs powered on and regained balance and footing and continued onward in his mad dash before quite literally---sliding to a stop.
He had time. He had a gap. He had moments, and at the moment decided the best course of action was to secure items that made his actions and intent here obvious---Evidence. The entirety of his pack and Ghillie-Overs were thrown into the trunk of the car, his rifle and fire-arms as well [Even if Carrick were to be approaching him directly during this] before slamming the trunk---Keeping the black Backlava (Full face mask) on his face, dressed head to toe in black cargo pants, black Tall keg boots, a black form fitting long sleeve and black fingerless gloves. If curiosity compelled the mutant and he approached with manners and restraint he'd catch the 7' tall man casually walking around to the drivers side door of his vehicle [Spec'd and Pictured on character sheet] and leaning against it while crossing his arms.
The voice carried through the forest clearly and crisply, and his senses plucked the remnants of his declaration and he imnediately crouched and reached to his tac-vest, puling a set of binoculars from them and slowly bringing them up to his eyes where he would allow the digital-occular software scan in on his pursuant. though there was quite a distance between them, the appearance (While not startling) brought about a concern to Rom. This individual could fly, and fast at that, fas enough to transverse the distance between the drone and now in moments. Romulus turned and stuffed the binoculars ack onto his tac-vest and continued toward his vehicle which was now 300 meters away and closing. This was his element, actions like these were well within his traning, controlling the weight of his foot falls, keeping trees at his back to break line of sight, avoiding dry noise making foliage as best as possible and keeping his movements fluid and delibrate.
While not impossible, he wished to keep the odds of being heard or seen at their absolute minimum. Meanwhile at the foxhole his pursuant had discovered the thermite pack would have burned out and the smoke and the smell would have began to dissipate. A good look for his pursuant, and bad news for Romulus just appeared in the form of a fully grown mountain lion to whom which Rom had the displeasure of crossing. To the wild animal Rom clearly looked off putting, his size and being enshrouded in the ghillie the way that he was, immediately caused the big cats ears to lay flat on it's back and worse still----it started making a shiit ton of noise. Rom would have began going AROUND the Puma in round about fashion all the while being charged and hissed at by the big cat who was clearly looking to force him out of it's territory. Rom couldn't risk being made, nor did he want to unnecesarily kill this cat.
So he sprints....and boy can this man sprint.
He moved, and the big cat moved. Giving chase--to no avail. The physically gifted mans straight line speed was nothing short of staggering as he projected that the mutant pursuant clearly would be on his trail as well, same as the mountain lion, with 200 meters and fast, and putting a wide gap on the mountain lion falling behind him.
while she spoke he simply listened,, something that he was finding out that he could do with her better then he could with most.The sound of her voice was plesant, her tone wee welcomed and he found them to be inviting, a blissful introduction to one word after another and another. he revealed her past business experiences, and that she was open to celebration and to no surprise, a drinker. They had so much in common, and he'd only relinquish her of his arm so that he could briefly thumb through his phone, where he would briefly mke it known to her, "Thankfully im solo act, I have no people to contact our people, it all starts and stops with me..."
He'd had spent idle moments listening to confirmation, automated and had snagged the pen out of the shirt pocket of a passing waiter while writing at 17 digit numer down on a napkin and then presented it to her before clicking the pen and settting it on the tray of another random passing waiter. "The money is sitting in that escrow account, password protcted, that pssword..."Romulus Stone"...my name, which i may have in my own haste and amzement by you i forgot to give you. You'll find that i say what i mean and i always mean what i say and most importantly, my actions will always speak as or louder then my words.."
He'd look around, stepping back and crossing his arms while admiring the presentation before him that asked where did he want to go, at first he responded, "Well i should be asking you, it's you we are celebraing right?" He'd have chuckled a bit before running his hand down along the length of his beard ith several things now coming into mind, some of it even illegal, he chuckled. "Settle your affairs here m'ldy, then meeet me out front, i'll be a the car waiting on your arrival.....miss?" Finally, asking her name.
Press an offensive he would not, because he couldnt. He'd have dropped to one knee and while not visible to them beneath the mask he weathered the pain of the bands around his body searing his flesh and draining on the mystical energies that empowered him making even the slightest physical act, at this moment require a herculean effort at best to achieve. It would have been easie to simply kill the two of them iwith his bare hands rather then attempt some non lethal solution, the end never justifies the means, and now, it would ppear that his actions took far more out of him then it did them. Games of atrition never favored him and his reputation as a ruthess, quick and efficient killer was not built on the foundation of "Mercy". These two would not be given any further quarter from here on out if they pressed the issue of combatting him any further.
His body however at the moment was racked with pain and the best of his efforts were going into keeping himself up right while he faced the two of them, stalling for time but intentionally presenting himself as opposition still to be taken seriously---Because he was. What was unseen at this moment was their willingness to press an issue they stood to gain nothing from, and that cold baritone voice would creep forward from the mask once more in inquiry, "I wont waste energy and effort warning the two of you again.....LEAVE!
The bnds continued to burn but the restraint was slowly ebbing nd the pain albeit present was something he had worked through many occaions prior, the ball was in their court.
The initial interaction betwee he and the woman using the corpose as a marionette was nothing short of comical. if his actual facial expressions could be seen it would have only served to make it even funnier, first the single brow that perked upon seeing the body float----and dangle as if it were being held up by something and not its own power. It wasnt that he didnt notice or couldn't see the phenomena, the "Hazy Air" as it was described it was the sheer audacity that she felt he was THIS stupid that made him flat out no care. NEVERMIND the fact that his sense of hearing, augmented as it was in this helmet, allowed him to discern no heart-beat present coming from the floaty corpse, but quick shuffle through the visual modes, had the thermals displaing a steady decrese in its body temperature. NOT tht he doubted his own work---it was just to easy to double check just in case he was dealing with someone who could in fact raise the dead. What truly took him for a whirl was when she spoke, as if attempting to turn him away or lure him into action using his own kill, this cased him to tun around and face her, and visibly tilt his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me..."
If any other tricks in her bag had this level of effectiveness to them then the appearance of the other woman would and should have been considered a blessing to her, to him, an unwanted interruption and distraction. He hadn't come here for an all out melee, at least not with any opposition that didnt stand directly in the way of his objective but now found himself being opposed by powered individuls on the way out. Aura's words came forth and did nothing to move his moral compass in another direction, and he obliged her statement with a response, "That someone would be me, and I assure you im not going to be losing any sleep about his passing, he isn't the first to die at my hand, and surely won't be the last..." While he spoke he had spread his arms wide, stretching them out and cupped his hands, a meaningless gesture that may even look as if he was taunting or inviting any conflict or response to what he stated. In fact it was quite the opposite. What was apparent was the brielf flash of crimson anima that surged, like red electricity, over the entirey of his body before he spoke, "Lastly, im not a mutant...nor am i anyones friend."
Now his next course of action was infact an old classic. Typically reserved for the physiclly gifted with enough raw power to facilitate it and even as he was, he did. A Thunder-Clap. Or....the act of clapping his hands together with superhuaman effort resulting an the release of a substantial amount of kinetic/concusive force, the likes of which at it's current level had enough raw power to vacate literally shove AIR out of the entire room, and for body weights like the two women present here, if it struck soundly and they lacked means of resistance the Dome-Like Area of effect could very will collide with staggering force and send them barreling away and into nearby walls. More importantly was that the force was MOST powerful closest to him, and would wane as it traveled out past tthe 50 meter mark, secondly the sheer SOUND was near deafening, lastly, the anomoly seemed laden with elemental mysticism discharged in electrical form that could serve as debilitaing as tthe other factors of the act.
He sought to diable the two of them with the act--which while moving tthrough the narrow corridor that brought him here would even cuse a shockwave to bellow out the entrance and jolt the law enforement outside! Should it serve its purpose, and be even remotely effective, then maybe, just maybe he'd have created an opening for him to leave withoutt causing further injury to these two.
He'd have turned around just as the SWAT members readied and fired with far less then desirable results seving only to be effective at aggravatin him then actually harming him. The suit was highly resistant to ballistics and unbeknownst to them even without it he totted a level of physical endurance and durability not to farr off his suit itself, what his current attire offered was an incresed level of utility, resilience and versitility without having to expend his own effort and abilities directly-----and it as intimidating as all shit. The eyes of the mask would ignite furiously, bleeding off a well of mystical energy before the ground beneath the balls of his feet cracked and caved under the might generated y powerful legs that lunched him across the gap between them at an absolutely insane pace, confirming any reports mentioning physical attributes well above the norm. Diving head lnto the hail of gunfire whih riddled the Titans form on his advance served to cross the diide while they were to occupied with putting rounds into him accurately, and hindered by cumbrsome shields which would do very little in stopping the shoulder rush he'd apply to one of the SWAT-Officers. At his size and with enough force to knock send a a car back into the far wall were it there instead of him, it this would be an absolutely lethal amount of force if it connected.
Romulus was however not just some physically gifted brute. He was a trained combatant of the utmost skill and caliber, he didn't waste movvements, he strung together his offensives as shown when he'd reach to snag the ankle of the presumably fleeting SWAT he had just charged and would seek to rag doll the combatant by his leg and use his entire body as 200+lb weapon to BAT thee second SWAT member away, accounting for changes in position, were he successful in batting 1, he'd spin on his left foot, following through on the counter clockwise motion and drastically increase the power on the follow up swing to the final combant who like the first would be batted clean across the room if he was successful. While the first of these 3 attacks would prove lethal, the other 2 would at best be incapacitated and injured, Leaving Romulus to stare at the female present here while holding the lifeless body of the first SWAT member in his hand. Not that it mattered the dead combatants leg would be dislocated and broken in several places from that action andd Rom would drop him on the floor at his side.
"They fired on me......so i attacked them. You were smart not to lead with aggression. You can continue to be smart and just step aside, Im not a fan of hurting or harming women. Youu chose to stay, you're a combatant.....and well, you see for yourself how I feel about those. Besides, I got who I came for....." The fact that it was assumed that he was a mutant just dawned on him but at the moment he put it to the rear of his mind. Behind that helm a stern face stared with glowing red eyes affixed to the agent in front of him, giving her the floor and the stage to make her next move.
The current events spread like wildfire across the island, but not in a manner that would vastly improve their effectiveness in handling the situation. It spread in a manner that would only incite more fear and panic. Unclear radio transmissions. Channels left open, hundreds of stray ears listening in first hand on the carnage unfolding. CCTV footage being watched by several watch tower stations in other wings and other locations on the island. Rikers Island had already been on the chopping block as a facility with inhospitable conditions, questionable practices against prisoners, lawfully wrongful death suits and Sexual assults are just aspects of a growing list of reasons why this place inevitably was doomed for closure. This is only brought up now to push the point that in the face of the current events---Alot of these guards discarded protocol and chose to presere themselves. Posts were left. Guard booths were fleeted. Entire wings of the prison were evacuated and left vacated SOME without locking in their general population leaving some wings compromised and slowly overrun by prisoners seizing the moment. Where Romulus walked, the walls shook. There were yells, screams and roars of protest from the Federal Detainment wing. Romulus would have entered, boots that echoed through the halls on his approach coming to a stop as he looked up, spotting the eyes on him in the windows of the doors of the cells holding their individual captives, most wide with delight, seeing Rom as the source of their freedom. He's egged on. Cheered for. Screamed at, and they go largely ignored as he walked over to the vacated Control-Desk where his eyes scrutinized the list and spotted it. Charles. Cell 12A.
The moment Rom looked up and locked eyes with the cell---he spotted the man who caught glimpse those red hell-gems and found himself paralyzed with fear. Eyes that not even for one second removed themselves from that direction even as Rom walked up and sent his fingers to wedge into the sides of the door which was now being crushed, jerked and then PULLED off the magnetic tacks before being tossed aside. Inside he found Clatyon, immediately retracting to the furthest corner of this shoebox of a containment cell which got even smaller as Romulus bent down, turned, stepped through the door and arise back to his full height. He stood over this coward. Posturing purposely. Allowing him to drink in the entirety of how FUCKED he was at the moment. Failing to grasp who, or what or why....Clayton screamed out, "W-why!! w-who are you!!", his voice, ensconced in frailty and fear. Romulus spoke, and his voice was absolutely saturated with utter disgust and discontent when the words fell out of this mouth. "A fathers rage. A husbands sorrow. I am PUNISHMENT. I am BALANCE to an equation. You're going to start by telling me where you put the information you promised to the feds on Spirelli, not because it will save your life, because it won't. Its also not going to spare you what you deserve. You're going to give it to me because if you don't, im going to do what you did to those little girls, and their mother......to YOUR little girl, and her mother." He'd hold up his right wrist like one would if they were looking at their watch and a 3D HUD would display a photograph of Joyce Charles and Minara Charles, his wife and child.
Claytons eyes would go wide and he'd scream out, "PLEASE!!!! ALRIGHT!! ALRIGHT!!!.....Newark!! Frelinghyusen ave, the old store house close to Meeker Ave! It's in the trunk of the Chevy Impala parked there I rent the place out for storage, a black case in the trunk closest to the seat!--ACK!!" he was viced. An armored hand affixed tightly around his throat and squeezing while lifting him off of his feet, Asphyxiating and literally strangling the life from the man who clawed and kicked wildly, fighting and protesting for survival. His efforts were strong at first, but weakening, gradually, slowing to an utter crawl before in one final squeeze and jerk an audible -SNAP!!!!-
The lifeless corpse was dropped there. Collapsing and left like a pile of laundry, where shortly after Romulus would turn around, crane down and step back out of the cell.
Meanwhile..........things were brewing something fierce outside.
