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 Ashton Drake on Feb 4, 2020 11:54:10 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
The apartment was sparse, but livable. Spartan. It was clean.
If Ashton had been pressed to pick one word to describe the furniture in the place, that word would have been “viable.” Not serviceable, not enviable. Viable. It had purpose.It wasn’t plush, it wasn’t rich, it wasn’t cheap. A perfect middle of the pack. Whoever had picked it out had had taste and common sense.
There was a television stand. There was a television. There was a couch, there was a reclining chair. An end table with a lamp, and a coffee table. Brands that would last long enough for you to get used to them, but not long enough to be passed down from generation to generation. The television screen was not of an insensible size. Anything piled on the coffee table was stacked and orderly. Ashton looked over the contents.
There was a gun magazine, a sports periodical, a dog eared trade paperback, several thin boxes with pictures of classic movies and comedies like police academy on their fronts, too small to be VHS tapes, and... a newspaper. He eyed the date on the newspaper, and took a step back.
The year was wrong. Or rather, it was in the future. The paper crunched slightly as his grip tightened on the edges. He hadn’t even realized he’d stepped forward again to pick it up.
This was something he’d suspected, if he were being honest with himself. From the crazy space tech of the phone he hadn’t known he’d had, to the sports mag with unfamiliar faces, and a million other little things.
New York was not how he’d remembered it. His memory wasn’t wrong, but maybe he was. Which was basically what his sister had said to him, but he’d been stubborn and hadn’t wanted to believe her. But yeah, his apartment, his magazines, his life. It was all his. Not some crazy bit of amnesia either... something had happened. He needed to figure out what. First, he wanted to learn more about the life he’d had.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 29, 2020 8:38:31 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
A moment later, something buzzed and rang stridently in his pants.
“The f—-“ He found its and extricated they foreign object from within. In his day, they hadn’t really had devices like this. Star Trek had called. They wanted their little communicator thingies back.
On the other end of the line, his big sister Alice swore at him. Had he really hung up on her? She’d been trying to help his ass.
He’d told her the pay phone had wanted more money and he’d been dry.
She said oh. Why the hell are you using a pay phone? Where did you even find a—never mind. Use your cellphone, you idiot.
And then she’d continued telling him key bits of information, in the way only true family can do. Alongside backhanded comments on ones intelligence, with genuine concern thrown into the mix. Said key information had included the location where he could stuff his key... and now here he was. Investigating his life, because— because she hadn’t told him jack sh^t! Too dangerous, whatever that meant.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 29, 2020 8:37:56 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
The key fit the lock, just like she said it would. Damn her for knowing everything. She’d known the address, known what city he was in when he’d called, confused, knew everything. Job, rank, precinct and station. Topics of a more personal nature... apparently, he’d of had to tell her everything for her to know everything. Which didn’t jive with what he knew of his 20-something self.
People change. They change, hard.
The personal stuff, she’d told him he should discover for himself. It would mean more, she had said, if he did his own detective work on his life. Not they he remembered being a detective or anything, damn her...
Damned psychologist sister, psycho analyzing him over the phone. Not that he felt shrunk. If anything, he felt a little too large. His clothes, especially. Damn pants. Damn shirt, damn belt, damn damn!
“You’ll feel better,” she’d said. He imagined her speaking in a whiny muppet voice. “If you investigate your own life.”
Damn skippy, he would. When he’d first called her, cold and scared, he’d wanted facts. Just the facts, ma’am. Alice had access to the facts and she had shared plenty. Facts. He’d had facts of his penned had to share, too.
Fact: He was in a unfamiliar city.
Fact: He wasn’t in military academy and where the hell was he.
Fact: They were going to kill him, and he’d only just started figuring things out. He hadn’t been disciplined that week, actually, and it was a damned miracle.
And fact: his clothes didn’t fit him and his drivers license had him in his forties and old, and he was freaking out.
To each fact, Alice had been ready with an answer. He was in New York. He wasn’t in military academy. He hadn’t BEEN in military academy. Not for a good long while. Nobody was going to kill him. At least, not anyone from military academy. Though if he didn’t stop interrupting her answer session with calls of “bull shhhh”, she didn’t know. Death might be in the cards. For the last fact, he’d been met with silence.
“Hello?” He’d said. Had the line gone dead? Did he need to deposit another quarter? It had been a tour de force even finding a pay phone in this day and age, and trading in dollars for quarters to pay for it had gotten him so many dirty looks.
“Ashton,” she’d said. “I want you to go to your apartment and stay there. Be careful. If this is what I think this is—“
“What?”
“I’ll be there shortly. Dig around. Learn about yourself. It’ll be better than anything I could ever tell you. You’ll feel better,” she’d said. “Investigating your own life.”
“What?!” He’d shouted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”
A tinny voice on the other end of line asking for more quarters was his only reply. He didn’t have any freaking quarters. He slammed the only pay phone in all of New York roughly back into its cradle with disgust.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 7, 2020 17:33:51 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
The rest of the raid on the warehouse was less Swashbuckling, more police superiority. MRC’s finest moved in, worked in coordinated groups spread out to avoid crossfire while still guarding each other’s backs. They worked silently, used hand signals, the works. Like something you’d have seen on Cable Television. With less commercials.
Nobody got hurt. That was the important part.
The guy they’d bagged had spilled after a few seconds with Davidson. He wasn’t a “read-your-mind psychic”, per se. he could just look you in the eye, and say words. And if they resonated, they resonated. And people responded. It was terrifying. He said “kids.” He said “Freaking kids.” And the scumbag broke down and spilled his guts.
So no injuries, yet.
As they rounded a corner, Hobbes took a bullet in his arm. But it was his metal arm. Still, no injuries. Someone bumrushed the guy with some sort of taser punch.
The rest of the raid continued that way, as they dealt with building security. Their plucky little squad with nifty powers, with Smith the human in the back coordinating with his superior brains.
Non-lethal takedowns, mostly. And No Injuries. On their side. Some men had to go too far.
And when it was all said and done, they’d swept the building and found the kids and found no more guards.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 6, 2020 20:12:44 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
It all started when a security guard in a black turtleneck decided to step outside for a smoke break. Detective Drake sized up the distance, prepared himself, and traded places with them. And then, he was in. MRC could interrogate the guard and learn why he had a poorly concealed shoulder holster, when they found him. He’d left the man in the middle of some six officers.
”I’m in,” he told the men in the headset. Dryly. And then he wiped a trickle of blood from the side of his nose. The guy had been a big ‘un.
From there, he looked upwards to a window with a view on the second story. In a perfect world, there’d have been something within view up against the window where he could trade places with it, like Magic. But alas, we don’t live in a perfect world. He drew his gun, but kept it low by his hip. And prepared to take the front entrance.
Casually, not carefully, he opened the door. With luck, anyone near the entrance would figure it was Joe Smokestack coming back from his break. With luck, they wouldn’t have CCTV and all be watching for his bold entrance.
“Oh hey, Joe. Short smoke break. Run out?”
Bamf, whoosh, bang. Detective Drake turned in place and dove at a wall. Then he traded places with the guy, imparting him with enough forward momentum to knock him out against the metal structure. Another nose wipe. Another drip. Worth it, though. Far less noticeable than a gunshot, was a metal bang. And that had been the only guy right there. He quickly bent and cuffed him in place with zip ties. Then he got back up.
His voice was a little husky as he spoke into his headset. ”Go, dogs. Go!”
Maybe he’d been spending too much time around his nephew. He’d meant to say go go go.
The MRC folks converged on the building. He’d claimed the entrance. Together, they could handle the rest.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 6, 2020 19:17:31 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
Again, something took longer than it should have. Gathering the MRC members had been difficult. For some reason, many officers were missing. One of his guys, Hobbes, straight up didn’t have his partner! And that wasn’t even counting those that had called in sick. And jurisdiction problems made him sick.
He had a lead. He had a lead and they didn’t want to pursue it. Either because it involved Archer and her resources, or because of some other reason he hadn’t figured out yet. Some higher ups had said it was in another part of town. Another precinct would have to work with them or something or something. All it amounted to, as far as he heard it, was bull sh*+.
Ashton got loud. He probably made a few enemies, called in a few old favors. Was emphatic. When a veteran detective makes enough noise and has enough evidence, people listen. Or maybe it was just his winning personality. Either way, it took way too damn long but he got things done.
And suddenly, they were gearing up a few blocks from the warehouse on Hunt’s Point. Because rolling up en masse to the place would have sent heads spinning. And he wanted to catch the bastards with their pants down.
There was a brief meeting and discussion of what they knew and what they didn’t know. A little huddle up chat over the game plan. What they didn’t know about the situation inside the warehouse far outweighed what they did. He’d been able to get city hall to release an old blueprint of the building schematics so they had that going for them, which was nice. Still, he wished he knew more. Well, what can you do?
All in all, he had 15 MRC officers including himself. Hobbes, Desoto, Sinclaire, Franks, Smith, Tennant, Miller, Baker, Davison, Davidson... and the rest. There at Hunts Point.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 2, 2020 10:57:08 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
It took him a few minutes to decode the web, and decide where Archer’s mind had taken her. The reason for the delay had been the fact that, yes, it actually had been on multiple walls. Not just one.
What were you involved in, woman?
News clippings about disappearances plastered the walls. Strings led from place to place. Names were highlighted and underlined. Places. Times. Dates. She had had a system. It would have taken someone familiar with her to parse it. Thankfully, he was.
All the lines of string eventually strung down to a single place. Heinz lane. Sorry. Hunts point. Right near French’s alley. When he was stressed, he made bad jokes. So sue him.
UnFunny enough, Hunts point wasn’t too far from where her car had been found as the crow flies. Which set off all flavors of warning bell in his head.
Had she been watched while staying out a place? Caught? Grabbed? Nabbed.
Who had she been looking into? Well obviously, bad guys. Child kidnappers. But who, specifically. If they knew that, it would solve a lot of issues.
Knowing Archer, she had probably looked into that. The owner of the building had probably been a dummy corporation going back to no one in particular. Joe Smith, whatever. That’s how the criminal types usually worked. And if she hadn’t... well, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. Nobody could have been silly enough to wander in blind.
Ashton glanced around, self-consciously.
He made himself a cup of coffee in her kitchen while waiting to hear back from the precinct about the warehouse, and about backup. Hey. He wasn’t going into this blind or alone. If they’d gotten her, they could get him. And he was decidedly older and slower than she was. He had no illusions about his youthfulness or his lithe physique. He was pretty sure his breakfast had consisted of a donut and heavily sweetened coffee. To mask the Precinct taste.
How does one describe police precinct coffee pot flavor? If he had to go with a word, probably... coppery.
Sue him, again. Okay, thanks.
The health food goddess meant her coffee was decaf, and he thanked his lucky stars she had coffee at all. Must have been for a friend, because Archer most definitely drank tea. Which spoke about clues not pertaining to his investigation. He didn’t root around any further.
He heard back from his contacts at the precinct. Then, Ashton moved out. He didn’t lock the front door. But he did put up crime scene tape, to keep people out. Hopefully.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 2, 2020 10:53:42 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
After all was said and done, the operation was a bust. Freaking figured.
Wong had never showed up. Anyone present had been collared, but they’d said nothing. And nobody could have gotten anything from any connections at the scene.
No kids. He’d thought there’d be kids. The whole thing was a mess.
He’d been taken off the case, and been lucky that was all that had happened. It HAD been a lead, but someone else could continue it. He was making too many mistakes and taking too long.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Jan 2, 2020 7:58:06 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
No one at Haven knew anything. And if they did, they hadn’t told him anything. To her apartment, he went. He had probable cause. Sorry Archer. He’d replace the lock.
The apartment was not the tidiest apartment in the building. To be fair to the woman, she’d been distracted.
He hadn’t found it at first. First, he’d found the dirty dishes and the occasional article of clothing laying around. It wasn’t as if the place were a disaster area or a horror story. If anything, it was... a detective story.
There weren’t any smears of blood or overturned chairs. There wasn’t a broken window or a blown down wall. Only a crazy wall of ideas.
It was the kind you see in... wait for it... a detective story. Or a cop movie. The web of locations and people and stories, placed on the wall. The idea wall. He wasn’t sure if there was an official title for the thing, but that’s what it was. That’s what he called it. And she had one. It had probably led to her disappearance. Which meant it was a “clue.” Now where was that cartoon dog to lead him to the next one? Ashton settled for using his own damn detective skills.
There had been blood in the car. Blood. In the car. Signs of struggle. And it had been her car. Her phone. When they’d found it (and it had been too long, dammit), it had been her phone. And the tech guys had found the start of a text she’d never sent... a text to him.
That unfinished text was why he’d been involved. Because the higher ups wanted to know what the hell was up. Was he involved with this whole thing? With her? Again? Working behind the scenes, off the books, gallivanting around New York with her at his side, the epitome of vigilante justice at work?!
In the past, they’d worked together. But it had been official. This whole thing wasn’t. Was it? What in the hell had she been involved in?! Ashton didn’t know.
How could he know? He hadn’t spoken to Archer in a while. He told them that. Told them the last time they’d worked together... he could hardly even remember the last time they’d worked together. Was it something minor, or had it been that human trafficking case they’d worked on? That had been a dead end. He’d been taken off the case, for some reason. The whole thing had been strange.
Kidnappings had continued, been written about in the news. And it had not stopped. He’d wondered about that, but he’d been busy. Been kept busy. And cop life in New York is always busy. The city never stops.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Dec 5, 2018 8:51:57 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
((Set in the past.))
He’d called Archer. He’d left a message for Wong. The group with him was large. Several members were there, both from MRC, and from without. The way it had played out had made jurisdiction a nightmare. Children were involved. And smuggling. And drugs. Several different precincts and departments had taken interest, and when he’d brought people in for the big operation, they had insisted. There had to have been at least forty people in the staging area several blocks from the warehouse district. With jurisdiction such a problem, the fact that he’d brought in outside contractors would most likely have been a sticking point, if they’d known. But he hadn’t told them about Archer, now had he?
People could see one familiar face in a crowd, and a lot of them knew her. But cops can be protective of their own, when it comes down to it. Nobody had said a word. Some cops are asses. They’re out for their ego and their standing in the force. But in this scenario, they were temporarily blind to what they didn’t want to see. And even if they hadn’t been, HE would have insisted. She’d put in just as much of the hard work as him, or anyone else. Quin deserved to be part of the operation. If they objected, they could shove it up their collective ass.
People were dressed in various styles of gear. Some wore Kevlar vests with multiple attachment points, some wore heavier fare, complete with shields. Some went light. He was one of them. Suit and vest, sidearm holster.
The assortment of guns present would have made a gun lover’s heart sing. Ultimately, the operation was supposed to catch the smugglers in the act. Tact, however, had taken the day off. Their tactic for this was to catch the bad guys with their pants down, and not leave any room for doubt about who was the bigger threat.
Yup. It truly was a sight to see. And anyone seeing it would know for certain what was coming to bash in their doors. Hence, the need for a caravan of disguised vans, and a primary entry team taking point. Someone to coordinate, scout, and sneak before the goon brigade came in, guns blazing. Someone to secure the kids.
They could not risk children being caught in the inevitable crossfire. Point would lead and remove as many children from the playing field as possible. It was his responsibility, his operation, and he had his teleportation power to aid him.
Ashton caught sight of Archer, amid the other people on the scene. He stepped away pulled her aside. Ashton briefly ran down the summation of the situation, and finished on a high note.
”And I want you on my team! To sneak in, take in the scene, and help me secure the kids!” She was good in a fight and he trusted her to watch his back for him while he coordinated. The question was, had he worked hard enough to get her to trust him to watch her’s.
Posted by Ashton Drake on Oct 24, 2018 8:00:02 GMT -6
Alpha Mutant
Cinnamon
899
14
Nov 23, 2024 17:24:54 GMT -6
Mugen
A brief search turned up a wallet and questions. One could almost read the man’s mind by the steps he took, the way he noted one thing and then another. Franklin had noticed the wetness on the man’s scalp, the wetness that didn’t apply to his coat.
Why would there be wetness on ones hair and not on their body, if something were dumped? At least a little would have splashed onto the man’s clothes. Unless he were toweled off, or for a handful of other reasons, but it was worth thinking about.
Franklin’s search didn’t turn up any wine bottle. To Ashton, it seemed like the young detective was pretty good at his job. He wasn’t tramping around the scene and stomping on evidence or leaving fingerprints on the body, at least. When he spoke to Ashton, the man was forced to speak his mind on the matter.
”Good catch. I think we ought to check security footage from nearby shops after the ME is done here. It may give us some clues as to what happened to the bottle. Or if someone took it. He said.
He had a gut feeling. This wasn’t a robbery. The man’s stuff was all there. The hair was wet, but not the clothes. Maybe he hadn’t been wearing the coat when he’d been doused? There were no signs of struggle. No broken fingernails or blood. That signaled to Ashton their either the man hadn’t been aware of his attacker or their efforts, or else his guard had been down. Maybe he had known his murderer? That’s what his gut told him.
—
The ME arrived a couple minutes later. He confirmed that the man had died from alcohol poisoning. The man had vomited, but he’d been cleaned up. Ashton and Franklin hadn’t checked his teeth. The body had been dehydrated, and the skin was more clammy than it should have been in this weather, even after death. The examiner’s temperature probe told him the victim been dead about three hours.
“Honestly, you both should have noticed the things of blue around his lips.” The ME harangued them. “Even if it was somewhat normalized by the bit of red lipstick on his mouth.”
”Lipstick,” Ashton said. He thanked the ME for that little detail.
((OOC I can take us to get video footage in my next post. I’ve got an idea of a couple of plant chicks in the footage with the guy.))
