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.
The echo of footsteps gradually grew louder as the girl jogged to catch up to Mat. He smiled, glad she decided to follow him instead of disappearing into the night. Soon, she caught up to him and fell in step, giving Mat an awkward smile.
>>>“Um...thank you. For back there. You really helped me out of a jam.”
“No worries,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Thanks for smacking that bloke with the pipe. I may have gotten in a little over my head.” He laughed, still a little embarrassed that he had to be rescued by the person he was rescuing.
The end of the alley lay ahead, opening out onto the street. Before they got there, Mat paused and reached into his pockets for the bottle of caffeine pills. He took two in hand and dry swallowed them. Not that he particularly needed them, but it was a habit, something familiar. He took the time to inspect the girl closer, now that all the drama had died down. She was a scrawny little thing. Mat wondered when she had last eaten. His own stomach gave a tiny, sympathetic growl at the thought. There was also the smell. It lingered around her, a smell he himself wore at times. One he was familiar with. It told a tale of dumpster diving and living in whatever filth you had to. A smell of survival. He didn't wrinkle his nose, didn't screw his face up, made no indication that he had even noticed it. The girl was obviously living hard, and he was in no position to judge.
“You know,” he began, after debating whether or not to reveal this, “if you were just some regular citizen, I probably wouldn't have helped you.” He didn't say this to be cruel, or to make himself out to be some champion of the helpless. It was a fact, plain and simple. He wasn't a hero, not by a long shot. But he was prepared to stand up for those like him. Those without a home, those who lived on the extreme fringes of society.
Those no one else would bother sparing a second glance.
He sucked some air between his front teeth and made his way onto the street. He checked the damage to his head once more. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. Probably meant it wasn't a serious wound. He would live.
Sticking a hand in his pocket, Mat fished around for any cash. He felt a couple of crumpled up bills and a few coins. He was sure that he had left enough cash for a few more meals. Soon though, he would have to sell some more sculptures.
“After all that excitement, I'm pretty hungry.” Mat stopped and nodded towards the fish and chips store they were standing in front of. A sign hung over the door, reading Fishy Joe's. Not the most appetising name in the world, but when you used to eat from bins you soon learned not to be too picky.
Oh, right. She had pointed out the bathroom when they had arrived. Mat had forgotten. Or, more likely, Mat had been distracted. Too eager to get a drink. Too eager to learn more about this woman. She made another crack, a double entendre about him being dirty. She grinned at him, and Mat could only snort in amusement.
Cheeky.
Mat finished his drink and placed the glass on the table. Reaching down to his ankle, he pulled a folded straight razor from his sock and sat it next to his empty glass. It was the one thing he possessed that still had any ties to his old life. It had belonged to his grandfather, and was bequeathed to Mat after the old man passed away. It was also the razor Mat's father had taught him to shave with, when soft black bristles begun to sprout on Mat's face. It had been a while since Mat had had a chance to use it. Living on the streets made it difficult for him to tote around the necessary equipment, and also made it difficult to find a decent place to bathe, let alone shave. Occasionally Mat would find a barber and pay him to hone and strop the blade, but he hadn't done so for some time.
As he stood, Mat gave a small wobble, half an act, half out of sincere tipsiness. It seemed prudent to make himself out to be more vulnerable than he really was. Though, if he kept drinking, it would soon be a redundant front. He wandered over to the wall where he had tossed his coat and took off his suit jacket, dumping it next to the discarded garment. He undid his tie and kicked his shoes off. It would be cumbersome having to take everything into the bathroom with him, so Mat figured he would claim this patch of floor for the meagre belongings he possessed.
The bathroom, Mat noticed as he entered, was decorated in much the same, sleek style as the living area. White with highlights of black and silver. Very modern. There was a shelving unit with a stack of towel on it. Good, that would save him having to ask. Stripping his clothes off, Mat turned on the taps. As he stood under the shower head, he felt the stress from the day begin to wash away, down the drain with the water.
“I know,” Mat replied to Mute's comment that he was quite talented with his sculptures. There was no boasting in the way he said it, no overinflated ego. Just simple fact. He had spent a lot of time training and honing his ability. Years of dedication, every day, close to every hour. It was his means of survival, and the closest thing he had to a purpose in life.
It was his art.
To be able to capture scenes as he remembered them, in perfect detail. That was a skill he had always wished for, but never possessed. His sister, for as long as Mat could remember, had always been a fantastic artist when it came to sketches and drawings. When they were younger, he had always been so jealous of her. His mother too, he recalled, was also a great artist. That was where his sister had gotten her artistic genes from.
His artistic genes seemed to be buried a little deeper, and a more than a little mutated.
Mute mentioned that she enjoyed roller coasters, meeting new people, and flying. Two of those he had done. On the streets, he met new people practically everyday. When he was a teen, he remembered catching the train from his hometown in the country to Melbourne during holidays and running amok in the city with his friends. They would often go to Luna Park and ride the rickety old scenic rollercoaster that ran around the park's perimeter, or the small Mad Mouse that zipped around and around. He had never been on a full fledged coaster, with massive drops and arcing loops, but the memories of those times still brought back a smile.
“I've never actually flown before,” he mentioned offhandedly.
Mute clarified what she meant by the roommate remark, and she made a good point. The police would be looking for them. And seeing as how Mat had nowhere else to go, and Mute had obviously done this before, it was a logical explanation. Though, something about the way she phrased it gave Mat pause. As though she thought he was a liability. Made sense. If he was here, then she knew he wouldn't go running off to the cops, or something silly like that.
He took another sip of the rum. The pleasant numbness in his face and hands told Mat that he was on his way to getting drunk. That was a good thing. If he was going to stay here while the heat died down, then it was best he make himself comfortable. Speaking of which...
“I don't suppose you have a shower in this place?” It'd been a couple of days since he had last bathed properly, and seeing as how he had the time and the facilities, he was going to make use of them.
The bullet ricocheted off the golem and the girl finally stopped struggling against its grip. Not that Mat couldn't understand. People didn't tend to take kindly to small metal men holding them against their will. After the shot was fired the girl glared at the thug, her face turning an angry shade of red, and regurgitated a swarm of insects.
That was the only way Mat could describe it.
The buzzing he had heard earlier filled the air once more. The girl opened her mouth and the insects flew from her parted lips, straight at the man. He screamed as the swarm stung at his entire body, unable to escape it. Mat looked at the girl once more and saw the expression on her face. She was smiling, a tiny malicious smile that showed how much she enjoyed making the man suffer. Mat couldn't blame her. He probably would have done the same thing.
With the thug now well and truly taken care of, she turned to Mat and asked him to release her. With a small grin Mat commanded the golem to let go. It took a couple of steps backwards and held its hand to its forehead, in a salute. Mat broke the connection and the golem froze in place. In the distance, sirens began to fill the air.
“We should get out of here. Cops tend to investigate gunshots, and in my experience don't take all that kindly to mutants.”
He had initially stopped to help the girl because she was a street kid, but now that he knew she was a mutant as well he felt that he had made the right choice in stopping to help. Without waiting to see if she would follow, Mat turned and began back down the alley. Street kids tended to be skittish at the best of times, unwilling to trust strangers, unsure of any ulterior motives. He understood that. He had been there himself. He had done what he could to get the girl out of trouble, but she had no obligations to him because of it. Now, if she so chose, she was on her own. But you helped out your own, whether mutant or homeless. That's simply how it went.
She would follow him, or she wouldn't. That was all there was to it.
She grinned and sat on the sofa next to him. Close. The temptation to drop his arm down from its perch and around her shoulders was great, but he resisted. To give in now would mean that he had lost the game. Patience was a virtue, after all. He lifted his forgotten drink to his lips and emptied the glass. Patience when it came to drinking, that had never been a strong suit.
Mute had her eyes on him, as if she were trying to figure out what to say or ask him. After a moment she asked if he had any jobs or hobbies. He nodded towards the sculptures that continued to dance around the table.
“My job pretty much is my hobby. I make a bunch of those and sell them on the streets. I can make enough to support myself pretty easily. Though, truth be told, I could probably sell them for more,” he said with a shrug.
He tended to let the buyer name their own price. Money wasn't a great concern of Mat's, save for having enough to eat and to buy his regular supply of caffeine pills. And being flexible on the price allowed Mat to sell more sculptures than if he was stubborn about it.
Mat glanced over towards the kitchen counter, where the liquor bottle still resided. He considered making another golem to go fetch it, but decided against it. If he kept making them, soon the place would be full of statues and sculptures. Placing his empty glass on the table in front of him, Mat broke the connection to his dancing glass people, leaving them frozen in mid-dance. He stood and wandered over to the counter to retrieve the bottle. He returned to his seat, twisted the lid off, and filled his glass. Then he held it out to see if Mute wanted a top up.
“What about you? Any hobbies or interests that keep you busy?” He didn't ask about what she did for a job. He could guess well enough. And if his suspicions were correct, then there wasn't a whole lot of wisdom in being nosy.
The fact that Mute had called him her roommate did not escape Mat's notice. He smiled, but deep down he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. It had been a while since he had stayed in one place for any great amount of time. Since the fire Mat had made a habit of not spending any more than a few days in a single location. He wondered just how long Mute expected him to stay here.
“So, roommate, huh? You planning on keeping me, are you?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
Everything went quiet. Not just quiet, dead silent. As though every sound in the room had been removed. As though he had just gone deaf. He grinned, and turned his head in various directions, trying to catch a snippet of sound. He tried to resume the song, but not even his own voice reached his ears. Not one bit of his fabulous performance.
He laughed silent laughter, still trying to wrap his mind around the absolute silence. Mute, the name now seeming so very appropriate, walked over to him. Her lips moved, but Mat couldn't make heads or tails of what she was saying. Eventually, she released her ability and sound came rushing back into the world.
He had to admit, it was a cool power. Useful, and with great potential for amusement. Never again, would one have to stand the incessant yipping of some tiny dog. Never again, would one have to listen to someone else's crap. Arguments would be a thing of the past. After all, how can one win a debate when stripped of the ability to retort? And karaoke nights? God, the fun he could have...
She leaned in closer to Mat, and mentioned that there were other ways she could have shut him up.
The corners of his mouth lifted into yet another grin. He leaned forward himself, until there were only mere inches between their faces. He stared into her gorgeous brown eyes, then let his gaze wander down to her lips. He slowly leaned in closer, until he could feel her breath on his face.
“Maybe...” He suddenly pulled back, and settled into the couch, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa. “Then again, maybe not?” he replied, before whistling the song he had previously been singing. She was teasing him. That was fine, Mat had no objections to that. He could tease as well. And he had already promised himself not to let himself be caught off-guard by this woman again. Fool him once, shame on her.
As she clapped for his correct guess, Mat grinned and took a deep bow. It sounded like an interesting mutation, and one that he could imagine being useful for the woman. If she was what he thought she was. Which, more and more, she seemed to be.
What crime could not be performed in complete and utter silence?
She mentioned that she liked to have precise control of her powers and Mat could only nod in agreement. Once the initial shock of discovering he was a mutant had worn down, Mat had spent his waking hours practising, making sure he had total control. And when you were a person who avoided sleep at all costs, as he had been, there were a lot of hours in the day to train.
He wandered over to the couch and slumped himself into it, the soft cushions welcoming his weary body. It almost felt like he was physically merging with the sofa, it was so comfortable. It had been some time since Mat was this comfortable.
Curious about her mutation, Mat was hesitant to ask Mute directly about it. In his experience, some mutants were touchy about explaining their powers, either out of shame, or paranoia, or any number of reasons. Mute didn't seem like a woman who was ashamed of her powers, but she did strike him as someone who wasn't prepared to give out all the answers. And Mat had learned that sometimes, the best way to learn about somebody else was to surrender something about yourself.
She took a guess at Mat's own ability, having already seen it twice now.
“Got it in one,” he answered with a grin. “I would've said I made stuff out of stuff, but I like the way you said it better.” Play the dullard, and chances were you would be underestimated. A lesson Mat had learned on the streets. “I can only duplicate basic materials, stone, metals, that kind of thing. Nothing complex, like plastics and that. And I can't duplicate anything living, so no wood or flesh.”
He rapped his knuckles on the glass table in front of him. This time he created miniature replicas of a man and a woman in formal clothes, only a couple inches high. From a distance they looked very simple, shaped just enough to differentiate the differing genders. At a closer glance though, one could see just how much detail they actually held. The creases and folds of the woman's flowing dress, tiny earrings on tiny ears, her hair pulled back tightly. The man, a barely protruding beard, a bow tie and cuff links complementing his tuxedo. With simple variations in the levels and dimensions of the glass, Mat could create tiny details that made his art as superb as it was.
“I know exactly what you mean, about wanting total precision. I devoted all my time getting the level of detail I wanted right. You should have seen some of my early sculptures.” He gave a mock shudder. He then made the glass couple grasp hands. With a bow and a curtsey, they began to waltz around the table, circling the stone hand. Mat watched them, a proud smile on his face. They were his creations, his art. His masterpieces. “Learning how to animate them was a whole other set of problems to figure out.”
His eyes left the sculptures and found Mute's.
“So how quiet can you actually make things?”
With a challenging grin, he begin to sing, loudly and badly. The first song that came to mind.
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream!” He was curious to see just how her power worked. “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...”
He planned to keep this going a while. If she wanted this cacophony to end, she would have to use her ability.
Two things managed to buy Mat some time. Firstly, his banging on the dumpster caused the thugs to hesitate slightly. They knew he was a mutant, and they had a rough idea of what might happen. That was enough to stop them in their tracks, even if only for a brief moment. Secondly, with a sickening thwack, the girl whom Mat was attempting to save cracked the thug holding the knife over the head with a pipe. Mat watched in amazement as the man dropped to the ground, and the girl hit him once more, shouting her hate and venom at him.
My hero?
While the remaining thug was caught, unable to decide who to attack, Mat willed his golem to life. Arms grew from the side of the skip, and the golem pushed itself free from the surface, dropping onto the ground. It stood, shorter than Mat would have liked, being limited to the amount of material available. Still, it was large enough to do some damage. At around 4 and a bit feet tall, it was shaped like a short, stocky man.
With a mental prompt, the golem ran forwards, metal feet clanking on the ground. The thug, who had been expecting something, obviously wasn't expecting this and stood rooted to his spot like a deer in the headlights. As the golem approached, it drew back a fist. The man, his wits returning to him, swung his piece of timber into the steel man. Had it been capable of feeling pain, the golem may have stopped. As it was, the 2x4 simply splintered in two, and the golem drove it's metal fist into the man's shin. A loud snap echoed through the alley, and the man fell with a scream.
The threats neutralised, Mat let out a long breath and slumped back against the wall behind him. He could feel something trickling over his ear. Gingerly inspecting his head with his fingers, they came away bloodied. He must have opened himself up when he hit his head against the skip. Ignoring it, he glanced over to the girl, still clutching her pipe.
Not exactly the way he had intended the rescue to go. Still, they were both relatively unharmed.
“You alright?”
He pushed himself upright and began to make his way over to her, when he spotted the man he had practically neutered earlier behind the girl. The thug had managed to push himself to his knees, and was holding his gun up unsteadily. Without thinking, Mat commanded the golem to run. It grabbed the girl around the waist and roughly spun her around, placing itself between her and the gunman.
Mat kept an eye on Mute as he commanded the hand to top up her glass. She smiled at it, seemingly enthralled in the stone bartender. It was a frivolous use of his power, but it always amused Mat to utilise his mutation for mundane tasks. He had been lucky when it came to the power draw. No physical mutations meant that he didn't need to hide for fear of persecution. He blended in. Not only that, his mutation was useful, whether it was for defence, business or just amusement.
All in all, he had drawn a good straw.
The hand placed the bottle back down on the counter. Mat leaned across the counter and clasped hands with the sculpture. He performed a 'secret' handshake with it, again, for his own amusement. Clasp, grip, slap, slap, grab, and shake. With the final gesture, Mat pulled the hand and arm free from the surface, leaving behind no evidence that it had ever been there. Mat had made sure that he kept the duplication process on hold so as not to freeze the sculpture in place, still attached to the source. Somehow, he didn't think Mute would appreciate an inanimate marble hand sticking out of her kitchen bench. With a final manipulation, he made the hand close it's fist into a thumbs-up gesture and held it out for Mute.
“Consider it a gift,” he said with a cheeky grin of his own. Honestly, he didn't care what she did with it.
She listed the things she did for fun, a wink accompanying the part about having conversations with strangers. He couldn't help but chuckle at that. He had to admit, he liked it when she winked at him. For someone who could kill an officer of the law with no qualms, she was rather playful. He wondered about her own mutation, remembering that she had neglected to go into any depth. Maybe she wanted him to figure it out for himself. He remembered her exit from the store, not a sound in her wake.
“So,” he began, taking an educated guess, “you make things quiet, do you?” Her name seemed to corroborate that theory.
A realisation hit him, and he almost smacked himself in the forehead. In hindsight it seemed pretty obvious. Then again, hindsight was a bastard like that.
“Ooooooooooh, I get it. The clocks, you use them to train your mutation, right?”
Mat couldn't fathom staying in one place for that long. The longest he had spent in one place since leaving home had been around a year, give or take. And the only thing that had kept him there for that long was the people. Without Trip and Bloom and the others Mat probably would have made his way back onto the streets. As it was, he ended up back on them anyway. Life was funny like that sometimes.
Sixteen when she bought the place, and she had been here for eleven years. Which made her about twenty seven. Not too old, not by a long shot. Mat then wondered, what kind of sixteen year old had the money to buy a place like this? What kind of sixteen year old had the money to buy any place? He didn't think too hard on it. Perhaps she was from a wealthy family. Or perhaps she had started her line of work, at least what Mat gathered her line of work was, early.
She poured some of the rum into the glasses, and raised hers for a toast to a successful heist. The corner of Mat's lips curled into a tiny smirk as he considered just how successful he actually thought the heist had been. He raised his own glass and knocked it gently against Mute's.
"Cheers."
Where she gently sipped her drink, Mat knocked his back in one swift motion. The rum burned at his throat and he struggled to hide the wince that followed. Not the manliest of reaction, he knew, but truth was he didn't really didn't care.
Placing his glass on the counter-top, Mat rapped his knuckles against the surface. It seemed to be made from marble or quartz, or some kind of polished stone. Feeling the familiar sensation of his mental imprint working its way into the material, Mat willed the stone to make a hand, similar to the one that had first sprouted from the shop floor, though not as large. It grasped the rum bottle and poured some more into Mat's glass. Then it held the bottle up to Mute, offering to refill her own glass. Mat lifted his drink and this time took a sip.
She owned this place? Mat gave the room one more glance. He wondered how much a place like this would have cost. While he had lived in a warehouse, he had never had to pay a cent. One of the benefits of being a squatter who lived with people that could dissuade any prying eyes and inquiries with a thought.
“How long have you had this place?”
She mentioned that he was the only person who knew that this was her home. Now, that was interesting. Did she have no relatives? No acquaintances? The place certainly had the look of somebody who lived alone, but to have no one that knew about this place? Did she really have no one that she could trust? When he thought about it, Mat came to the realisation that nobody knew where he lived either. And it all begged another question.
Why had she brought him here?
The puzzle that was this woman seemed to be growing more complex by the minute. Did she trust him, after everything that had happened at the clothing boutique? Perhaps she figured he was no threat to her. Or perhaps she was planning to kill him afterwards, and keep her secret safely guarded. Mat let out a quiet sigh. It wasn't worth thinking about. He had lived in places, and with people who would kill you just for looking at them funny. He had stopped worrying about who might kill him for no reason a long time ago. Still, he would keep the thought in the back of his mind. Just in case.
She sat on the couch and told him that the clocks outside were for practice. A cheeky grin was the only other thing he got out of her regarding the topic. Mat furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of the answer. Practice? What the hell kind of practice required a square of alarm clocks on pedestals? Unless she rehearsed waking up at various hours...
As he puzzled over the conundrum, Mute had walked over to a cabinet and motioned for him to join her. She opened the door and a smile appeared on Mat's face. She had a decent spread, not lacking for choice. He opened the cabinet where she had indicated the glasses and grabbed two. As he approached her, he held out one of the glasses for her to take.
“I'll have whatever the lady is having.”
It had been quite some time since Mat had last had a drink, and after the day's events he was looking forward to one. Or two...
Mat turned his attention to the remaining men. One of them had grabbed the girl, twisted her arm behind her back and hid behind her, shouting orders to the other two. Sure enough, one pulled a knife and the other picked up a piece of wood. Both were now advancing towards Mat.
Glancing down at the ground, Mat swore under his breath. In his hastily made decision to use the concrete, he had failed to put enough force in to the stomp to create a full golem. And in doing so, had exhausted the most abundant and easily accessible source at his disposal. It would be hours before he could use the ground at his feet again, the duplication process negating any further attempts. The concrete hand now all but useless, Mat commanded it to leave it's middle finger raised, and broke the mental connection. He hoped the sentiment wasn't lost on the rest of the thugs.
Judging by their scowls and the way the pair began advancing towards him, weapons clearly brandished, they had gotten the message.
Glancing around, Mat looked for another source. The wall on one side of the alley was brick and mortar, the separation of the bricks making it no good for anything large. The other side had been rendered over, leaving a nice smooth surface. Nice and solid, perfect for what he wanted. Problem was, there were now two armed men standing between it and him, the thugs having circled around in an attempt to trap him against the brick wall.
One of the thugs stopped short, while the other continued circling around to flank Mat. Once they were in position they started to close in. Mat's eyes flicked from one man, to the other, then over to the girl. She was struggling against the man holding her. Mat bit down on his bottom lip, and hoped that he didn't have a weapon on him. While Mat applauded the girl's bravery, he was worried about her safety. His attention focused on the two thugs in front of him, as well as the girl and her struggle, Mat failed to pay heed to his surroundings. Stepping on white paper bag full of food, it slid away, causing him to lose his footing. Falling to the side, Mat smacked his head against something hard. His head swimming, his senses muffled, Mat swore he heard someone scream something out, though his mind was too shaken to decipher the words.
Mat reached up, grabbing hold of something, and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. He was vaguely aware of a buzzing noise that had begun to fill the air. Another scream now mingled with the buzzing, but this one was lower. And much more frantic. Like the panicked screams of a man.
As the world started to cease spinning, Mat noticed the two men rushing in to take advantage of his fall. Glancing down, Mat saw what he had grabbed onto in order to lift himself, and a grin broke out on his face.
A rubbish skip. A solid metal rubbish skip.
Balling his hands into fists, Mat pounded on the side as hard as he could, the impact running up his arms. Once. Twice. Three times. Hopefully, he hadn't left it too late.
