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.
Jirou pulled up to the main entrance to the Tribeca Grand Hotel, where a valet stood by to assist them. As Jirou stepped out of the vintage muscle car he hesitantly handed the keys to the valet. He always hated leaving his car with somebody else, especially valet drivers.
"She's got a short shift. Don't grind the gears." he quickly made his way to follow Leyla through the doors before calling out to the valet one last time. "If there is one scratch on that car, you'll have more to worry about than you balls." Jirou had spent a small fortune on getting that car restored. He wasn't about to let anything happen to her.
He stepped into the elevator beside Leyla, just as the door was beginning to close. He looked down at his pant's let again. The cold air from the walk to the car had frozen the blood spatter solid. He hoped none of it had gotten on the leather interior.
He wondered what sort of clothes she had for him to wear, and also why she would have men's clothes at her place.
Jirou smiled as Leyla questioned his car's condition, taking it as a challenge. Not many people had ever seen a 73 Omega before, and usually if they were ever lucky to see one it was never in such pristine condition. He dropped the transmission onto first and swung out onto the street. It had been a while since the city's last snowfall, so the black top streets were fairly clean, giving his tires some decent purchase. The thick rear tires bit down and and squealed as he pealed off down the street, hitting a quarter mile in just under twelve seconds. Not bad for just showing off.
After he'd satiated his ego enough, he eased back on the gas, dropping down to a couple miles over the speed limit. He chuckled to himself as he patted the dashboard of the car. God he loved this thing.
"The Tribeca? Seriously?" Jirou shook his head in amazement and grinned "You've got good taste."
That wasn't vary far from his own stomping grounds. It was a high upper class joint he remembered. He'd never stayed there personally, but he'd passed it many times. Jirou took the next exit he could find, hoping onto the express way and taking the Brooklyn Battery tunnel. They would be there in no time.
It was a beautiful winter day in New York City. The sun was shining brightly as pure white clouds, untainted by the city's smog, rolled on by while the wind remained almost perfectly still. There was no harsh cold snap of air to be had, just the nice refreshing sensation of the cold. It was one of those days in New York City where happy couples would walk by together, where the men would have their hands shoved deep within their pockets, while the women walked alongside them clinging to an arm with smiles painted across their faces. How he wished that could have been him.
He sat back on the black park bench, watching as people went along their merry way. If only things had turned out differently for him, maybe his life would hold more meaning. Maybe it would be more like theirs. He woke up each morning and brushed his teeth, threw on whatever looked like it would pass as clean, and then out the door he went. There was no nine to five for him, no special somebody to go see and spend time with. In this world, in this life, he was alone for the most part. His only steady companions were his thoughts.
He'd think about that summer day, how his life had so suddenly and violently turned on it's head. Like somebody upstairs decided to just up and flip a switch. It wasn't fair and anybody who knew of his history would agree, but then again such is life. Isn't it? There wasn't anything that he could do to change the past and even if he could go back in time to just the right moment, would he have been able to do anything to avert it? Not likely, he knew.
He remembered reading the police report. How the cause of the fire had been inconclusive. It was a frustrating facet of his life, the constant struggle of having to live with and accept the fact that he would probably never know what had truly happened that day.
On the adjacent street across from what passes for a park in Hell's Kitchen stood a hotdog vendor. The savory smell of juicy frankfurters wafted through the air and appealed to his senses. How long had it been since he'd last enjoyed a decent hot dog? He rose from the park bench and approached the vendor.
As he approached, the aroma became stronger. The smell of hot dog meat and fresh bread was almost intoxicating/ He hadn't eaten anything that day except for a pop tart and a cup of coffee, which he was still holding and which was still scalding hot.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill in exchange for the hot dog. The vendor offered him the change, but he waved him off. People had to eat, and he was feeling more generous than usual.
He made his way back to the small black park bench and sat down to enjoy a little bit of New York Heaven.
Jirou smirked when she questioned his abilities. "I grew up as a troubled youth in the streets of New York. What do you think?" he grabbed the bottle and shook it a bit to make sure the impromptu wick was wet with the high proof alcohol, taking extra care not to get much of it on his hands. The last thing he needed was to get burnt tonight, and in more was than one he supposed. He reach next to the register, grabbing used yellow bic lighter.
"If you would be so kind as to break open a couple of bottles, it'll help the fire spread more quickly. Don't want to leave too much for the boys in blue to find, do we?"
He made his way to the back door entrance of the bar, near the steps leading to the basement where the two deceased Russian's lay. He flicked the lighter several times before it finally lit. He touched the flame to the soaked rag before forcefully tossing the bottle down the wooden steps. It the bottle shattered as it bounced off the steps and collided with the wood paneled walls, which were immediately engulfed in flames.
"Now let's get going." He turned and made his way out the back, being sure not to leave any finger prints on the door knob.
With the bar on its way to becoming nothing more than a smoldering heap, Jirou led Leyla through several back alleys as they made their way to his car, which was parked on a street a few blocks away, and it wasn't long before they had arrived.
The sleek midnight blue chassis of the '73 Omega shined in the lamplight. He unlocked the passenger door first and opened it for Leyla before going over to the driver's side and hopping in. He started the car with a roar as her 350 Rocket V8 came to life under the hood. She was always a good starter, but he hated taking her out during the winter time, but every once and a while it was good to let the engine warm up and get the oil flowing.
Jirou perked a curious eyebrow at Leyla's frantic search behind the bar. What on Earth was she looking for? He shrugged and grabbed one of the warmer looking coats. It was a black wool pea-coat, perfect for New York winter weather. He pitied whoever had left without it. It was colder than hell out tonight.
He made his way back behind the bar as well, cradling the coat in his arm as he scanned the liquor selection for a particular bottle. "That'll do." he reached with his free hand and grabbed a bottle of Everclear 151. He set the coat down on the bar top near Leyla before grabbing a white dish rag and began to stuff it down the neck of the bottle. He looked down at Leyla, who was still searching for something.
"I hate to make you hurry, but I'd rather not stick around much longer." he sat the molotov down on the bar.
Chuzhoi? Jirou tried to remember where he had heard that name before. He couldn't pin which of the the other two players it could have been; the fat one or the bald one. Jirou quickly made his way down the hall and up the stairs to bar above. There was nobody else around. The two Russians had obviously told the bartender and whatever patrons had still been around to make themselves scarce, which was another lucky break for Jirou and Leyla.
"Did you drive here or take a cab? I've got a car parked a few blocks away. Its a bit of a walk, but if you think you can handle the cold it beats having to hide bloody clothes."
He wasn't too keen on letting this woman know where he lived, but he needed a new pair of jeans, and she would definitely need a different set of clothes if she was intent on going on a revenge kick.
She knew the names and faces of people that worked here that were under her boss's payroll? It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, but it was just one more thing that would have been nice to know before they had arrived. He was starting to like this mission less and less as Noel revealed how much she actually knew about the mission. He made a mental note; Never accept another mission of this nature again, regardless of how well it pays. It wasn't worth the headache.
At the suggestion that they move on to the back of the club to interview some of the more "in the know" member's, Jirou nodded and took a final sip of his scotch. It was a shame to waste it, but he didn't feel like downing a near full order of scotch on an empty stomach, especially when he had a job to do. He decided to let Noel lead the way. He figured it would be better for her to take the driver's seat, since she was the one who actually knew what the hell was going on and what they were really looking for.
As he stood up, the bouncer they had met outside lumbered past him towards the men's room. They made eye contact, but the bouncer continued on as if he didn't even recognize him. Jirou made a a mental note of that as well, and the mental notes were stacking.
He looked back over at Noel with out skipping a beat. His face and tone revealing nothing, other than it was time to actually get to work.
Jirou rose to his feet, the charge slowly dissipating from the card in his hand. Leyla now had the man's attention, though it seemed she was only playing with him rather than attempting to actually divulge any worth wile information. The Russian continued to blubber, cry, and beg for his mother, according to Leyla. Jirou fished the pager back out of his jacket pocket and pressed the PREV button to reveal the last number that had dialed it. He checked his watch and compared it to the time of the last call before pocketing it once again.
"Unless you're going to actually get something useful out of him, quit playing around. We have his pager, we can start from there if we have to." He readjusted his fedora and stepped behind Leyla, waiting on the other side of the doorway. Jirou had no qualms about taking somebody out of the game permanently. If it was between himself and somebody else he would bet on himself without hesitation, but he never understood the fascination some people had with torturing their enemies. The fact that you were the one still alive was all the satisfaction he needed.
He looked back at the poor sap in Leyla's clutches. He actually felt sorry for the poor bastard, honestly he did. The man was only doing what he had been ordered to do. How was he supposed to know he would be dealing with a mutant and a sociopath? If he;d had his .45 on him Jirou would have put the man out of his misery then and there, but sadly the Russian's life wasn't in his hands at the moment. It was stuck in that black widow's web.
The Russian must have seen something in Jirou's eyes because the moment he made eye contact he began to sob and plead even louder. Jirou turned his back on the two. Whether or not the Russian would actually start talking made little difference. In the end it be the same result. He didn't have to see what was coming next.
All the pieces to the puzzle that was Leyla suddenly fell squarely into place in front of Jirou. This woman was just a vicious card player, she was just plain vicious. He wondered what would have happened had those two thugs been of some other nationality. Would she have stepped in to help him then? He didn't want to think about it.
"Well, it looks like we'll be keeping each other company for a little while longer it seems." He looked at the two goons. "No, I don't recognize either of them, and I didn't recognize either of those other two losers that left earlier. It could have been either one of them."
He slung the backpack over his shoulder and checked the dead Russian's pockets. He found a wallet with some cash and some credit cards which he immediately pocketed, but that was it. He turned his attention to the other Russian he had knocked out cold. He looked through his pockets as well, finding the same thing more or less, except this time he caught a lucky break. From inside the Russian's jacket pocket he found a small black pager.
"Are you freaking kidding me?!" He held it up for Leyla to see. Who the hell used pagers anymore? He shook his head and pocketed the pager, along with the man's cash and credit cards. He kicked the man in the ribs to see if he if it would wake him. A deep grown escaped the man's lips. Jirou sighed and turned to Leyla and shook his head before winding back and punting the man directly between the legs with his foot.
The large Russian immediately awoke and double over in pain, whimpering and crying as he tried in vain to alleviate the pain. Jirou grabbed him by his beard and forced him to look at him.
"Are we awake?"
The Russian stared back at Jirou, tears of pain and fright rolled from his eyes, though one of them was completely swelled shut and charred from the impact of the explosion, the other was open although the whites of his eyes were now bright red from ruptured blood vessels.
"Who sent you?" Jirou asked.
The Russian stuttered and stammered, completely incapable of forming a complete sentence, much less one in English. Everything he spoke was in Russian, which Jirou didn't understand. He released the man's beard and turned to Leyla.
"You deal with him, I can't understand a word he's saying." he stepped over towards the table, grabbed the now incomplete deck and began to charge a single card. He knelt down beside the Russian, flashing the glowing green card in front of his eyes.
"You'd better start talking, I don't care if it's in Russian or English, but you'd better make it quick and be polite, otherwise you're going to get to experience another one of these." He held the card menacingly close to the Russian's face. Being a mutant had it's advantages.
As the waitress left to grab his drink, He watched her for a moment to see if she spoke to anybody other than the bartender, but she didn't. She simply ordered his scotch, and brought it straight back to him. He could tell she wanted to be helpful. Money tended to have that affect on people.
"Is there anything else you two need?"
But Jirou shook his head "If we need anything we'll let you know. You've been most helpful." The waitress smiled and Jirou flashed her a wink, which immediately caused her to blush. If things didn't go completely south here, he'd probably come back just for her. Some ladies just couldn't resist the Asian sensation. He turned his attention back to Noel as the waitress went back to her normal routine.
"Questioning repeat customers won't get us anywhere. They may catch the occasional slip, but they are few and far between from my experience. Sadly, I don't think we are going to get anywhere with the rest of the wait staff. You said this place was operated by your employer right? Which means there's gotta be somebody here on your boss's payroll that is actually going to know what is going on. You've gotta have a name at least, right?"
He took a sip of the scotch the waitress had brought him. It was smooth, and had very little bite too it, but the most important thing about it was that it helped him cool off a little bit. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He mulled over what he had just said. Who would be the person to talk to? Other than the lady with the tattoo on her chest, who at this point hadn't shown up yet, they had no leads. He thought about the types of people necessary to run an operation like this.
There was the front man and his crew, which was the club in this situation. Then there was the man in charge of overseeing any incoming and outgoing shipments and the people needed to actually move that product. You also had your book keeper as well. Then, last but not least, you had the person who oversaw everything.
He rolled around what little information he had to go on, he muttered to Noel out loud. "You said nearly all of the other storage places have been hit, except this one, which means more product is being pushed through fewer locations, this one being the biggest I'm assuming. It wouldn't surprise me if who ever is in charge of this place is selling some product on the side and skimming the profits." he took another sip of the scotch and looked around. More people were starting to flow in.
"It's entirely plausible you know, and a lot more likely than this being a simple police crack down." He looked her square in the eyes now. "How often did the police hit the other locations? Was it spread out over a period of time?"
Why the hell hadn't he thought to ask her that on the ride here? He was kicking himself for that now. God how he hated blind missions like this. There was never enough information to go off of to actually plan things out properly.
"I hate to say it, but this mission could get really ugly, really quickly depending on who we talk to. For all we know, this snitch could be more than just some simple police plant. It could be whoever is actually running this operation here." He looked up at Noel, his face was dead serious. "We could be dealing with a far greater threat than you or your employer realizes."
As the brute flailed and swung at Jirou, who was at the moment pinned beneath him and doing his best to block the wild frantic hey-makers from a human gorilla , began to feel a sudden calming sensation gradually flowing through him, as if he had just sat down into a nice warm and relaxing bath. It was strange. A moment ago he was fighting for his life, but now he didn't have a care in the world. What on Earth was happening to him? Then almost as suddenly as it had arrived, the feeling was gone, and in its place returned the surge of adrenaline as he realized what was still happening and where he was.
The moment the brute's hands released him, he pivoted on his hips and attempted to push himself out of the way before Leyla severed the man's carotid arteries. Luckily he avoided getting any gory spatter on his face or his jacket. His left pants leg on the other hand was not so lucky. With a furious kick from his right leg, he pushed the now deceased Russian creep over onto his back in a sickeningly crumpled and gory mess.
Jirou climbed to his feet and glared in disgust at the blood stains up and down his leg, not giving the dead man a second thought. "Well isn't that just great..." he sighed and shook his head, before looking up at Leyla. "Thank you... for saving my neck there. I know a lot of people that would have just grabbed the cash and ran." He was being quite honest. He'd faced situations like this before and had watched as everybody else scurried and ran for the hills. Granted there were times he himself had ducked out to avoid a confrontation, but it was never in a state of panic or pure desperation. Typically his convenient departures were all planned out before hand.
He bent over and grabbed a plain black canvas backpack from beside the chair he had been sitting in and swept his winnings into it. He also grabbed the money he had wagered from the center of the table, but instead of dropping it into his backpack he stared at it in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to take it for some reason. He tossed it back onto the table, zipped up his backpack, and turned to face Leyla.
"Unfortunately, it looks like our game is going to have to wait for another night." He looked over at the other thug that was still alive on the floor. He was unconscious, and his face looked like it had been hit with a frying pan, but he was still breathing.
"We have two options right now." He looked back to Leyla. "We can either part ways, here and now, take our winnings and call it a day, or we can try and find the guy that was stupid enough to try and have us killed over a simple game of poker. Either way, we can't stay long since my little card trick has a nasty habit of drawing people of the long armed persuasion."
Jirou decided to finally call. There was no sense in blowing all of his cash in one round of betting and leaving her with total control of the table. Seventeen hundred was a fairly good place to rest. He eyed the pile of cash he had in his corner. Twenty two grand, give or take a couple hundred, and minus what he had already bet on the table. It was a nice haul for the night so far, and the twenty five grand in his opponents corner would certainly be a nice bonus.
"Survival of the fittest, they sometimes say." he drummed his fingers along the edge of the table and smirked. Something on the other side of the door drew his attention though. He could hear heavy footsteps walking towards the door, two people at most, and they were in somewhat of a hurry.
He looked to the door and grasped the cards of his hand, his brow furrowed as the steps drew closer. There was a loud crash as a size 16 foot kicked the door open. Two rather large men stood in the door way.
"You know, it's not good manners to go kicking down doors without knocking." He slowly rose to his feet, still clutching the five cards in his hand.
The first one through the doorway, his face obscured by a rather large bushy and black beard with his head completely bald and smooth like it had just been Bic'd, sneered as he barked out at Jirou. "You two tried to cheat our boss out of his money. We have come by to take it back from you." His voice held a sort of eastern European accent, not to dissimilar to Leyla's, though this one was probably more on the Russian side. His partner stood by quietly with his arms crossed. Unlike the first he was clean shaven, though his hair was kept in a crew-cut fashion.
"Now, if you please. Hand over the money, before we have to make things more physical." the burly bearded thug cracked his knuckles menacingly. Jirou looked over at Leyla, and then down at the cash. He hated getting into fights when he didn't have to, but he especially didn't want to see all that hard earned money walk right out that door. Tonight it probably couldn't be helped.
"I'm curious..." he held the cards behind his back and tipped the brim of his fedora downwards. The cards in his hand began to emit a soft green glow around their edges. Behind his back, the two thugs in the doorway would not be able to see it, but Leyla certainly would. He hoped she wasn't squeamish about mutants, otherwise he'd have a whole other problem to deal with later. "Which boss would that be? The fat stupid slob or the bald headed crybaby? You look related to both so I just gotta know."
The man in the door way growl and spat at the floor, but before he could charge and tackle Jirou, five fully charged cards were already sailing through the air with pin point accuracy and devastating intent. All five of the cards impacted the thug's body; One to the stomach, two to the chest, with the other two striking the first thug's jaw and neck. There was a series of loud bangs, like that of the a flashbang grenade and five neon green flashes. Each impact hit with the force of a strong armed hay-maker, which sent the bearded thug to the floor in a crumpled mess.
Jirou hated having to use his ability indoors and in such close proximity. His ears rung, and though he was lucky to not have looked directly into the blast he was still a bit disoriented. At least one of the brutes was down and out for the count. The other guy, much to Jirou's misfortune, had avoided much of the blast. He immediately burst through the door tackling Jirou to the ground. Jirou instinctively wrapped his legs around the brute's thick waist and braced for the flurry of punches that he was certain would follow.
Jirou could see Leyla was digging to expose some sort of weakness in his defenses, and if this were some sort of interrogation where he was getting the life beat out of him he would probably break down into a crumpled mess. The thought of losing his parents was a truly horrific ordeal for him, and he had no doubt it would be something he would have to carry with him for the rest of his life, but it had nothing to do with this.
Jirou cracked his neck and set his cards face down again. He'd humor her. "Yes, my parent's were immigrants and no, I'm sure they would not approve of my lifestyle, but then again I wasn't left with many options." He nodded to the money on the table. It was her turn to call or raise.
Jirou's brow furrowed in confusing. He wasn't sure if Leyla understood the proverb, or if she was trying to goad him into saying something that would reveal more than he intended. Either option was possible, though for the game's sake, he opted to ere on the side of caution.
He eyed the eight hundred dollars which she so casually dropped to the table. She wasn't afraid to throw her weight around the table, especially when it was one on one.
"My parents were always very old fashioned. Always had a proverb for everything life threw at you." he adjusted his fedora once again, before stacking an even thousand on top of his previous bet, raising the bet to one thousand six hundred dollars to match.
He picked up his cards once again and studied them. Again, still not a bad hand. "How about yours?"
