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.
She watched the interaction between the housekeeper and Martin, keeping her mouth shut tightly so as not to say something idiotic and ruin the whole plan. He asked for wine and water, kind of perturbed at him ordering her drink for her, but she knew it was just part of the act. Or was it? Bah.
Xavia took a look around the expensive furnishings, walking silently with her hands clasped behind her back, expression neutral in this case. The housekeeper ignored her, for the most part, and went off to get the drinks. Not long after she left, did the old codger show up. The man was slightly stooped and used a cane to walk, descending down the grand staircase as if he was a king.
HAH!
Xavia swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the overpowering scent of his aftershave. Really now, how musky did he need to be? She wasn’t even near him and could smell him. She fought the urge to use her mutation to make a more pleasant scent fill the room.
The old man approached Martin first, and as he was introducing himself, his pig like eyes darted to Xavia and just… stared. A leering and lecherous smile twisted his lips, showing of gray and yellow teeth that often showed up in the mouths of the elderly typed gentlemen such as himself. “Welcome to my home, please, let us go to the drawing room and sit down.” He gestured toward the left, and moved to offer Xavia his arm.
She swallowed back another round of disgust, looked at Martin with the first ever expression of panic on her face, but it was only briefly, before she allowed the old man to take her arm and escort her into the drawing room behind Martin.
She had just ordered a virgin daiquiri, the waiter leaving her behind, when she felt the strong and familiar arms go on either side of her, and a tail wrap around her dainty ankle. Surprise found the light in her eyes, and Xavia didn’t turn around just yet, seeing as her heart went into overdrive, beating a staccato against her ribcage.
>> “ Do you know how long I looked for you?”
“I wondered when you would find me…” she whispered. “What took you so long?” In other words, she missed him a lot, and had been impatient to see him, even though she thought it wouldn’t happen until she got back in the states and started to fix her life.
She turned around, finally, and gave a gulp as she looked at him again after the month or so since she had last seen him. Still, she did not get up. She didn’t trust her knees, they felt kind of weak at the moment. He always seemed to have that kind of affect on her.
When she finally got the nerve to get up, she did so, and hesitantly moved closer, tilting her head back and resting a palm on his chest, a myriad of emotion showing themselves in the depths of her caramel gaze. Her lips sort of quivered a little, but she wasn’t about to cry. “Jupiter…”
Xavia had poured over information about politicians all day since the last bribe went on. She was very restless and wanted to go home. She had to keep reminding herself that she had a job to finish, and money to line her pockets… Why, she could go home to Michigan for a few days to say goodbye to her parents.
She had decided it was time to be out on her own, away from the sheltering, away from the over concern for her well being…. She was growing up and experiencing adulthood, stretching her wings, testing the air flow. It was hard to tell if she would ever want to go back to Michigan for good. Being able to get out and travel the world was a golden opportunity to her. The best part was the thrill of the mission, even if she was homesick.
Ah, now she needed to get up and walk around, stretch her muscles. The plant manipulator stood and went to the closet, grabbing a button up dress that was tailored to fit her. It had cost her a pretty piece, but it was her reward for landing a job and this was the first time she got to put it on. The bodice was somewhat tight, but not painted on, and showed off her chest area better than any clothing she had worn. The crimson fabric flared at her hips into a thigh length skirt to show off her toned legs. She quickly pulled her riotous curls back and pinned it with a matching rose.
Completing the outfit was a pair of old fashioned stockings with the seam in the back, and a pair of second-hand pumps in the same color as her dress. She didn’t put any jewelry on because she didn’t own any, but she did put on some light make-up.
One must dress nice when going down to the hotel bar to listen to the gossip. Maybe there would be some info on certain politicians that she could relay to Martin later. That would be good.
She descended from the fifth floor where her room was, then, grabbing a handbag on her way out. Indeed, when she walked, heads turned, and she had quite the audience in the lobby. It was as if a Hollywood starlet from back in the 30’s had graced the hotel with her presence. Yet she continued to walk as if she didn’t notice, even though she did… And as she headed into the bar, most of the men, even if they were with a female, checked her out in appreciation, which she ignored, as well as the glares received from some of the females.
Xavia sat at a random, empty table, and waited for the waiter to come and take her drink order.
Xavia was starting to get a head ache. What had she signed herself up for? A job, or bickering? The point was that they were all, and yes, that included Alexandra, handling this whole thing totally wrong. Who knows who was listening in on the quartet? She palmed a few more pieces of the fruity bits and wisely tossed them into her mouth to chew, rather than argue. And boy, did she want to argue with the woman who blatantly walked over and sat down without permission. Hah, at least Xavia had the wherewithal to try and be discreet about it, she was trying to be careful.
She sat turned her face toward the window to hide the rolling of her eyes over this maddening situation. As the other continued to talk as if she didn’t just make a mistake, Vi closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head, gritting her teeth.
When she turned her head, she pasted a smile on her face, nodding in “agreement” to whatever was being said without truly listening. When Lenna offered her hand, she took it with a dainty squeeze and shook ever so slightly, nodding. “Nice to meet you,” she said softly, and in a neutral tone, face expressionless. Ah, the poker face. She gave a brief glance to Martin to see if he was alright, and the poor guy just looked uncomfortable.
Making herself busy, she folded the skittles bag in half and tucked it into her briefcase where her own folder was securely stashed and out of sight. She then pulled out a cheap package of cards, closed the briefcase and stashed that at her feet, pulled the tray down, pulled the cards out, shuffled and bridged about ten times, and then proceeded to play an invigorating game of solitaire, thereby giving her yet another excuse to keep her mouth shrewdly shut.
Thank you all for the prayers and support. I am, unfortunately, still very sick, but not contagious anymore (Yay!) so I am now at home trying to recover. I feel much better than I did, but I have a lingering cough and trouble breathing still, as well as trouble sleeping. I will try to catch up on my posting, as well as fix any posts that I need to fix this weekend, but expect the next week or so to be slow as I shake this icky off.
Again, thanks, and much love to the MRO fam. <3 Ohmnom. Miss ya.
P.S. Were, thanks for taking care of my typhoid self, and tell Aye if he doesn't stay in bed like I told him to, I will come over and sit on his chest. <3 -firm nod-
Hi all, I didn't have much time to post in here last night, but I shall be gone for a few days, possibly until monday or tuesday because I am hanging out with Were and Plaid Flamingo. I need some chill time with the girls, and left the laptop at home on purpose for that very reason. I will see you all when my break is oer, feel free to go ahead and post for me and I will catch up.
I think I may have found a lead. I went back to the crash site again and sat there for awhile. I thought back to the day I arrived in New York, and remembered what the man who set me up looked like. He claimed to be a private investigator, and he drugged me. He was a very ugly man, bald, kind of fleshy and muscular with a big chin. The man on top of me was dead, his eyes were ice blue and he was more, scrappy looking than the man who said he was a PI.
Back in Kalamazoo, he had asked me to meet him at Pioneer Park to discuss the investigation I was paying him to do about this whole situation. My momma and poppa didn’t know I had hired him because they didn’t want me to leave the house or the greenhouse. But I did anyways.
It was cold. I hate winters now because the snow hurts if I am not bundled up enough. I remember how I burned with the cold, even though it was only November, and the place he had me meet him at, the park, used to be an old cemetery, where the first people to settle in the city had been buried, and the place gave me the creeps.
Gilmore… He called himself Gilmore, and I had hired him maybe a month or so before he took me away from my home. Maybe if I look in the newspapers again, I will find this Gilmore. I know if I see his picture, that I will recognize him.
Xavia hadn’t noticed anything wrong at first, but as she settled into her seat, she watched Martin flop a little bit and a worried expression crossed her face. When he looked like he passed out (from her perspective), she nearly jumped from the seat to grab for him, but stopped when she saw him grabbing for the folder he had dropped at his feet. “Hey, are you alright?”
She did not have much time to say much else because Alexandra and Lenna showed up next to them within a few moments….
>>> “Mind if we join?”
“Uh… Sure, have a seat.” She said, but really didn’t need to, because she was already sitting herself down next to Martin and herself and Alexandra was then, apparently waiting for the blonde to do so.
“Have we met before, Miss?” She asked this loudly, and as she looked over Martin to Alexandra, she leaned a little closer to the woman without touching Martin, and lowered her voice, “We all ought to be more careful, really.” She was starting to get irritated because she had a job to do, and it wasn’t getting off on the right foot. But her tone was neutral, she wasn’t about to tell someone off, especially if it turned out that she was talking to her Boss, or maybe someone of rank in the company that hired her. Really, she kept her tone respectable.
Her mouth drew into a line, and she turned her attention to her briefcase, which she unzipped and opened. The folder she had been given, thankfully, was buried in the bottom underneath other things, and she grabbed for a bag of Skittles that she had stashed in there. Closing the case, she set it on the ground at her feet and casually opened the bag of candy, palming a few and sticking them in her mouth and gesturing with the bag toward those next to her without thought, offering a piece or two around.
I made everyone a small list of helpful websites for Romania as we are starting to get down into the plot more, and hope it makes posting easier. Just be aware that there is some reading involved, but it is worth it!
**Update** Apparently the site I posted for culture is like, 20 years behind the times or something. BUT It still might be useful. I will be looking for a better site to link for you all.
Architecture and Places ( Here ) ***Romanian Culture & Etc. ( Here ) Romanian Culture (Out of Date) ( Here ) English to Romanian Translation ( Here ) Romanian First Names ( Here ) Romanian Surnames ( Here )
(OOC Note ***I basically have the briefing in a nutshell and not an entire dialog. See Here and Here for a better idea of everything explained in the opening paragraphs. ^_^***)
Culture Briefing and Arrival
“First thing is first. In Romania, some of the people are poor, and do not be surprised if there are not many cars. Try to hold your tongue about the lack of riches in some places.” She explained to Martin on the plane before they had landed, and went on with, “We should dress as if we are middle class.”
“Women are not equal to men, the men are.... Well, you will see.”She had known she was probably confusing poor Martin, but she felt it was important that he be briefed on Romanian culture, and about Hungarian culture as well. “If we are to be taken seriously, we should follow some of the examples. You are the man, and therefore you should do most of the talking. You should walk on my left side, as if you are a knight with a sword, leaving your sword and scabbard free of obstruction…” She explained pretty much everything about Romania and Hungary to Martin, the cultures, the history, everything she was taught by her mother and father, as well as some of the schooling she’d had as a child, which would probably work to their benefit. Whatever she missed was probably obscure. By the time the plane had landed, if Martin paid any attention, he would know a lot of information, and maybe the mission would be a piece of cake.
Once in the hotel they were to be staying in, she bade Martin to change into something less expensive looking (though not raggedy) if he was dressed to impress, and she, herself, went to her room to change into a simple, black dress that was neither rags, nor riches, but respectable and hid her supple shape from prying eyes. Completing the look was a floral scarf she draped over her coifed head, and a pair of comfortable flats. She was not about to distract a womanizer from the money.
The Mission
It was hours later, and they were on their way to bribing the first, minor politician. She let Martin hold on to the money, whether it was actually in bags, or in check form. She also walked on his right side, whether he intended to keep to her left side or not. Xavia had gone over the papers in her beat up briefcase again when she was done talking. The first guy they were going to talk to was a Mr. Anatolie Belododia. From the file, there was a picture of the man, a portly older fellow with a beak nose and a few descriptions of the him. This particular politician was a womanizing old geezer who had little respect for those who had no money to speak with, and even less for whiney mutants because they were inferior.
Xavia disliked the man already, and she had never set eyes on him before. What an ass.
As they rode through the capitol, with it’s beautiful architecture and vast history, she spoke to Martin, in German of course, “If need be, I will translate, but I think, in this case, I should keep a lower profile than I would with the other politicians. Are you alright with that?”
Instead of renting a car, they were taking a taxi to the address given by the file, she had her folder tucked safely in the confines of the ragged briefcase, which she left in the hotel room beneath the bed. If he had his folder with him, she didn’t notice.
If Xavia was nervous, she kept it out of her expression. Indeed, she looked thoughtful as the taxi turned into a respectable driveway with the crunch of gravel. It had been a long flight with little time to nap, and now a long car drive after not napping on the plane. She felt kind of cranky, but didn’t voice this feeling to Martin, because he probably felt the same way. She doubted they would get much rest in Romania at all because of their mutations and such, and knew that there was little time to act when it came to getting the mission started. The sooner the money lined the pockets of the unsavory, the sooner the laws would change, hopefully, and the sooner they could go home.
The taxi rolled to a stop, and they were let out. She tried not to gnaw on her bottom lip as she looked at the large residence in front of them, and gave a sidelong glance toward her partner before she reached out and twisted the brass handle of the bell, which gave a loud ring the way an old telephone would, almost.
It was not long before a stern looking maid came to answer the door and see who it was that was on the stoop. She eyed Martin first, and then Xavia, before looking back to the male and saying in rapid Romanian, “Bine aþi venit. Pot sã vã ajut? Domnul Belododia ia prânzul momentan, în caz cã îl cãutaþi. Aveþi programare?” (Welcome. May I help you? Mister Belododia is taking lunch at this time, if you are here to see him. Do you have an appointment?)
She translated for Martin if he needed her to. If he gave an affirmative, or gave a reason why they were there, then they would be admitted into the large entry of the house to wait for their quarry to show up. If not, then the maid would ask them respectively to leave.
He spoke about using her heritage to his advantage, and she nodded softly, explaining in German, “I can tell you how to blend in more with the culture of Romania. People from Hungary have migrated there, so it would make sense if you followed some of the traditions of the Hungarian man. But there will be time for that later.” She took a breath and glanced around, “Yes, I have the folder in the overhead, and the ‘pill’ swallowed. I took the liberty of reading everything before I even got on the plane.” Well, skimmed through it, more or less, she was planning on brushing up when the monotony of the plane ride got to her.
She was about to open her mouth and speak again when she heard her name from a few seats away, and the next aisle over. Xavia’s brow knit, and she glanced over toward the sound of the familiar voice. Her brain couldn’t quite grasp the name, but she knew the voice. She stood up and scanned the seats ahead, shifting out of her seat and squeezing passed Martin, with the guise of getting something out of the overhead all nonchalantly.
“Play along.” She whispered so softly that only Martin could hear, and then said louder. “Enough of this silly name game, I need to use the restroom, darling.” Before laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing very softly, the way a lover would and bending down to pretend to brush her lips across his cheek while whispering again, “I will see if we need to worry or not, alright?”
That being said, she straightened up, leaned over him and placed her second-hand carry on bag in the seat she had vacated, and then started to head toward the bathroom, smoothing her hands over the crisp slacks she had bought with the money she had been given in advance for the trip to Romania. She entered the restroom and had to cover her mouth and nose against the thick air that greeted her there, and she used her own, natural air freshening to get through the smell. She counted out in her head with the approximate number of seconds and minutes that it would take to use the restroom and wash one’s hands, before exiting the restroom and then heading back down the aisle. She could see much better that way, and her gaze eventually found the familiar, and bright blue eyes of Alexandra.
Surprise was the expression on her face, and she tilted her head. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the name, but she knew the face because it had been there when she awoke from her coma. In fact, it was the same woman who offered her clothing, or was it the other lady with the gray skin? She had a feeling that Alexandra was involved with the same thing they were, Romania, because three mutants on a plane at once was more than just a coincidence. She smiled toward the kind lady who had helped her back in the infirmary, and glanced to the occupant next to her.
This time, she tried not to look surprised again, when she caught sight of another folder, identical to the one she and Martin both had, though she missed the swallowing of the large gem. The blonde girl was unfamiliar, but Xavia did not discount her as another mutant. Well, she assumed she was a mutant, anyways, since they were sitting beside one another the way Martin and herself were.
She made her way back to her seat and bent to pick up her bag, whispering, “Nothing at all to worry about. I think they are with us.” And then, she slid back into her seat and set the bag in her lap.
I remembered being in a van when I woke up. I remember feeling drugged and woozy, and then hearing and feeling a crash. I think the van may have rolled or maybe if it didn’t, it felt like it did. I had the man who took me on top of me, his blood smearing my face, and I just screamed and screamed before a boy saved me from the man. If there was another man, I do not remember, but maybe there was.
I went back to the crash site, I remembered what the buildings looked like enough to be able to describe them to someone and get directions. It happened just inside the city limits in the east end of the city. The van, of course, was long gone, and so were most of the clues.
Something did stand out, though, and caught my attention. There was a bent up license plate on the side of the road. I don’t know whether it came from the van, or if it was from some other unfortunate accident, but I grabbed the plate. I also found a crumpled looking folder that had my name on it, that was practically destroyed by the elements. If there were any papers inside, I think they have been destroyed.
All I could do for a few moments was stare off, when I got there, though. My brain started to click and I saw glimpses of the incident that happened to bring me into New York City. The man put chloroform on a cloth and slapped it over my mouth, I think, because I blacked out for awhile. He then drove me across country from Michigan to New York, and I think he was intending to take me to the old man of my dreams, who’s face I cannot remember.
Then the incident with the boy happened, and I was free. The boy took me to a school where there were a lot of younger people, and a kindly old healer I think they called, “Doc-Prof.” I was so frightened, though, that I am sure everyone thought I was crazy, because my powers were out of control and things were happening so fast.
I accidentally hit a girl in the face with one of my powers, but I don’t remember. She was a pretty blonde girl, about 13 or 14, it looked like. The young man who saved me was a little older, and had animals with him. And then there was this bald man, kind of attractive but forlorn looking. He chased me down, and then things went black from there. I slept for a long time, maybe weeks, maybe months, before I woke again with more unfamiliar faces surrounding me.
After they gave me some clean clothes to wear, I stuck around long enough to get some of my strength back, and then I left. I walked through NY from there, lost and kind of scared. By the time it was dark, the day I left, I was hungry and thirsty, and so very tired, so I looked for a place to rest my head. That is when I found this special old house.
The thing about this house is that there are so many hiding places for little things, like stuff I collected from the crash site, and other things. I have hidden what I could find in one of the vents, but I doubt that I can find much off of things. The question on my mind is never going to be answered, is it? As much as I want to go home and hug momma and poppa, I know I have to be here until I can confront whoever it is that is looking for me. I need to take my life back and become something more than a frail piece of porcelain, I need to find something to live for. It has been ten years since I saw all of my friends get killed by the gunman who took me, and ten years since I became what I am that I hated so much.
Now I have to rely on my powers, the ones I never wanted because they made me into a freak and I hated freaks. Irony seems to be best served with a slap in the face and a rude awakening. I suppose I deserved to become a mutant, because I was so mean to the ones that I saw before it happened. I was angry for this happening for awhile, but now I see how wrong I was, and how pigheaded and stupid the hatred was, when we were all born human beings, but some of us grow up to be something more.
I am angry that I was taken from my home, but not anymore about being a mutant. I am angry that my friends were all killed just to get to me, and that the only way I can see them now is to go to the various cemeteries around Kalamazoo. I am most angry for the nightmares that have accompanied this whole thing, the faceless old man with the needle, the fruitless search for him…
Maybe I should just let them take me, next time, maybe that would be the only way. But they scare me too much to do that. They could come any day and try to take me away, and there isn’t much I could do to stop it from happening.
May 31, 2009(Written on a piece of printer paper “borrowed” from the library, front and back, in compact handwriting.)
The streets are so noisy sometimes, outside this old house, yet here is where I find peace. I feel bad that I steal sometimes to survive, clothes off of lines strung between the tall buildings, and the very house I “squat” in, with it’s boarded up windows and sagging exterior. I find solace in the old piano that stands as a relic from days gone by, broken and out of key, just like me.
But the piano can only sit there in neglect, while I can get up and move around.
I use the piano as a metaphor for myself, sometimes. I am like it in many ways, parts of me are broken, parts of me are worn down and scratched up, yet I still stand to face the next person who comes along and tell my story.
During the day, I sometimes wait here in the silence, broken only by the muffled sound of traffic and cursing, wondering what I should do, or where I should go. It is lonely, and frightening at the same time to think that I might never get to go back home, or maybe even go to my homeland to see what I haven’t seen since I was a little girl.
During the night, I am restless and tend to stay awake, pacing the dusty corridors, or I am out in the streets looking for my next meal. If I am lucky enough to sleep, it is never peaceful. The nightmares are never the same, but yet they are. If I am not running, I am strapped down. If I do not feel the dream wind on my face as I run, I feel fear for the blurry images that haunt me. Sometimes I see my high school sweetheart reaching for me, just before the hole appears in his forehead where he was shot.
The most disturbing dream is reliving the nightmare of watching mass murder of innocent young people, my friends as they fall one by one by the hands of faceless men, just before they grabbed me and took me away and I forgot everything else from that point.
I try hard to let the dreams finish, but something always wakes me up. Maybe I am just too afraid of the truth to let it come to me.
Because of these dreams, most of which mean something, I just know it, I have been searching through newspaper archives, books, anything that might possibly bring me the answers I need so badly. I can’t ask a newspaper why the bad men chose to take me, or what they want from me, but maybe it can tell me who someone is and what they are all about.
Why DID they take me? What made me so special that they had to kill many people to get to me, why did they let me go and then come get me again ten years later? Who are these people, what do they want? Is it some cruel joke because I hated the same kind of beings that I am now? Why do I see an old man with a needle full of green liquid, but his face is always blurred? Who am I? Argh.
(There is a drawing of a faceless head above some random scribbles that say she was distracted by her thoughts.)
. . . . . . . . . .
I want to go back home and pretend this nightmare never happened.
Journal # 3 – Written on the back of a used furniture ad.
May 28, 2009
I am homesick, but I can’t go back home and put my momma and poppa in danger. I miss the greenhouse and all of my babies, but I know my poppa didn’t stop business just for me. It makes me sad to think that way, but he was always the strong and proud one.
I went another direction today, I went to Central Park for the first time, and I sat among the late spring blooms, wondering what to do. Every elderly gentleman that caught my eye made me scared for a moment that I had come face to face with my tormentor, and every younger muscle man freaked me out too.
Then I went to the big library and pored over the archives of the newspapers. One after another. I did come across an article about my family and me, but even that did not bring too many answers. This is getting so frustrating.
