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.
> "Sure. I'm cool with eating out. That is, so long as you're > not planning on being armed and hostile."
Sonya laughs at that as she leaves her grocery cart behind and trades dirty looks with the Church of Humanity reps as she leaves the supermarket. "Eh. That crowd inspires me, I'll admit... but OK, I'll be good. At least in public."
Once they're outside, she waves in the general direction of a nearby restaurant sign. "You up for mediocre Italian food?"
> "Ahw, that's okay. You're cute when you're pissed and ranting."
Sonya scowls at that little bit of dismissive masculinity, turning back to glare at Kyle. "You like that, you should see me when I'm armed and hostile."
> "But I'm not gonna argue with a pretty girl who's clever enough to > verbally clothesline somebody like that... especially not when she's right."
On the other hand, that she's willing to accept as a compliment. She grins back, suddenly feeling her mood lighten.
In fact, now that the adrenalin has retreated a bit, she can't help but chuckle as the scene replays in her head. "Playing 'Concentration Camp Victim' with the stove? Did I really say that?" She shakes her head, half in dismay and half in self-admiration. "OK, that may have been a bit harsh. But he deserved it."
Her mood plummets again when she reaches the cash-registers and sees the Family Sam already there, chatting cheerfully with a couple of middle-aged women soliciting contributions for the Church of Humanity, all of whom promptly glare at her and Kyle. She gauges the length of the line, estimates how long she'd have to wait, and promply puts her basket down on a shelf.
"You know what? Screw it. I'm eating out tonight. Wanna join me?"
No, but you were once, Sonya thinks but doesn't say. After all, there's no reason to expect Kyle to unload the deep dark secrets of his past to a complete stranger at the supermarket. On the other hand, one of her self-appointed jobs here on the outside is to hook up with independent mutants who might be of use to the Resistance, so she's not willing to let him walk away just yet, either.
So she goes along with Kyle's laughter, shrugs off the whole issue of childhood abduction and mysterious scars while picking up her shopping basket again, and responds with a flirty smile and a measuring glance. "No, you sure aren't," she adds approvingly, before indicating Sam's no-longer-visible family with a nod of her chin and changing the subject.
"Can you believe that guy, though? 'That's 'force-field', Sam,' as if the only problem with what they were doing was the kid's diction. Like they really do think all mutants are criminals... which I guess they are now, technically, but that's not the point, right?" She shrugs and adds "Sorry, I know, I'm ranting. I do that sometimes. It's just that people like that really piss me off, y'know?" She starts walking down the aisle with her groceries as she talks, as though expecting him to walk with her.
She'd been about to clarify that she meant mutant children in particular when she's struck dumb by the pain in his voice and the scars on his arm. After a minute's silence she decides he deserves more of a response than that, and adds, solemly, "Is that what happened to you?"
Sonya isn't sure whether it's the flood of genetic information that runs through Sonya's awareness when their hands clasp, the name, or the smirk that finally lets her place the boy, but whichever it is the memory comes back crisp: coffeeshop. Rupert and Raina. Reuben sandwich. Cute. Well, OK, that last part she'd already noticed.
And also: mutant. Which is no surprise, really... all the baseline humans seem a lot more content with the MRA status quo. Though after meeting Naveed, Sonya's not sure she blames them as much as she once did.
His genome has vaguely familar overtones, as well... as though his mutation is one she's encountered before, or at least something similar to it. She can't quite place that, either, but lets it float in the back of her mind as she smiles back.
"Nice to meet you too, Kyle. And I wouldn't blame the kids, really... it's the father I'd hold responsible." She frowns a little, remembering him and the tail-end of the conversation. "Hey, were you serious about kids disappearing? I haven't read anything about that... or, well, nothing reliable anyway...?"
> "She's right you know. [..] Those damn mutants are so uncooperative. Sheesh."
The voice is vaguely familiar, as is the face when Sonya turns around to look, but she can't place him right away. Still, he seems to be on her side in this little impromptu mutant-rights debate, so she returns her attention to Mr. Sam, who by this point is pulling both his children down the aisle, the youngest in tears. She considers tossing another comment his way, but decides to drop it while she's ahead.
Instead, she turns back to her unexpected ally and grins. "Nice to find another ally. I swear, some days I feel like the only baseline human in New York who isn't supporting these damn concentration camps." She sticks a hand out in greeting, idly curious about what she'll learn from touching him. "Name's Teresa."
(( OOC: feel free to do your "what-am-I" mindscan on Sonya, but be aware that there's at least three distinct 'selves' in there plus fragments of a half-dozen others, with very different answers to that question... (grins) ))
Honestly, Sonya's intention had been to put the ice cream in her cart and walk away. It really had.
But Sam's father heard her – which, to be honest, she’d meant for him to – and wasn't willing to leave it alone. Instead he steps up right next to her, intimidatingly close. "I suppose you're one of those sentimental idiots who thinks we should let mutants run around and do whatever they want to, and never mind how many of the rest of us they hurt, right? You bleeding heart liberals make me sick... you'll defend anyone and anything, won’t you, as long as it doesn't involve normal people living a normal life!"
He’s not exactly shouting, but he’s a lot louder than he needs to be given that he’s right up in Sonya’s face. Clearly he expects her to back away.
She doesn’t.
“No, man… you got me all wrong. Lock ‘em all up, I say!” She waits for the startled expression before taking a step back. “But the thing about the ovens… well, it’s the obvious next step, isn’t it? I mean, we can’t just let them sit in prison and plot their revolution, right?” He doesn’t quite know what to do with that, it seems, and she crouches down then to make eye-contact with the older of the two kids while he works it out.
“Only here’s the thing you have to remember, kids… and this is really important. Mutants are everywhere, and they can look just like normal people. So you can’t trust anyone. I could be a mutant… so could your teachers at school… or the cashiers at the supermarket. Your dad could be a mutant. In fact… and this is the worst part… you could be a mutant and not know it! And then when your dad found out he’d have to ship you off to the Camps, and --“
“OK, that’s enough.” Sam’s dad has grabbed her by the arm to pull her away from his kids, and she does something complicated with her arm to break his grip without thinking about it and stands straight.
“Oh, not hardly, Mr. Normal.” She looks down at the boy’s terrified expression and squelches a moment’s bout of conscience as he starts crying. “I’d say that’s just getting started. I’m just telling the kid the truth, after all… but if I were you I’d get busy coming up with some lie that makes you sound less like a monster, before your kids start believing me.”
(( OOC: Open to anyone who is out and about... I have nothing in particular planned, just a social thread, and establishing some of Sonya's power growth. This is vaguely "now" post-timejump... that is, over a month since registration. ))
Staying in Calley's apartment has been, without question, a huge logistical simplification of Sonya's life. She no longer has to worry about where she's going to sleep each night, or whether she has enough money to afford food in addition to shelter. She hasn't had to steal anything in weeks, which is a huge relief for her.
That said, it comes with a certain amount of oddity. No surprise, really... Calley and Slate aren't the world's most ordinary people, and that's not even counting the whole tiger thing.
Mostly they don't overlap at all... he's been staying with the Resistance, and she's been out and about collecting information. But they've run into each other a few times. She's confirmed from his descriptions -- vague though they are -- that she's more useful out and about than she could ever be cooped up in there, and also that he really does prefer to sleep on the floor in tiger-form.
She's also confirmed that he doesn't change from tiger to human when he sleeps. Which she'd been curious about, so she'd stayed up one night to watch. Entirely scientific curiosity, in no way related to any hypothetical desire to see him naked again. None whatsoever. Especially not with how scrawny he's been getting.
Although that has, admittedly, been concerning her somewhat. Not that it's any of her business, granted, but it can't be healthy, can it? Which has encouraged her to try her hand at cooking more, which brings her wandering through the supermarket aisle with a cart full of groceries her mom would approve of. Vegetables. Rice. Pasta. Onions. A pot roast. Lord, when did I get so domestic?
Well, it's healthier than the junk food I've been stuffing my face on, she thinks... then pauses, wondering if that was a Teresa-thought. They've been growing more common lately, and she's getting better at recognizing them, but still nowhere near perfect. Still, sometimes she can tell just from their content, and the 'diet-and-exercise' thoughts are typically Teresa's. Which is goofy, since we don't gain weight.
She'd figured that out after pigging out on what had to be the world's most absurd Thanksgiving meal ever... turkey burritos and pop-tarts and seven kinds of pie and a goldfish-bowl full of Swedish fish with whipped cream and potato chips and cheese dip and... ugh. Of course, she'd been depressed about not being able to see her family for Thanksgiving, which accounted for a lot of that.
Afterwards she'd been horrified to discover she'd gained five pounds in a single day -- definitely a Teresa-thought -- and subsequently bewildered to see it disappear in an instant when she reset her form. She'd repeated the experiment a few times and confirmed the results: she can eat as much as she wants, and once she's finished digesting she can simply revert to her recorded state.
Which isn't an excuse to eat like a pig. And that was definitely a Teresa-thought, and Sonya stops short when she realizes she's about to put a container of wheat germ in her shopping cart. Or not... it's not like I'm ever going to eat the stuff. Tastes like cardboard. She puts the container back on the shelf, carefully not asking herself how she knows what wheat germ tastes like.
It worries her a little, the growing Teresa-ness of her mind. What happens if she wakes up one morning and decides she is Teresa? She's never had this experience with any of her other templates, but then again she's spent more time wearing this body than all the others put together, and she's beginning to realize it's not just the body she borrows... it's the mind, too. Or at least the brain. Or something like that. It doesn't make much sense to her, really, and she tries not to think about it much.
Ice cream. Much better idea, she tells herself firmly as she picks up a gallon of fudge tracks to join the bottles of hot fudge and Maraschino cherries in her cart.
"Bang, bang! Got you, lousy mutant!"
Sonya freezes in surprise at the sudden voice from behind her, dropping the ice-cream carton on the floor and turning in horror to find two small children chasing each other down the aisle.
"Did not! I have a, a, mutant fours feel! Bullets just bounce off!"
"That's 'force field,' Sam," comes the amused-and-exasperated voice of what Sonya assumes is Sam's father. "And I've already told you, don't run in the aisles, and keep your voices down. You can play Cops and Mutants when we get home."
Sonya can't decide whether her primary reaction is relief, outrage, or dismay, and finally settles on a combination. "Right," she mutters just quietly enough to be officially talking to herself, "and later on they can play Concentration Camp Victim if you let them use the stove." Mr. Sam glares at her, but says nothing, and she gives him a big smile as she bends down to retrieve the damaged ice cream.
> "I’m probably going to be staying where everyone else is, > most of the time, except when I randomly sneak away. > Like last night. And right now. And yeah... I should definitely > be making with the getting back soonish."
That sets off alarm bells in Sonya's mind, and makes her suddenly glad she hadn't ended up with the Resistance after all. Any facility one has to "sneak away" from is a little too, er, "structured" for her current lifestyle. I wonder what Hunter and Syn's real story is, she thinks skeptically... the more she thinks about the situation, the more reasonable her earlier concern seems. His group is the only one to avoid the dragnet, and now all the escaped mutants are checked into his little Mutant Hotel and not checking out... well, except for Syn. Sounds iffy... how do we know he isn't behind the whole thing, right?
Her mildly paranoid ruminations distract her from Calley's explanation of his preferred sleeping habits, but she nods agreeably just the same. "Well, OK, if you're sure... thanks."
> "Oh! And do you have a phone number, or something? I don’t, except for the one > here, but I should probably maybe get a cell phone like the rest of the nation, at some point."
Sonya nods, pointing to the piece of paper still on the kitchen table where she'd left her number during their previous misunderstanding, and making a note never to give that number when she's not "Teresa." She gets the key from the drawer Calley indicated. "So, I don't want to keep you... and no, I don't think I'll need anything else, you've already done plenty. Go do whatever it is you need to do... have fun, don't get killed. And tell Slate, um, that his pancakes were admirably round." She waves, affecting a confidence she doesn't entirely feel.
Calley's doing that thing again where he seems distracted by something Sonya isn't aware of at all.
She's gotten used to it -- after all, Calley does a lot of weird things, and that is not by any stretch of the imagination the weirdest -- but it catches her attention this time as he stumbles in the middle of his little speech. He seems to be struggling with something, but that's not quite right either... it's more like he's being lectured, and for a moment she wonders if he's wired and reporting to someone via a microphone or something, except it all happens so fast she wonders if she's just imagining it... way too fast for a real conversation.
Anyway, while it's distracting -- rather like the hedgehog-juggling -- it's not distracting enough to let her ignore the lecture he's giving her in return, to which she nods in response. "Yeah... you're probably right. It's just that I'm tired of running away, is all. Maybe it's the smart thing to do, but it sucks, and I'm sick of it."
She shrugs, intending to end the thought there, and is a little startled when her mouth runs on without her. "Not that I'm all that much use in a fight to begin with -- not like you with that tiger-shifting thing, or Abyss, or that crowd -- but I just don't like running away and letting other people deal with the mess. It isn't right." She laughs a little and adds "Also, repeating myself. I really hate repeating myself. Which I'm doing right now. So I'm going to stop. This is me, putting away the little self-pity violin," she suits gesture to word, "and growing up. And, also, this is me appreciating the cat-sitting offer. Especially if it doesn't involve the actual cat. You're sure it's not a problem?"
> "I really won’t be using the place much, so I guess you could, if you wanted to.”
"Oh! No, I don't mean to chase you out of your own apartment, that's ridiculous. Bad enough you slept on the floor last night," although that really hadn't been particularly Sonya's fault, she reminds herself, but still. "I can sleep on the couch, and I really don't take up a lot of space. And I can get scarce if you, you know, want to bring someone home or store kidnapped llamas here or whatever."
Thinking about it another moment she adds, hesitantly, "Um... so, is it OK with Slate, too? I mean, I promise not to touch his pancakes or anything."
Sonya can't help but chuckle at Calley's hedgehog-juggling act. She's really not sure if he does it as an intentional distraction, or if that's just the way he rolls... she's beginning to suspect it's a little of both. Either way, it's entertaining to watch.
> “about jobs and stuff [...] the Antoneyku guy seems willing to put > us all up, with food and everything, while we try to run this Resistance gig. > Speaking of which: do you want to go to the place where everybody else is?
Last night she'd have agreed in a minute, her primary goal being to make contact with Syn and the rest of the Order... it had been her primary reason for talking to Calley in the first place, really.
This morning, with that goal already achieved and Syn a phone-call away, she hesitates.
For one thing, Syn clearly wanted her gathering info on the outside... otherwise she'd have brought Sonya in last night. Which Sonya was fine with, then, but Calley's offer is nevertheless tempting... being out on her own isn't that much fun, and she'd much rather be surrounded by... well, if not friends, at least friendly acquaintances.
On the other hand, the more she thinks about the situation, the less clever an option living with the Resistance sounds like. "Thanks for the offer... really. I don't know, though... last time I tried to hook up with an arrangement like that I came within a couple of minutes of being rounded up by the Gestapo, you know? And, yeah, this Hunter guy may have managed to keep his group and their hideout secret and special... but now that he's hosting a bunch of mutant refugees how long is that really going to last? The cops have got to know that some mutants escaped their little dragnet operation, and they're going to start looking around. They'll find the new hideout sooner or later."
She shrugs apologetically, still somewhat embarassed by her unwillingness to risk herself for 'the Cause', and adds: "I know, you think I'm a coward. Well, maybe I am, but there's a lot braver and tougher folks than me cooling their heels in the Camps, or worse, so... well, there's worse fates, you know?" Her tone is defensive and argumentative, despite the distinct lack of anyone actually attacking or arguing with her; an attentive listener might easily detect the signs of internal conflict on the matter.
A moment later she deflates and shrugs again, helplessly. "But you're right, it does seem pretty stupid to be worrying about how I'm gonna make a living when we're in the middle of a war. Hell, I don't know." She hesitates again, then adds "Is your cat-sitting offer still open?" Not that she's all that excited about the actual 'cat' part, but it beats spending another night on the street when her current pocket of cash runs out.
The hedgehog-juggling, though primarily simply distracting, is also fairly entertaining to watch, and she gives a small round of applause and wonders if Calley is equally hyperkinetic in tiger-form... that would be disturbing.
The minimal evidence she'd seen last night was inconclusive, but she suspects that (a) yes, he is, and (b) yes, it is.
> "As long as I pretend I don’t exist, I get a pretty decent allowance"
Sonya nods... that actually explains quite a lot, though she's still surprised by the lack of gadgetry. It makes sense, though, if he mostly spends his time with the "llama-kidnappers."
Which... hm. Who does he hang out with, anyway? We've established he's not part of the Order, and he doesn't even know Hunter's group, and he 'took some classes' with the Mansion folks...[/u] he hang with?[/i]
She wonders if there's a fourth group out there, or if Calley is holding something back... probably the latter. Her working theory is that he has a closer connection to the Mansion than he's admitting to... which isn't too surprising, if they got nailed as badly as he said during the raids. Which is interesting... I'd like to know more about them.
> “What about you? Do you have a job, or anything?”
She shakes her head. "No, not yet. I need one, though... preferably one that doesn't ask too many questions. I'm kind of off the grid... I don't want anyone tracing me back to my family or anybody... so, no ID, nothing like that." She shrugs, then looks sheepishly at her feet for a moment, then adds "I'd been kinda counting on Sanctuary, to be honest... but I lifted a wallet off this guy about a week ago, that's been paying for food and cheap hotel rooms. Sleeping here last night was a real help -- thanks for that."
> “More like I woke up one morning, and… was rather not-human. I think I freaked > my sister out, just a bit. Took most of the day for me to figure out how to change back, > not to mention how to move… I’m really really glad my dad was at work for most of that. > Umm, not that it helped, much. As soon as I told him, that’s pretty much when I got my > bags handed to me. What about you?”
Sonya shrugs. "Just a few months ago. Got jumped by a mugger and, well, that made it kinda obvious, y'know?" Which is true enough, though not quite the way she's implying. "And, well... he freaked, and then I freaked, and... well, I took off and never even turned around until I ended up here. Here, Manhattan, I mean, not here-your-apartment. Not my finest moment." She looks down at her shoes for a moment with a flash of shame she doesn't have to fake.
"That really sucks, about your family, though. So you're pretty much on your own, then?" She looks around the apartment again, puzzled, and decides to go ahead and ask. "So, I hope you don't mind my asking, but... what do you do for cash? This is a pretty upscale location for a teenaged runaway with a lot of free time on his hands to be renting, isn't it?"
> "Just because someone’s right doesn’t mean they’re not a bastard,”
"Yeah, you're right," Sonya can't help but reply... then giggles. "Sorry. Too easy."
> “Hmm... his team’s got a name... it’s something really > foreign-sounding. He’s got a pretty weird accent, himself; > I don’t think he’s from America at all."
Sonya nods. "Yeah, I guess with a name like Antonioskovitch, or whatever the heck it was, that's not too surprising. Not that it matters, I guess."
> "Last I heard, it sounded like Syn wanted to go with him on the politician thing, > so I don’t think she’ll be organizing things. And Abyss wanted to mass murder > all of Congress, so I sort of hope he doesn’t get put in charge"
She rolls her eyes at his dismissal of Syn, and attempts to eat another spoonful of ice cream, looking dejectedly at her empty bowl when the attempt fails. And she doesn't even respond to the comment about Abyss -- she can totally imagine that, and the truth is that right now it's awfully tempting, but that's not going to free anyone from the Camps either.
"Damn it, there's got to be somebody, doesn't there?" It's the sort of comment that really ought to be said with a tone of firm resolve and dedication... when said (as in this case) with a tone of whiny desperation, it's really kind of pathetic. Recognizing this, Sonya shakes her head and goes to the sink to wash out her ice-cream bowl.
> “Maybe. He’d probably need to dissect one first, though."
That Calley doesn't offer his friend's name catches Sonya's attention, after his willingness to name half of the Sanctuary folks, and the leg-twitch keeps it. He's hiding something, she finally decides. Which, really, is no big deal... it's not like she's being entirely honest about, well, anything really... but it piques her curiosity still further about this technodude. Maybe it's another of his personalities?
Her theorizing is interrupted by his next comment:
> "people like you and me should still be fine. We can hide the whole > ‘we’re really freaks of nature’ thing. It’s just people like Abyss, with > visible mutations, and Isabel, with the tendency to stab police officers, > that’ll really get caught. Otherwise, they’ve got no way of weeding us > out from the rest of the populace.”
Her first instinct is to slap him and say something cliched and ridiculous like Don't you care about anyone but yourself?, but instinct warns her that the answer is probably "No" and that he's just honest enough to say so, and she doesn't want to hear it.
So she just nods miserably and adds "Yeah, I guess. At least, not until some clever scientist type comes up with some kind of screening test and they make it mandatory." After all, she can detect mutants with just a touch -- how likely is it that a gene-lab can't manage the same thing? It's not like it's magic, after all, much as it seems that way sometimes.
"Besides... I don't know about you, but I'm really tired of hiding." And hell, she'd only been a mutant for a few months. What will years of this be like? She shakes her head then, and smiles brightly. "Hell, I'm doing it again. I'm sorry. Fixing the world isn't our job, right? Somebody way smarter than either of us is bound to figure a way out of this mess." She's unconvincing, mostly due to being unconvinced, but she's determined to change the subject to something less pervasively depressing.
"So... when did you first discover you could turn into a tiger? Did you terrorize your school or anything fun like that?" She wonders again if she can imprint Calley's tiger-form without losing her mind... after all, he's an intelligent tiger... but shies away from the idea.
> " really, the guy didn't strike me as anything special. And at the meeting > he said he basically wasn't going to be around at all—he was just leaving > the camp breakouts to the rest of us, without any instructions. And Slate > thinks he's using us as cannon fodder, since he basically came out and > said that raiding the camps was useless—he's going to be playing around > with politicians or something, I guess, while we're getting our butts kicked > by robots.”
Sonya is briefly puzzled by the odd little emphatic pauses Calley has started inserting between his sentences, but she is quickly distracted from that by the content of what he's saying. "That son of a bitch! So he's just gonna let them rot in there?!?"
She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down, adding "Sorry. I mean, yeah, he's probably right that it makes more sense to get the MRA repealed, or something like that, than to stage a breakout and have everyone go into hiding or whatever... but Jesus, it could have been us in there, y'know?" She shudders at the thought.
She's tempted in that moment to let Calley know about her contact with Rupert, under the theory that someone has to do something and it didn't sound like the Resistance was going to be it. But she doesn't -- first, because on calming down a little she realizes she'd only told Syn about her contact in the Camps a few hours ago, which really wasn't giving her much time to deal, and second, because what with the creepy alternate identities floating around in the back of his head, she's really not at all sure who listens in when she talks to him. You're being paranoid, girl, she censures herself... then ignores it, because paranoia seems an entirely reasonable reaction to the current circumstances.
"So, OK... the Mansion's leadership is in jail and the, um... does Hunter's team have a name? anyway, Hunter's got other plans. So it sounds like Syn's the closest thing to a team leader this Camp breakout plan has got, then? Or is somebody else stepping up?" She rubs her temples in frustration; this sort of strategic planning just isn't her forte... then something else occurs to her. "Hey, what about this techno-genius friend of yours -- what was his name again? I bet he'd be able to take down these robot thingies, right?"
