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.
Straight and to the point. Carlson was already someone Roland felt he could work with. The card changed hands and her eyes were focused on the man acrss from her, emanating an aura of business and professionalism, two things Roland admired. Placing the mug of coffee to the side, he turned on the stool to face her at an angle. " I have been following the College Park business in the news recently. While it may be a small item in the great scale view of things, it seemes like a valiant effort to champion the plight of the children, who undoubtedly gain from the center and its meager resources."
It was a simple plan, really. Now that he was free of Mondragon and its reach, Roland was truly free. However, freedom came at a price. While his work would continue unabated, he needed legal fronts to give him reputable records and alibis, should events like the Rockefeller fiasco occur in the future. Appearing as a philanthropist, working for the children of the city, was one of the tried and true methods of many criminals in the city. Even the elected ones. Best to join the bandwagon and become a face among many than stick out like a sore thumb. He continued with his lines.
" It seems that the crux of the problem is the condition of the center. I grew up in similar ciircumstances and we were not fortunate enough to have even such a place to avoid the harsh realities of the street. Fortunately, I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps and made something of myself. I wondered if I might be able to contribute to the refurbishing of the center. Or perhaps a new center could be raised within the confines of the proposed park, giving the city its park, the children a new facility and a park to play in, solving everyone's problems. I could write a check, but I would prefer to have more of a hands on role here. Simply throwing money at a problem does not always fix it. Becoming part of the solution is usually best." He put his best smile on. He had been practicing in front of the mirror, lighting his eyes up to make it seem more real.
Open meetings were something Roland enjoyed about City Hall. Shopping for real estate as he was, the president of the Queens borough seemed to be just the person to talk to. Due to the cameras, security checkpoints and varied police personnel, he kept his visit brief and waited outside for her to leave. It wasn't long before she appeared, moving down the streets with an air of confidence. Roland followed, slowly stalking in a practiced manner which came naturally to him. Being aloof was simply not allowed for Roland.
She seemed well put together, her pinstriped suit tracing lines over her features. Roland wore his usual casual bit of khaki and white. Pausing outside the shop, he watched as a businessman put his coins in for a paper. As the man retrieved it and let the door swing shut, Roland's reflexes snapped out and caught the door, relieving the box of an extra paper for himself. Feeling as if enough time had passed, he tucked it under his arm and entered the coffee shop. He saw her at the counter, a steaming cup of coffee before her. He took a seat one stool over from hers, placing the paper on the empty one between them to discourage people from getting in between them.
The waitress made her way to him. "Coffee." It arrived, though the waitress seemed none too pleased at his lack of charm. Roland assumed most people in the city were like that. He took a sip of the hot java and turned to look at her. Time for the chance meeting routine. "Excuse me, aren't you Jennipher Carlson?" A thin, metallic card came from his pocket and he placed it on the counter between them. Stamped in small letters, it had the name of Ronald Turpit and a phone number. Roland had considered putting various roles under the name for particular situations, but the solid card spoke volumes. They were all lies anyway.
The child buzzed about like a bee in spring. Sugar and youth, an excellent combination. Free of his tiny key to the Mansion, Roland focused on the boy in front of him. Shin. Likely a nickname, but it was logged in with the other names and faces kept neatly compartmentalized in the man's mind.“But anyways… about your friend? Did she also go by the nickname ‘Neena’? Neena’s on vacation right now. I wasn’t told when she’d be back.” A genuine look of disappointment crossed Roland's face. Vacation could mean many things, especially to the uninitiated.
She had left on vacation and not so much as a phone call. It appeared that Nehanda would become a memory, along with very few other women who had made an actual impact on the otherwise cold man." That's rather unfortunate. No idea when she will return, eh? I suppose I didn't make the impression I thought I had. " The attempt at conversation was failing as the twinkling of actual emotion moved uncomfortably through Roland's chest. His work was usually of a solitary nature. The idea of having such a warm and vibrant woman to forget about it with was appealing. Now, it would just be back to the program.
Stepping away from the young Asian, his mind turned to the future. The grounds were relatively quiet as the mutant children were undoubtedly learning inside. What little spark of humanity wavered for a moment was soon snuffed by the stark realization that he was now free on the grounds. No masks or stealth this time. His blue eyes became cobalt, mirroring the icy touch of regret inside him. One straggler down. He turned and relighted the fires of friendliness as he spoke to the boy again. " You may want to keep an eye on her, she's a handful. I'll let myself out. I just need a few moments to reflect." To reflect and observe.
Traffic buzzed along the corridors of the city. What appeared to be orderly movements from on high became more and more chaotic as a pigeon sailed down over the warm air currents which piped up from every corner of the metropolis. Lives beginning and ending in the streets of the Big Apple. The bird fluttered down to a fairly vacant power line, landing and grooming itself as it cooed to the others who were already planning their attack. Beneath them, in this fairly quiet section of space beneath an overpass, sat a recently washed ambulance, its pristine white exterior goading the birds on.
Furthering the illusion of exterior appearances, the inside of the truck was a mess. All was quiet now since the radio had been turned off. Roland worked quietly and efficiently, knowing that without the constant calls from the ambulance, that others would be seeking it before long. He had taken care in the VIP lounge to shoot himself in a manner where the bullet would be easily extracted. Using a mirror, he used a topical anesthetic to numb the outer layers of tissue, leaving only mild discomfort as he probed the flesh with a pair of forceps. The blood washed bullet became visible after a bit of rooting and was teleported from his arm. He kept it as a souvenir.
Next came the stitches. Roland had given himself minor field surgery before. Usually he didn't have so many resources available, which made the work neat and speedy. The wound was closed, sanitized, and wrapped while he set about to pouring out alcohol over the pristine cotton gauze and other flammable materials. Stepping over the body of one of the EMTs, he opened the back door of the van. A canister of oxygen had its top knocked off, the life giving gas venting with a loud whoosh. It was a lovely afternoon. Splat. One of the pigeons missed, leaving a healthy gout of droppings on Roland's shoulder. He looked up at the perpetrators. " I can't blame you there." Walking away from the wreckage, he opened a Zippo and struck the wheel. The flame appeared. It then disappeared, along with its housing. The explosion was as beautiful as the coming sunset.
Crossing paths with the commander, he smiled and nodded when he responded to his thanks. Once Roland passed him and was on his way through the main restaurant, his eyes returned to the obsessive scan of the patrons, as he searched for Tyranny. Maybe it was the shock that threw him off. He looked down at the small utility belt pocket holding the capsicum spray. Still nothing. Tyranny's range was not that large, so unless she was in the ceiling poking about....hmm.it was just too much of a coincidence.
The bullet was worming about in his flesh, burning and itching. There was great fortune in his escort to the ambulance, as all the tools he would need would be there waiting for him, with minimal resistance. The three of them made their way through throngs of tactical officers, all seemingly disappointed that there hadn't been the opportunity to get involved. Roland thought it funny, though he remembered not to let the ironic humor reach his exterior. It seemed they would be going down the stairs, since the elevator was still out due to the tactical end of the situation. Three flights went by rather smoothly.
Once they reached the bottom floor, Roland was further pleased to see that the media had been cordoned off some length away. No reason for pictures. They insisted he lie down on the gurney and apply a neck brace. Roland tried not to protest much, but just a little to maintain the illusion. As the doors were closing and the EMTs were assessing him, Roland tried a final time for the spray canister. It appeared in his hand. Coincidence no more, officer. He looked up at the restaurant glass through the ambulance doors as it pulled away.
Very little time existed for Roland's charade. The pain in his arm was already hot and screaming. He let his guard down and focused on the pain, letting it take his body over as it would a normal person. His eyes welled up with tears, his breathing became shallow and he could feel the sinking feeling that shock brought on as his face became clammy and sweaty.He really tried to recall what fear looked like. All he could come up with was the look on his victims' faces. A montage of surprise, pain and utter disbelief ran like a blooper reel in his mind. He put on the best conglomeration he could summon.
The door burst open again and he jumped in surprise. He was inwardly pleased with himself that the faux fear had finally taken hold of him. Roland thought on some practice in the future. " Oh, oh God! I'm so glad you are here! It was a nightmare!" He thought back to the original Die Hard movie when Hans turned into the helpless victim and fooled John McClain into trusting him. Unlike Hans, Roland had no intention of sustaining the illusion beyond the building. The two men ordered to assist him knelt at the various other bodies, checking pulses. " It's a miracle you survived. What happened here?"
Roland's eyes moved over the tactical vests of the men like an old man might lust over young girls on a beach. While taking their guns would be suicidal, he suspected that they may not miss their small spray canisters of mace. Strange thing was, the canisters continued to dangle. His eyes panned around in every direction. Was Tyranny nearby? How could she be? This wasn't her scene, especially with the donut convention present. Something wasn't right.
" Sir? Sir? Can you hear us? What happened here? I think he is going into shock. Let's get a medic evac in here." Oh, they were talking to him. Roland started moving with a start, but they quickly put their hands on his shoulders in a gesture of both security and safety." I-I'm sorry. This is just all too much to take in. I just came here for a drink to soothe my nerves an then, and the,...oh, it's just too horrible. I think I can stand though. I would at least like to retain the dignity to walk out of here, if that's alright with you. " They seemed to agree and assisted Roland in standing. He looked ahead at their apparent commander and made a small weak smile of thanks to him. His eyes still scanned the area for Tyranny." Th-Thank you, officers. I think I'm ready." No reason to lay it on too thick, old boy.
All was well for a moment as the men turned to see what had happened to the unfortunate tripper. Roland was surmising his next move when all hell broke loose. The fulcrum of time was quickly turning on its axis as the time for waiting ended. A shot rang out in the VIP lounge, followed by a groan of pain. A groan was a good sign, as it meant that Mark was still kicking. Silence would have been a bad omen. The police seemed to be waiting for a sign to move. Fortunately for Roland, he had no playbook to run.
Seconds began to lengthen into minutes as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Most of the other 'hostages' cried out in shock and hid their eyes, as if somehow by not watching they would be saved from the carnage. they became background as Roland's senses sharpened on the door in front of him. He was on his feet and pushing his body toward his target. His peripheral caught the little wifey in the black dress and her foolish husband rushing the man who had put his hands on her. It was a welcome distraction and only heightened his awareness for the prey in the room , the door of which was already closing in.
His body tucked into a roll as the door exploded inward, its hinges straining as it hit someone behind it. Guns turned in his direction, but with each one he saw, they vanished from the men's hands and appeared in the far corner of the room in a pile. Roland still had his gun and as his body rolled into a kneeling position, the chamber was already rattling away, explosion after explosion tagging the three men in sight, besides Mark. The first caught a bullet in the temple. The second received two. One in the thigh in the femural artery area, the next in the chest, just above the diaphragm. The third was moving a bit too fast, so his bullet met him in his right eye.
Roland stood, his eyes as cold as Death itself, as he regarded the man he had been waiting to lock eyes with. Mark was full of expected stupidity as his eyes scanned behind Roland . Oh yes, the one behind the door. No mirrors to see the gun, so he immediately vaulted backward, his weight slamming the man into the corner between the wall and the door. Anger was clouding his judgment, but really, hadn't this all gone on long enough? The assassin's head swiveled as he faced the final gunman. As his vision panned the room, a metal table left his sight and appeared before him, creating a partition between the two. Roland turned his wrist downward and emptied the clip into the area behind the table, blood and viscera coating the walls.
He stood as sound and light returned. His breathing slowed as did the course of adrenaline in his body. The gun in his hand was empty, but with a glance into the corner, his hand gripped a new one. Mark didn't seem to have much to say. For once, he saw the death's head and politely waited. The gun changed to Roland's left as a phone appeared in the right. With a Star Trekesque flip of the wrist, it opened. A few presses of keys and a live feed was recording the sweaty, pink face of the quarry who had slipped him once too often.
" I told you I would see you soon. The time and location of the meeting. Now." The gun in his left hand entered the field of the camera phone's view. Silly Mark tightened his lips and shook his head in defiance. A shot rang out as a bullet entered his shoulder. Mark gripped it, screaming. Roland placed the heel of his shoe in the wound in Mark's knee, regaining his attention. " One more time and your chance of fatherhood will dwindle dramatically." The gun sunk beneath the camera's eye as it prepared to fulfill Roland's promise."Okay!Okay! 6:30 PM, Trump Plaza parking, Level 3B!"
The gun rose from its depths and it fired once more before anymore gibbering could escape Mark's lips. The camera's feed ended there, the phone returning to Roland's pocket. A bottle of Bacardi 151was quickly emptied over the gun and Roland's hands. He wiped his prints from both that gun and the empty in the corner. Looking down at himself and the people around him, he knew he needed something to finish the masquerade. Taking a swig of the remnants of the bottle, he fired the gun into his own bicep and fell among the bodies. If all went well, the police would come in and escort him and the other hostages out before long.
Using a silencer all the time had benefits. The obvious lack of an exploding barrel was the main one, but also the familiarity with the sound. People who weren't around them often might not hear it at all or simply let it become background noise. Roland always used them, so when he heard the two chirps from the kitchen, his timetable moved up. It could be one of three things. A. Internal struggle between the bandits. However, this was not likely since none of them were smart enough to conceive the idea of subtlety. B. A competitor for Mark. Also unlikely, though Roland's failed first attempt could have been monitored and a sweeper team could be arriving to clear everything up. C. The most likely option. The police were stepping up their game.
Whatever the case, Roland needed to start eliminating some of the random fodder in the room. Implements gleamed from sterile white racks on the walls. Blades were even more silent than silencers. He applauded the chefs for using stainless steel. Two of the men were standing near the dessert area, their greasy fingers dipping into the warming chocolate. They suckled upon their digits and their eyes consumed the beau's lovely wife. The distraction was excellent. A stack of busboy trays sat drying, upside down and piled seven high near the wait station. Six remained, once the seventh found itself behind the ankles of one of the suckers.
Roland waited for the moment. Just a turn and a shift of the man's achilles tendon. It came and the man issued an expletive as he went down hard. In the time it took for gravity to bring the brute to the floor, a thin paring knife found itself standing on its end, ready to catch him in the throat. Roland's timing was superb. A moment one way or the other and either the space for the knife would have been gone or it would have fallen on its side. Timing was everything to Roland. A small geyser of blood sprayed in the air as the unfortunate jerked involuntarily while bleeding out. A gurgle of air mixing with the blood was what brought the other man's attention down to his comrade. Eyes wide with shock, more expletives came as the sight of such an improbable event felled his friend.
Roland teleported inorganic material. That was his mutation. However, ninety five percent of what he accomplished was based on raw nerve and experience. His eyes scanned over the sheeple who were being good little hostages with their heads down, praying for it all to end. Then what? Back to feasting? They slept with their eyes open. Roland's eyes were monitoring the situation. He had no concern for his personal safety, so most of the time, his perception was trained on the small crack around the swinging door to the VIP lounge. Mark was in there, as was Roland's money and reputation, which meant more than any person around him.
Then he heard the order for a woman to come answer the phone. He had honestly forgotten about the hostage situation, so obsessively pointed at his target. The girl was attractive and apparently attached. The beau was watching the scene attentively, as any good guy would. He probably feared they would do something to her, something horrible. That was the sort of thing that amateur clowns like this did, though, so it could very well be valid. He watched as she spoke too much and received what he had expected her to receive for it.
People gasped in shock. He tried to as well, to fit in, but it just wouldn't come. So, he continued to stare at the drama as it unfolded. The brave beau was living up to his romantic ideal, charging in to save his damsel in distress. It was incredibly foolish. Roland prepared his fake gasp of shock, hoping to at least feign a jolt of surprise. Too much sitting still would stick out like a sore thumb. Again, it didn't matter much, as he could easily kill every one of them before the first one hit the floor. Mark's safety had to be preserved until it was Roland's time to kill him.
The liquor store stepups proved their mettle as they joyously kicked the man while he was down. While Roland generally lacked anything that resembled chivalry, he felt it was only fair that the man with the lively feet was the second to last to die and he received some of the same treatment. Call it karma. The important part of the exchange was the revelation of a sidearm on the leader's shoulder as he raised his arms to crack the man 's skull with the rifle butt. He hoped all the commotion wouldn't make the lightening of the holster too noticeable. If it was, that was alright too. These men's lives were already over. They just didn't know it yet.
Roland was surprised to hear Bacchus' words of wisdom in regard to hunting. He suspected that the enlarged senses led the giant to such conclusions. He wasn't useless after all. Also, it seemed his demeanor had completely changed. Perhaps the dumb musclehead was a front. It worked beautifully, were that the case.“This probably happened a couple hours ago… Otherwise I’d be able to pick up a more defined scent but they smell too much like the surrounding as of now….” Roland had to agree." I'll trust you on that. It still seems to be the only lead we have."
“Lead the way and consider the Deer gone and me at normal height.” All excellent changes, especially in the attitude. Perhaps Roland had rushed to judgment. He had only seen a bit of work from the man. Anyone could change their posture at anytime, for better or worse. His steps continued, though he kept his eyes in front of him, to ensure no more pratfalls into pitfalls. Jungles were a relatively new battleground for him, since he had no proper military training. It was all just hodgepodge picked up from others and experience over the years. he could definitely do without the bugs.The heat. The humidity. Urban settings would be appreciated once he returned to the States.
He suspected Bacchus was unhappy with the stealth end, as it seemed to ooze from his words. Roland froze in his stride.Whispering, he delivered good news to his companion."I suspect you will have fun in the near future." His eyes traveled down his own body, following the thin wire which was hung on his bootlaces. He traveled its course, locating the well camouflaged claymore mine, faced toward him as they were commonly tagged. His eyes scanned the bushes around him. Adrenaline made his senses keen, honing in on the slight movement of a brown and green hat, which would only have been spotted due to a lively fern in the background. He was thankful his mutation was instant.
The relative silence of the jungle quickly became full of chaos. The mine and its wire soon appeared above the hat, instantly exploding as the connection was freed. He quickly dropped to the ground and found fairly suitable cover behind a rotting log. The spaces beneath the log saw the smoke rolling. His ears caught the moans of what must have been the first hat's companion. The original target probably had no head to wear a hat on. Looking over to Bacchus, he simply said, " Your show."
Mark was an unpopular man. This was apparent as the amateurs manhandled him. Roland suspected that something was brewing prior to the theatrics that were now occurring around him. it was his waiter, who had been much more interested in the door and other suspicious glances that were being conveyed around the restaurant. Since he had missed the initial opportunity to remove the man from the earth, thanks to the Irish lass, he was determined to follow up. Roland never let a job slip his grasp. He promised Mark he would see him again and didn't want to disappoint him.
Now he was seated on the floor next to his table. Roland knew there would be swift response from the police, due to the restaurant's location. This put him on the side of the table opposite the window. That and he distrusted the accuracy and lack of zeal among New York's finest snipers. Many of the patrons were keeping their heads down, so he followed suit, though he only did so when Mark happened to look in his direction. The actual gunmen were hacks at best, now in a situation beyond whatever plans they had drawn up in their garage.
The air conditioning had been shut off, meaning the negotiators were running their playbook. Roland waited for the eventual phone call which came as expected. The phone rang as the various masked men hustled about. Their leader was the only one who remained calm. Perhaps there would be some fun involved in what was to come. One way or the other, Mark would not leave the restaurant alive. Roland always kept his promises.
The glowing child, finally free of the gates' hold on her little head, began gleefully skipping around the grounds as soon as entrance was granted her. It was hard not to appreciate her youthful exuberance and unmarred innocence. Roland wasn't completely stonehearted, he merely kept his mind occupied with money and the trappings of adulthood. Almost as if Nature felt this sentiment, a butterfly flittered through the air and appeared to land somewhere behind him, judging from the grabs at the air from Millie and the bemused look on the greeter's face.
The doors loomed before them, there oaken face opening wide as Millie sputtered through, making a sputtering engine noise nad looking for old friends. The two of them had that in common, at least. The lack of Nehanda's presence was still a loss to Roland. The little pixie returned, offering some her fruity drink to the two of them. he smiled at the other man, and then looked back down to her. "No, thank you. You drink it up. You seem to need the energy." A polite chuckle, not completely false. The subtlety would be all but lost on the child.
Looking back to the greeter, Roland resumed his own goals. " The friend I am looking for is Nehanda Jenkins, the Assistant Headmistress here. She and I had a ..relationship once and I'd love to see her again." Looking around inside the foyer of the Mansion, the nostalgia of following the Nubian goddess around made its way back into his mind. He could almost look over and see her. Just the pleasant greeter, who strangely remained nameless. " Oh, I didn't catch your name. What was it again?"
Success. A form of it, anyway. Roland could hear the child making monkey chitter below him. Then he felt little fingers uncurling his hand and putting the strap of a backpack into it. His cold eyes hovered over her blond locks for a moment. Footsteps shuffled toward the gates, and he looked up to see a spry Asian boy jogging up to meet them. He asked if they were new recruits or old ones. Was the turnover that bad here? And why wasn't it Nehanda meeting people at the gate? It wasn't a good omen in his search for her.
Names. He wanted names. The curtain had rolled back, so the benevolent face and manner of Jordan Hornbuckle slid on easily like a mask. " My name is Jordan Hornbuckle. This is Millie. The congresswoman dropped her off, as she is a former student returning. Those pills are hers, she is to take one a day. I am here to escort her in and also to seek out a friend of mine." Everyone seemed friendly enough, so hopefully it would be a pleasant visit. If he would just open the gates.
Millie seemed like she might squeeze completely through the gates or get stuck between them. " Careful Millie, pull yourself out of there so you aren't hurt once the gates open." He tousled her hair briefly and smiled at the jogger." She's quite excited about being here. kids, you know. Think you could open up before she gets stuck in there?" Roland didn't want to push things, but little was going to be accomplished from this side of the fence.
The button was pressed and nothing happened. Roland looked at the gates and imagined that the nearby tree branches would give him the access he needed. That would also bring angry X-Children out, blasting at everything in sight. He had seen how violent they could become at the birthday celebration he had filmed. He decided he would give the gate buzzer another try before making any further attempts to gain entrance.
Before his finger could press the button again, a long black limousine pulled to a stop near the gates. It had State tags, meaning some sort of lawmaker(lawbreaker, same difference) was inside. He watched as a cranky looking hag of a woman came out of the car and quickly unbuckled a small child from a car seat inside the car. Roland looked into the woman's eyes as she shoved paperwork and several hundred dollar bills into his hand. He listened to her explanations and then watched as she promptly careened off into the distance. Just like that. With a murderer. Parents these days.
Looking down at the cheerful little toddler and pocketing the bills, Roland noticed a strange glow coming from her skin. She definitely belonged here. Looking back at the grounds along with her, a good idea came along and parked itself in his mind. An excellent idea, indeed. Turning to the girl, he squatted down on his haunches."Hello, Millie. My name is Jordan. I am here to make sure that you get into the Mansion safely. Make sure when the people answer the door, you tell them that your mommy left you here with me and I am here to help you. Okay?"
A smile caressed Roland's lips. One moment he was concerned about whether or not he would have to break in. Now , he could go right in the doors and walk around freely. He even had insurance should things turn ugly. Standing again, he pressed the call button firmly, holding it for several seconds and then releasing it. He wore his innocent guardian face as if he were born with it.
The paperwork was complete. His beloved manor had been sold. Roland was quite pleased with the proceeds, considering the outrageous profit. He had gotten it at a steal due to a bit of creative blackmail. The Realtor knew this as well, the burning of said blackmail evidence a condition of the sale. The valuables and most of the 'extras' of the house had been removed and covered up prior to the sale. Cages that sprung from the ceiling usually didn't help a house to sell. Usually.
The Z3 hummed as it carved through the curves that looped the labyrinthine roads to the Mansion. Roland had been obsessively checking his messages for something from Nehanda. He doubted that she would completely ignore him, considering all they had shared. Even with all of the people gunning for him and the lack of logistics involved with showing up in such an impromptu fashion, Roland had to know what was going on.
Stepping from the sleek BMW and activating its security with the little squeaky whistle of its alarm activator, he walked to the gates. Those white irises remained as a presence in his mind. Even sweating in the Colombian spa, those eyes kept him sane and alive. He had to know something and the Mansion would give him his answers, one way or the other.
The gates were not open. He stood at them, dressed in khaki slacks and a white button down. He wondered who would answer the call once he pressed the button. Should it be Vega, he would be Orlando. Anyone else and he would be Mr. Hornbuckle. Still other options presented themselves in his mind. Whatever the case, as stupid as brazen as it was, he was not leaving without knowing of her whereabouts. His finger depressed the call button.
