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.
Roland found the thought of Slate as a philanthropist amusing. Regardless of the boy's outward actions, he could not get past the idea of something sinister lurking behind the stone expression of the lad.Tyranny seemed to take all of the requests in without too much thought. Her promise of secrecy was hoped to be sincere. If not, it didn't really matter. the discretion was more for her sake as opposed to his. Slate's opinion of him ranked pretty low currently.
“ I was going to go get some coffee, if you are done jumping roof tops, your welcome to come.” For someone who had been so skittish previously, she surely had the capacity for civility. While Roland initially entertained the idea, the timing wasn't the greatest."I'm afraid I will have to take a rain check. Our current arsenals would be a bit of a hindrance in a coffee shop, I imagine. I would like to see you again, however." A metallic rectangle, stamped with one of Roland's many phone numbers delivered itself to his hand. Rather than have it end up on the ground outside her seemingly impervious barrier, he stepped close enough to her to simply hand it to her. " If Mondragon doesn't work out, feel free to contact me and I will surely find you some profitable ventures."
He hoped she would take him up on it. Now that he was free of others' agendas, his own could begin. He would need soldiers and operatives for his plans to grow and prosper. A mercenary with ehr apparent talents would be an excellent start.
Roland stood and brushed himself off. The giant queried on the presence of leads. There were surely some to assess since he had heeded the warning. Roland knelt and looked at the drops of blood, tenderly moving fronds and brush to locate their direction. "It seems someone else fell in this hole as well. They were injured. I believe they were injured in the pit as there doesn't seem to be any blood where we came from." He jumped and pulled himself up to the unblemished side of the pit from whence they came.
Kneeling down to a closer view of the ground, Roland spied another brown spot, blood mixed with dirt. Rising, he pointed to the small spot which was accompanied by some drag marks and other footprints." Someone was clearly pulled from the hole. The person who did the pulling wore boots, as you can see from these impressions. Judging from the breakage ahead, I think we may very well be on the right track." Spacing and pacing his steps, he began to move in the direction of the earlier movement.
After a few feet, he turned his head to his partner. "I suspect you might find normal size beneficial for a bit. And drop that deer already. We can come back for it. We need to be wary of other presences now and avoid alerting others to ours." Roland decided to keep any comments about the man's actions to himself. All that would do now is decrease morale. A quiet, untrained person was much more valuable than an argumentative accomplice. Once that was settled, the two began to slowly move through the jungle, following the trail. Hopefully, the third agent would be found soon and the jungle and the little tyrant could become distant memory.
Alexandra's beady little eyes seemed to continue to roll and point in absurd directions as Roland spoke. Did she not realize that this was his version of constructive criticism? He really liked her enough, or did originally anyway, to try to lend her a helping hand and not get rolled by bosses. Apparently, she was in complete control of herself and every possible contingency. He knew people like that. They generally made many blubbering sounds when shot.
The noises she was making were becoming a stream of chicken scratch in Roland's mind. Now it was absurd that Slate would kill them. Next came the truth. She was indeed a cowboy. Or in her case, cowgirl. No one could take her out, she was the epitome of assassins. He wondered if she would throw in some stomping or perhaps a tantrum where she laid on the floor and kicked her feet. Her next move made him wish it had been that simple.
The metal of the elevator doors melded into a long spear that was much too close for Roland's comfort. He didn't move though. He just looked at the point of the spear. Mild annoyance was turning over into something darker. The point was moot now. She could show not only Slate, but herself, how impervious to harm she was. " Seriously? Alright, Alexandra. I was just trying to give you some insight so you didn't end up screwing yourself in the future. Do what you like." He dropped the gun at his side and turned his back to her. His mind was reeling in an attempt to try to absorb the contents of the debate and the Kabal itself. It was just all too sketchy for him. They needed much more organization before calling themselves such. The door they had entered was opened and Roland stepped through the other side, closing it behind him.
Listening to Tyranny speak, Roland realized that she had not been a merc before. This was all well and good, as it wasn't something that you went to a four year college to train for. There certainly weren't want ads in newspapers. Usually it all came with word of mouth and reputation. Reputation was key if you were going to pull enough money down to live outside the life. At the moment, she was just a well trained person with an interesting advantage in the way of this field around her.
He enjoyed the comment of the sewer being where her gyuns had taken her. Roland imagined that his own guns had taken him all over the world, though he preferred the idea that it was his skills with them and many other areas of expertise which made him so wanted. Wanted with employers and wanted with Interpol were still wanted. Her final question was an interesting one. So interesting that it made Roland rise from his previously seated position. Could he get her foot in the door of an organization? He could indeed.
" I am freelance. I was working for an organization recently and left on good terms. Or, as good of terms as one could suspect with our line of work. Nonetheless, I would be more than happy to give you the details. Seek out Mondragon Labs and a young boy named Slate. I am sure he will have many things for you to do. I'd suggest you didn't use my name. It's always best to start with a clean slate." Besides, if she was a wreck or a psychopath, it would be more icing to the cake that Roland could hand feed to the little tyrant.
Whatever confidence or courage the woman had previously clung to had finally subsided. Roland was pleased as she succumbed to her role as the victim. It had certainly taken long enough. Now she was a tame little kitten, happy to appease the literal master of her destiny. Her tears rolled and she was becoming a sickly pale with the blood loss and the terror. It was understandable." I am glad we can be friends about it."
Now she was gesturing around the corner. She was as eager as he was to end this little play. He wasn't sure of her schedule, but his own was quite full. His little hunt had been successful. There lay the treasure at the end of the adventure. Seeing that there were no witnesses, Roland let his grip slip on her, hearing her body thud limply against the concrete as he squatted over the spoils. An icepick appeared in his hand to serve him as he fished through the contents of the purse. Keys were wholly unnecessary to a man of Roland's talents. Small items were moved from the bag until he found what he was looking for.
He popped the wallet's small magnetic latch open with the leverage of the pick. It fell open with displays of pictures. The picture he sought made its way from behind its small plastic jacket and into his hands as the icepick left them. It was smooth and laminated. It couldn't have been that old. He was proud to see the newcomer was legitimate. "Kealey Quinn. A lovely name." He rose and turned his body to squat again, this time facing the foolish woman.
As she lifted her head, Roland thought she might empty the contents of her stomach then and there. Her vision couldn't be that good, but surely it would recognize two familiar objects. His gun was in his right hand, her ID in the left. The card was facing out, as if she should read it." I believe we both know that you did not call the police. Otherwise they would be here already and you would be dead. I am aware that you will more than likely feel the urge to call them once I am gone. Before you make that decision, I just wanted you to know something. You may think you know who I am, but now I definitely know who you are. Keep it in mind."
With that, Roland rose and turned on his heel, the card and the gun replaced to his person. He folded his handkerchief over so there was a clean spot and dabbed at any remaining marks she may have left on him. He could hear the next train pulling in as he ascended from the terminal and found the living streets of the city waiting for him. They enveloped him and he became them, disappearing into the night.
She went down like a house of cards. Roland stood from his former stance. The back of his hand grazed his forehead. Not so much as a drop of sweat. She moaned and twitched a bit as consciousness made its way back to the forefront. Roland looked over his shoulder at the clock. Five minutes and the next train would come through. He needed something from the beautiful woman that he was going to get before all was said and done.
Unfortunately, the motor functions were working well in the woman before him. Perhaps it was pure fiery Irish sass that made her push herself back up to a stance similar to standing. His handiwork had left a lovely swollen bruise which was already going dark over her eye. Her fortitude was astounding for a normal woman. He completely expected her to lie there, maybe fail at playing dead. This was something else.
The preaching returned. Roland's soul was out of touch of angelic redemption. Roland let his attention return to the job at hand, considering that the clock was ticking. His footsteps approached her as she asked him what made him into such a monster. A monster. Roland felt proud of the moniker, yet he also felt it was a shame she couldn't enjoy sherry with him over a delicious meal. His silenced sidearm slid into his hand comfortably. "Snips and snails and puppy dog tails? That's what I am made of." He chuckled again, though it seemed to resonate from a hollow log. The smiles and vestiges of courtesy were evaporating by the second.
Roland tapped the long barrel of the gun against the wall that the girl was propped against. If it didn't wake her up enough from her revival fantasy, he would press the silencer against the freely bleeding laceration. " All joking aside, you are on a very precarious perch, my dear. I would suggest answering only with yes and no for now. Otherwise..." The gun's barrel floated in the immediate field of vision of the good eye." You can truly become a martyr. Perhaps even a canonized Saint. There's just one way to get there. Say something else I don't want to hear."
He moved to the girl's side, supporting her and moving her away from the wall. His arm around her and then his own handkerchief against her wound. To an average person, he might seem as if he were the good Samaritan, helping the injured woman to somewhere safe. Roland had completely different motives.Whispering, he offered words of advice." I don't see your purse. I'd like you to help me find it. Soon all of this unfortunate business will be over." He waited for either compliance or a reason to send her to the angels.
The young Irish lass locked eyes with him. There could have been a solid tunnel of willpower formed around the energy coursing between them. Her eyes seemed as if they were the deepest pools. Caribbean water, where everything is serene. Had Roland not been feeling particularly enraged at the woman, he might consider speaking with her for some time. Who knew what secrets those eyes held? Her stance wavered briefly, as the eons old fight or flight mechanism flipped its switch. Once the current was locked into a circuit, her feet locked down to the ground, the true symbol of Irish defiance. He wondered if his accent had caused the sudden posture change.
”You were going to kill that man. I wonder what price a man puts on his immortal soul. Now you’ve got the chance to walk away and save yourself.” Her unabashed bravery was quickly turning, in Roland's mind, to a reckless abandon which teetered on the edge of insanity. Could she truly be so daft? Roland eyes broke the lock between them. He looked at the grimy floor beneath him. The hard concrete, greeter to so many bright eyed newcomers.The briefcase left his hand. By gravity, not mutation. It hit the ground with a soft leathery thud, serving as a proper distraction. His right palm hung by his side, cupped with the knuckles facing her.
A small chuckle of something of his own which bordered on madness trickled from his lips. His head shook briefly as a cylinder of lead, about the size of a roll of quarters appeared in his palm, warm and ready to fly." His head rose and his eyes met her once more, accompanied by his small English grin of smarm." The man was going to have an accident. Now he isn't. As far as an immortal soul, mine sits in Hell, waiting for me to make a mistake and join it. Hasn't happened yet." Irish immigrants were a personal favorite of New York concrete. He felt happy to feed it.
It happened in one fluid and beautiful motion. A few steps for momentum, a drop to his right knee. The cupped hand twisted on the wrist, the kinetic energy of his body traveling down the pipe, much like a baseball pitcher's. Roland would strike them all out though. The moment the slug left his hand, it disappeared, charged with its own natural kinetic energy. It then reappeared a few inches from the young woman's face. He had gone low and aimed high to catch her in the forehead. His aim was off slightly, but fortunately for her, not off enough to permanently blind her. The slug struck her just above the eye. Before gravity could pull it down, Roland's hand was placing it back in his pocket.
The young and perky mercenary explained to him why he had been so fortunate to be trained well. It was another lesson to learn. With the field around her, she would be sure to learn quickly. She then thanked him for not shooting her. Roland nodded in a polite fashion to be cordial, though the jury was till out on whether or not she would get shot. Roland suspected that the specific details of this field needed to be gauged. Someone so potent could easily be used against him in the future and he, as always, demanded total preparedness.
Next came a quip. Roland had a look of pleased approval . Not for the strength of said quip, but more that one had come without coaxing. These were the pleasantries that made mercenary work fun. He imagined it was similar to things spoken among many others like him in the past. Samurai, ninja, gunslingers, fencers. Those who knew their trade and executed it well enough to allow for social pleasantries. It was so much more appealing to him than Die! or some other expletive followed by gunfire. That sort of thing only called for a quick and brutal ending.
" I've never heard of that one, believe it or not. Cheers." He found his own spot to sit, making himself as comfortable as his suit beneath the jumpsuit would allow. An air conditioning unit, no longer in operation, settled nicely. She asked him what his training consisted of. He wanted to be vague, yet offer some pearls of wisdom. He felt as the older tradesman, it was his duty to pass on knowledge to the next generation. Although, depending on her questions and movements, it could be a short generation, at that.
" Every job is training, isn't it? Exotic locales, interesting people to meet and kill. Mental focus walks hand in hand with physical training, especially among those of us with special abilities. It both increases our pay and our danger. We attract our own kind, as has occurred now.Now, a question or two of my own, if you don't mind." His hands were folded neatly in his lap, as if that made them any less deadly. It usually kept others in a passive mode." First, are you working now? If so, is that why you came out of the sewer? Or is that your personal playground? Also, have you been working long?" The girl liked talking. Maybe she could tell Roland some items of use.
The man across the terminal from Roland was definitely a mark. With his lack of awareness of himself and his surroundings, Roland pondered if his name actually was Mark. A smile crept over Roland's face like tarantula's legs. This was one of many kill jobs Roland had received since leaving the employ of Slate. All of the other little masterminds around town needed a man of his expertise. The hacks who had been calling themselves mercenaries in Roland's absence hated that he had returned, as their paychecks decreased. They cursed his name. Not to his face, of course.
The setup couldn't have been simpler. Mark's information had been given to him on a silver platter. He was a securities broker who had gone rogue with some sensitive information that his contact could not afford to have divulged. It was a common problem. He was a pudgy stockbroker who sweated too much and he had to go. Of course, as the client was corporate, he had to go in an accident. The information provided to Roland showed that the man always took the late subway from this terminal after he left the information broker he had been visiting. There were no files to pick up, as the man kept it in his mind. It was really the only thing he had going for him.
Once the train prior to the kill train departed, Roland scanned the terminal for witnesses. A small camera seemed to be flickering enough to give the chance of a partial image. There would be none of that. As Roland's eyes scanned, the camera went dark, its little wires lying neatly on the floor below. It seemed clear, save for one old man sleeping near a vent. Roland looked at the nearest trashcan and saw a half empty beer can on top. He knew it was half empty because once it appeared over the man, it promptly splashed his face and then bounced off his head. he woke with a start, his eyes darting around like some sort of cave creature.
When the man's eyes met Roland's, the latter looked down his body at the pistol which hung from a shoulder holster beneath his coat. With a gesture of his head, Roland directed him to make haste. He did, choosing to scamper down the train tunnel. This, of course, snapped Mark out of the glazed look he had been carrying so well. He suddenly looked around in a jerky fashion, finally catching the image of his killer as he stepped from the shadows. It looked like something a bird would do, Roland imagined. Little did Mark know that soon he would be flying like one in a moment.
Eyes wide, perspiration flowing freely. The man knew what was about to happen to him. Roland appreciated the lack of blubbering and pleading. Be it acceptance of his fate or shock from terror, standing still made the job flow smoother. A briefcase appeared in Roland's hand as he stepped closer. The sight of the item's appearance only amplified what was clearly terror and a paralytic fear. Since Mark was about to expire, Roland felt little need to hide his gift. The briefcase soon disappeared from his hand and reappeared behind the man, providing something solid for him to trip over into the place of his imminent death.
Footfalls brought both the men's attention. Their heads turned to see a young blond woman running down to the platform. Her screams of warning immediately woke Mark up, who began to turn on his heel. He moved too far away from the briefcase. Next the woman claimed she had called the police. That couldn't be right. She had no idea. It ws a terrible bluff, but one that Roland could surely use against her. The seconds of distraction surely worked against Roland, as the train which should have been coming to an emergency stop as it crushed the mark pulled to a stop. The nearly empty train's doors opened and after Mark exchanged a look with the heroine, closed again with the the fat smug face smiling at him. Roland stood in the terminal, the briefcase returned to his hand. He stared into the man's eyes until fear returned.
As the train pulled off, Roland mouthed the words 'See You Soon' to Mark, who promptly crumpled into the seat and disappeared. Fifty thousand dollars and a sliver of Roland's reputation also went careening down the track. With the job canceled, the heroine was now the focus of his attention. Blue eyes went black with a simmering, murderous anger. " You just cost me some money."
It was unfortunate that the colossus had not seen the agent they were meeting. It did not surprise Roland much, considering the pimply master's lack of organization. His eyes traveled between the big guy , to acknowledge him and also to ensure he didn't knock a tree or something in Roland's direction. After a life of working with humans and appearing as the superior, this all mutant business was both handy and sometimes unsettling. His feet trod upon the jungle floor.
Things that could have been trails were either animals or men. The problem was, there were no footprints. There wasn't enough breakage. These guys were good. Hard soldiers who lived, slept, ate and existed in the jungle. Roland imagined that they were akin to animals at this point. They could be very well training rifles upon his forehead. It wasn't something to pay mind to. If he worried over every little threat to his life, he would be a homebody.
His inner monologue was interrupted as he heard a shocking bit of news from the titanic tough guy. He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face him. "What do you mean you don't know what we are scouting? What exactly did you and Slate talk about in the jeep? Sports? I'm sorry, Bacchus, but really. Okay. we are seeking out AUC camps in the area. We are to record their coordinates and gauge their strength. By looking. It is reconnaissance. So the stealth bit is more of a guideline, considering that should they see us, they will more than likely vanish without a trace, furthering the mission and making us look like amateurs." He slowly turned again and began walking.
Next it was talk of food. Roland rolled his eyes as he walked., his eyes still scanning for tracks." If you would like to make camp at some point near dark, we can surely do so. I assumed we would be done by sunset." He looked back to acknowledge him again. " With all of your talk of food and drink, you surely epitomize the god for which you are naaaaaaa---!!!Ooof!" Roland suddenly found himself at the bottom of a rather large hole. Once a preliminary check of himself confirmed no injuries, he rose slowly, looking up at the lip of the hole. Good thing there weren't punji spikes.
The titan would be coming any moment.Once his big head loomed over the edge, Roland quickly did his best to stop him." Wait!I'm fine. Don't come closer. There might be tracks and I don't want you stepping on them." The idea occurred to him as he had been on his hands and knees in the pit. He had felt no pain when he fell and yet there seemed to be a few drops of blood mixed in against the green of the foliage in the pit. It wasn't their blood, so whose was it? Whether it was the mystery agent or someone else, it surely provided a landmark to seek out the guerrillas.
She seemed to have the sense of humor that the harder version of mercenary carried. It was a subtle sign between birds of a feather. Amateurs threw threats and had twitchy eyes and stances. Professionals made jokes and acted normally, though there was always an air of readiness should someone decide to get froggy and jump. The girl was on the road to respect due to this behavior. However, she still seemed to be a hyperactive person. He watched as the board left her hands and sailed down into the alley below. Another good sign.
“My guns weren’t on a diet a minute ago, and now you have them doing this model act, pretty on the outside, but starving." Roland let the gun he was holding return to its spot inside his suit, showing his own kindness of sorts."I don't believe it was such an extreme measure, considering how eager you were to visit. Not to mention the wood you were wielding, which I thank you for discarding." Mostly because he could do nothing about wood, except dodge it or block it like any normal person could. He was sure she held her own secrets as well.
“Did you get the sanitizer dear?” All the excitement had made the small bottle of liquid cleanliness completely slip his mind." So I did. My apologies." Intending to send the small plastic bottle and its contents to the young lady's hands, Roland was surprised to see it appear and drop on the ground about a yard short of her. He maintained the poker face, yet was intrigued at what had just occurred. Was there some sort of protective barrier around her body? Would his bullets pass through it? He would hate to have to test the theory, considering her spunky charm.
“Oh, my name by the way is Tyranny. So, I suppose you can imagine my name is already all over this little city of ours. And you are?” Perhaps he had spoken to soon. This name claim business and touting one's own reputation was sheer cowboy. Professionals never talked about things they did in the past. It could leave a detail for tracing later. It was hard to tell with her. Perhaps all of it was an act. What had occurred with the sanitizer was quite real though." My name? It really isn't important, as I doubt we will see each other again. If you like names, call me Vagabond."
Roland was pleased that the girl before him was civil and had no intention of stopping him. The gun was lowered but not removed. Her bubblegum snapping comments were amusing as she tried to explain to him what a jbo was about. He pondered taking her to Europe with him sometime to see if she still believed the same things that were coming from her mouth at the moment.So, while he was pleased that they were going to be able to speak, he was also feeling smarmy enough to correct her on a few points.
" Obviously your work history is short. I am not placing judgment on you. However, you seem to be acting only as a pawn. I thought you were smarter than that. If you and I were freelance, this job would be over by now. However, that is simply not the case. We are , at the moment, in the employee of little Slate. Neither your or I have any idea why he wants these druglords. He is keeping himself quite busy down here and we are his little soldiers while he sits in some air conditioned office. So, before you start throwing around insults and pouting, I suggest you really think about what is going on."
He only wished to wake her up. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Mercenaries were always expendable to the one writing the checks. If the mission was complete, less soldiers meant less paychecks and more profit. Roland needed his head examined for signing up with this wild bunch of misfits in the first place. While he was in the process of alleviating himself of the burden, he at least wanted to pass a little wisdom on to the girl before him.
" I don't wish to have harsh feelings here. You seem like a capable and intelligent person. However, you really need to think outside of the box. My specific problem here is not knowing the details. Here is a small hypothetical example. Let's say that Slate no longer wished to have us around, viewing us as troublemakers. What if there were explosives or many other men upstairs? What if this supposed driver doesn't show and the police do instead? Do you think he would bail us out? No, he would write us off. I know about Slate and other little Slates just like him. They will always save themselves. They will always sell us out. So, if you could wrap your mind around this concept, we may be able to continue. This 'just because' scenario is bullshit." He stood with his arms crossed over the gun., returning the 'so what' stare back to his accuser.
Where she got her pistols brought a sour grin to Roland's face. The shock he had counted on had set in just as he had wanted it to. It felt good to be the master of his destiny again. No-kill clauses were dead. When it came to the question of the hand sanitizer, he brightened as she began to show a slim amount of civility. That was good. Everyone always wanted to attack first and ask questions later. Hopefully, this girl would break the mold of previous contenders.
Next came a most interesting sequence of events. Roland heard her run from her previous spot to the area beneath him. So full of action, the young warrior princess was. He assumed from the sounds she was making down there that she was making her way up to his location. Was it really about the guns? He just wanted to look at them. Some people were protective of their things. Probably grew up in a large family where no possessions belonged to them. Nonetheless, he thought to put the items back into the bag. The guns went too, after their bullets left the clips as did the extra in each chamber. No reason to be sloppy, whatever her intentions.
By the time she arrived up the ladder, she was wielding a piece of wood and had a strange expression on her face. Roland had placed the now empty guns on top of the bag and was standing across from her, his own silenced pistol in hand."So what brings you to my neighborhood?" Ah, a territorial dispute. That made more sense. Looking at her and then down at the bag between them, Roland answered, his gun trained on her toned abs." I suppose I just needed a breather from training. I didn't see your name anywhere. You should put up a sign on the roof declaring your sovereignty. It would help travelers like myself. As for your guns, I only wished to examine them. You will find them there, on top of your belongings. Now why don't you drop the wood and talk to me like a civilized person?"
The usually dank and dense atmosphere of New York seemed free and clear. It had to be the freedom. Roland was once again his own man, both the CEO and the employee. Everyone was in agreement. He had begun the moving process from his manor near the Mansion, the more valuable objects remaining inside the vault while the rest of the stately home was being toured by upper class prospective buyers. Originally, he had wanted to burn it to the ground, relieving himself of its traces. Some thought and the gap between paychecks convinced him to sell it at a profit, a large one at that considering how he acquired the house in the first place.
Now he was back into training. There was no doubt that Princess Meow Meow would be stalking these rooftops before long, as well as Herr Vector. It was integral to his survival that be prepared for such an encounter. Running from roof to roof, clearing jumps, rolling as he landed. He also made sure that he could line up with twin Glocks on any given target. A quick draw would be another vital component. New employers would demand new skills.
His suit was on beneath his jumpsuit as he worked to get used to its layers and the small amount of tech inside. Not having Mondragon behind him hurt a little but not much considering the little tyrant's policies. He wished him well in his endeavors, as flawed as they may have been. The cross visor of the mask hung behind his head under the collar of the jumpsuit, ready to appear and seal should trouble brew. The laps over buildings and obstacles continued until he had a fine dew of sweat working. It was time for a break.
Several vaults and drops later, he found himself on the second story of a fire escape. The cool wind of the night was making its way across the city, pushing some of the stink out to sea. Roland found himself eternally amused at the sight of a young girl, armed and apparently capable, due to the way the weapons were held and holstered. She slid the cover back over the sewer and put her guns away into a small bag. After that, she seemed to be having some sort of breakdown. Girls and their moods. The guns were pretty though. Roland wanted to examine them. The bag sat before him.
Rummaging through it , he found a small medkit, hand sanitizer, an overcoat and the pistols. They were lovely indeed. "These guns are lovely. Where did you get them?" He suspected a voice from above concerning her valuables would cause a shock. That was alright. At present, he had no reason to do anything but be cordial."Do you mind if I use the hand sanitizer? Nothing like the grease from skin to mar the plating on these lovely pistols."
