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.
Kids and their attitudes. The idea of this one being a professional went out the window once she started speaking again. Apparently there were even more details to this mission that had not been told to him. What kind of organization was this anyway? Patchy orders for questionable missions with no intel. The kid running the show was barely legal enough to drive a car and couldn't drink legally. Yet here was Roland, taking orders. Now this sparkly little molecular fairy was going to tell him what's what? Not in this lifetime.
Roland looked at the elevator doors along with the vixen. " I've had just about enough of this. Not killing druglords in the name of peace and goodwill is just beyond my rationale. Your knowledge of elements of this mission that I was not privy to smells like a setup. Maybe there are even more details waiting for me upstairs...or even alone in the elevator with you. Either way, I think I am done here." His eyes scanned over the guards. A small submachine gun came to him, strap fitted nicely over the shoulder. Whatever she had done to these guards, she could do to Roland. The glass trick meant that anything around him could be a weapon. Funny thing was the same was true for the mercenary himself.
Stepping back a few paces toward the door, Roland watched Circe closely. His phone appeared on the floor between them. A single round ended its usefulness to either of them."I am leaving now. You are going to let me. If I see so much as a sparkle, you had better be the fastest molecular manipulator alive."
The surveillance monitors remained active for the rooms that they had not encountered yet. To wipe them prior to seeing them would be an amateur mistake. Roland surveyed those left in the building, thankful that their initial entrance had been smooth and uneventful. A professional was something he could appreciate. Her sultry beauty merely gilded the rose. He heard a strange sucking sound as the glass unmade itself. Glancing to his left, he saw her long legs, more free as the dress she was wearing had opened itself more. The track of his eyes along the long, lean flesh stopped in irritation at the sight of bare feet.
She began to prattle off the information concerning the images before them. As Roland continued his editing work, the agitation was growing in the back of his mind. He nodded and cataloged the information for their ascent into the building." Why aren't you wearing shoes? You are going to leave traces of yourself. If you wish to be caught, that is your business. Just don't say my name should you begin singing in the box." As beautiful as his partner may have been, her shelf life dwindled with each thread she left connecting herself to him.
Now she was sitting on the edge of the desk, her legs closer. The split of the dress made not looking almost impossible for Roland. It would be time to get active and get out of this humid environment with such a temptation. She actually turned to face him from her seated position, making his view from eye level, even with legs crossed, unsettling. She began to speak of his role as a thug. That is what Slate equated him to. It was preposterous to him that the simple lack of respect for human life somehow made him a soldier of death. He didn't go out of his way to murder people. It was only when they ceased to be a bystander and were an obstacle that things occurred. Roland cleared obstacles. It was really quite simple.
Standing to remove the obstacle of lust, Roland removed the coat and handed back to his partner, the sweet smell of her leaving with it and clearing his mind somewhat. " I am not sure what you need me here for, but if you would like me to harm people, so be it. I would like to know how we are going to transport a bunch of unconscious cartel employees unseen. Something to think about. I would also like you to put your shoes back on or bring them with you. And where are the syringes? You don't have pockets." His brow furrowed as he stepped through the place where glass used to be. He tossed the small lead cylinder in his hand a few times, gauging its weight
Once the ball got rolling with this mutant femme fatale, Roland could see that she was just wearing a costume for a part. It was no different than his reporter at the Sanctuary or his prospective student's parent at the Mansion. What was decidedly different was the hormonal reaction that steamed through his veins at the sight of Circe's particular disguise. Once the greetings were over, she passed him a small box of what appeared to be syringes. He assumed this was Slate's answer for the no kill clause of the operation. Whatever made the young despot happy. Did anything?
The coat slid from her shoulders and Roland could not claim chivalry. "I know how it looks." Roland nodded, his eyes straining to remain on her own. " I am sure you do. If it has half the effect on the men inside, it should work wonders." Taking the coat from her, he watched as she sauntered from the alley and moved her hips down the sidewalk. The coat was just large enough that Roland could put it on himself. It looked a little odd, but the chivalry he lacked at the sight of her, he tried to replace by not putting the coat down in the general filth of the street. Her scent was all over it. It wasn't just perfume either.
He leaned into the darkness, the scent pervading his thoughts. He shook his head as he attempted to release the carnal fantasies in his mind, keeping his thoughts on the matter at hand. He emptied the box and took the small syringes out, uncapping them and placing them point up in his pocket for easy delivery. The ambrosia of her was pervasive. The thoughts of the job swayed back and forth into sweaty daydreams. Roland was beginning to suspect that Nehanda's visit was becoming too distant in his memory. Once he could remove himself to his home again, he would have to find someone new to play with. Who would it b---" Roland, you can come in now." The instant audio message came from his small phone. Time to get to work.
He stepped from the darkness in to the light, his footsteps following those left by his partner. The front door of the place was vacant and the door remained open. She was effective and sexy. Dangerous. The outside cameras were still intact, so he used his mutation to pull the camera far enough from its mount that the wires were pulled free. He then entered and closed the door behind him, locking them in securely. He found the guards asleep, some with a look of surprise on their faces, most with just that drugged unconsciousness.
Stepping around a corner next to the surveillance room, Roland pushed the door open with his foot. He slipped his own pair of gloves on after, using the controls on the surveillance board to loop the rest of the cameras in the building and delete what glimpses of their presence remained. He could see Circe's curves moving through the building, a sly grin on his face as he finished the editing. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants and pulled a small cylinder of iron out. It was about the size of a roll of quarters. Generally, people used these balled in a fist to harden a punch. Roland kept it handy and palmed securely, should any visitors appear.
Thinking himself vindicated for the moment, Roland stopped to listen to the words falling from the little tyrant's lips. Listening to the advice given concerning his cat, Roland's blood simmered. It didn't boil, but the temperature rose as he considered how Slate would know about his pet. He had to assume that he had released her and spoken to her by now. Fortunately, the seed of murder placed in the cat's head remained, as he was sure that he would have heard a different bit of advice had that small kernel of truth been exposed.
Roland looked at the young master's face. Not so much as a twitch or a raised eyebrow at the mention of the ring. He had the notion to relieve himself of his little parcel on the boy's shoe and see if that spawned a reaction. The boy's lack of emotion made him seem like a walking illusion, preprogrammed to speak and move, perhaps a few basic responses. He listened as the plausible deniability speech came up. It wasn't the first time he had heard it, but considering the situation at hand, it seemed to burn a little more than usual.
The master and muscle turned to head toward the mentioned jeep. Roland was instructed to join them when done. He assumed that meant when he was done defecating the ring out. Might as well shit it, for the good it's done me, Roland thought to himself as he found Colon's personal latrine. It was a delicate and painful operation, one that was gratuitously messy and when all was said and done, required the use of his mutation. He doubted the ring was sanitary, but it was free of feces as the stuff was organic and did not follow the ring on its journey. He made his way out and doused the ring in some of the pure grain alcohol he had imbibed, sliding it back on his finger. With a shimmy of a wlak, he followed the trail to freedom. Well, Slate's version anyway.
Clean clothes, food and some treatment had made Roland feel like a million bucks. Okay, maybe more like twelve. Still, it was a positive. Here he was, back in the jungle. Business seemed to be booming for the company here and his accounts were increasing. He was glad to be out of contact with the little slate faced tyrant, only to find that now he and Bacchus were to meet the third member of the team, a younger boy that he had not met yet.
The giant was similar to traveling with a tank. Sure, it could protect you and thrash any predators from here to next Thursday. However, as this was a scouting mission, he seemed to be overkill. His large feet stomped through the trails and he broke sticks, or maybe they were trees, all over the place. For this reason, Roland gave him a wide berth. At least if there was gun play he would be able to triangulate the source judging from the ricochets off of the massive man.
“Where are we supposed to meet him?” Bacchus asked him. " I haven't half a clue. I've never even seen this person. I assumed you had." The lack of intel was troubling, but the check generally cashed the same. Using his binoculars, he tracked the foliage for signs of movement. Other than the movement of animals, nothing. He imagined that this base must be underground, similar to the ones in Vietnam.A rustle nearby made him drop the binoculars and crouch.
The rustle was soon impaled by Bacchus' oversized knife. Excellent reflexes for something so large. When he saw the bloody carcass of a deer being hoisted from the foliage, a look of distaste passed his features. He had eaten venison himself many times, but the lack of logic in the man's actions boggled the mind."What are you going to do, eat it raw? I don't know if you are aware, Bacchus, but I believe that stealth is part of this mission. Skinning and gutting an animal in a jungle will attract many predators and make too much noise. Not to mention the air sign of a fire and the smell wafting to our targets. " Roland wondered if the man before him was capable of training." It was an excellent throw, though." He grinned slightly. No reason not to make friends with a tank.
The young lady seemed amused at his comments about not being seen. Roland generally didn't like to give an opponent the opportunity to act, much less react. Quick and clean. With the no kill clause hovering over him, the element of surprise was even more important. Roland also noticed the moment of quiet dismissal at his innuendo. She may have been a professional and just didn't like to be spoken to like that. Or maybe he was equipped with the wrong tools for the job. Who could say?
The magician style display had been a bit of sarcasm on Roland's part. The whole idea of giving his trade secrets away to each new employee he met was just barely worth the paychecks that the Kabal sent. What if one of these mercenaries decided to go rogue? Then they had leverage on Roland. Unnecessary and wasteful leverage at that. So, a wry grin of feigned interest and a brief smile was the only comment returned to the idea of his working as a birthday entertainer.
" Ahh, a molecular manipulator. I wondered what caused the knife to melt. That is quite the ability. Perhaps our abilities can work in tandem. Nonetheless, I believe it is time we got this show on the road. I believe you are going first, so do your own magic and let me know when and how you would like me to follow."
Circe seemed genuinely surprised that her watch was talking. Roland was thankful to have the new version of the communicator, as the watches of the first generation were too clunky to serve him. He had sterilized the ring multiple times after its removal. The lacerations were no worse than a hemorrhoid. The discomfort was miles away at the sight of the young woman before him. How had he missed this one at Mondragon? It was a large place and most of the mercenaries lived their lives away from it, he supposed.
He flourished slightly with his hand." You presume correctly. That makes you Circe, I gather. Pardon my antics, but I assumed you were going to approach the target by yourself to gain entry. They don't need to see me until it is too late." He knew that this was one of these "no kill" missions that Slate seemed to be fond of in Colombia. Roland was unsure of the point of all of this, as he had noticed the company's presence was large and growing in this beleaguered country. It was all really irrelevant. The relevant part came with the notification that deductions would be made for each kill.
Leaning against the cool brick of the building, Roland eyed the girl. He was certain she was used to it. "I admit, if you came to kill me, I might let you try it. The struggle could be fun. Nonetheless, we can chat over drinks later. How do you wish to do this thing? I am going in unarmed. I don't know if you were briefed on my...abilities, but an example seems fitting. I saw your example with the failed suitors a moment ago." Roland didn't care for the idea of mutation. To him, his gift was a natural extension of his own talents. One could not exist without the other. Roland bent down and picked up a small piece of discarded metal, displaying much as a magician might with a playing card. He then laid it flat in his hand. Looking over at his other hand, the metal found its way there via teleportation. Dropping it and removing a handkerchief, he wiped his hands and flashed them in the same stage illusionist fashion.
The giant sideshow was amusing to watch. So amusing, with his love of hat and nudity, that Roland couldn't help but hang his head and chuckle. The chuckling continued far too long, as it merged with the audacity of the question asked by young master Slate. As he raised his head, he was sorry, considering the view of the Aussie au naturale with a knife , a hat, and a flask, which he tossed to Roland. After a healthy slug of the stuff inside, Roland was running on liquid courage. Without it, he would be a crumpled heap of ouch.
Looking up without looking, as difficult as it was, Roland nodded and tossed the flask back to the muscle. " I appreciate that, Sir." His legs began moving, the pain in them making him shiver. He walked through the grass, stepping over bodies and parts of bodies. " The painting. Well, Mr. Slate, I was making headway on that when an old employer caught me in France and delivered me to this lovely part of the world." Pointing at the small aluminum hotbox, he continued. " That was my deluxe suite while I languished here at the spa. Pardon me for not cutting my treatments short to return to Paris" He lifted the sticky film that was his shirt to reveal the multiple bruises along his ribs. The treatments were made to spoil.
A violent ripple of pain shuddered through Roland. He squatted, his palms flat on the ground as he groaned slightly. Standing again, he looked Slate in the eye." As for your questioning of my loyalty, however veiled it may be, I'd like to point out that I am about to shit out the communicator shortly. Yes, that's right. I swallowed the ring so it couldn't be found and the company compromised. So, if that is a suitable gesture, I would appreciate a ride to something less green." He walked past the naked henchman and the little tyrant, clutching his stomach and heading toward the direction from whence the two came.
It seemed to Roland that the urban parts of Colombia were not so different from the jungle. As he passed through the streets, the looks and sneers that he received were not so different from those of hungry animals. these predators simply walked upright. A lovely pair of low light digital binoculars with rangefinder hung from his neck as he walked. He wore a white short sleeved button down cotton shirt and airy silk khakis. The humdity clung to him much as the eyes of those who wished to have his toy did as it slung back and forth on his chest.
It was early evening. The sun had slid away behind the mountains and the stars were finding their places in the sky above. Roland watched the grand stellar dance from the rooftop he had found. It was the top of a flophouse which sat a few buildings down from the location he was given . He had heard the name Circe before , of course, in myth and history, but sparingly in the confines of his work environment. Her abilities were unknown to him, though her codename could give subtle hints. No more giant naked men and slate faced bosses to look at suited him fine. The cool breezes and the sunwarmed asphalt beneath him was soothing enough to let him sleep lightly for a few hours.
His watch beeped to awaken him fully. He was supposed to meet Circe across the street at 10 pm. Looking at the watch, he had little time left. Standing and stretching, he turned the binoculars on, their lenses glowing a dim green and the digfital rangefinder humming to life. As he tested it against various surfaces, the infinity shape of the vision panned down to the rendezvous location. There he found himself stopping and zooming in on the young lady standing there. The binoculars certainly violated every inch of flesh there was to peruse.
The serenity of the voyeurism was abruptly interrupted by two young men who also had a taste for the sultry, yet their manners were lacking, to say the least. The look on the girl's face was one of boredom. He expected fear or defiance and yet, they simply did not exist. As Roland was never a fan of forced sexual activity, he zoomed in on the knife that the boys used for leverage, intending to make it disappear, perhaps spooking them and saving the girl. For the moment anyway. The way she was dressed and due to her location, odds were that violation was still on the menu.
All of a sudden, the most peculiar thing occurred in Roland's view. The knife melted and then floated into liquid blobs of its previously hard and sharp surface. Naturally, the men were no longer interested in fun. Fun could melt their weapons, so other weapons might be in danger as well. They did what most would do in such a situation and beat feet until they were out of earshot. Roland didn't see where they went as his eyes never left the woman. Grinning and ignoring her attack, she seemed to check her watch and pace a bit. These actions and the display previously cemented the idea that this was to be his partner. Roland placed the binoculars on the ledge before him, their strap hanging loose over the edge for easy retrieval after the fact.
Climbing down the fire escape, he made his way through the alley and stood at the corner of the building, eyeing the attractive woman. Lifting the ring near his lips, he activated it and spoke softly. " Expecting someone? Check your ten o'clock position." He then raised the blue stone in a way that its blue glow of activation could be easily seen from the luscious young woman. Upon her recognition, he jerked his head back toward the alley and disappeared into it, waiting.
As the dust settled, Roland waited for the opportune moment to take a peek at the new lay of the land. His ears caught the distinct sound of carnage as the remaining guards seemed to meet the new arrivals. Whoever it was , they were large, as the sound of trees cracking and the thunderous footfalls erupted. A voice came from the direction of the event occurring behind brush and foliage. It was certainly not a local one, as the strong accent of Australia pierced the sounds of battle.“Looking for a middle aged man about yay-high. Have you seen him?” An interesting turn of events. Was this the cavalry?
The thief stretched his neck around the corner of the structure just in time to see Senor Porky land , neck first, just a few feet away. His eyes, as they dilated out, stared fixated on Roland. A jarring pain shot through his lower extremities as the communicator was on final approach. He would have to risk a stray bullet because he was not going back in the box. As the Aussie spoke again, making a query of the man's name, Roland rose slowly from his hiding place.
" I believe I am the middle aged man you are seeking." He leaned on the well, his body wracked with shudders of intestinal distress. Sweat dripped freely from rivulets of the salty stuff that flowed from his hair and brow.' I assume you are the cavalry. If not, I'd appreciate a five second head start." If it truly was the cavalry, that meant that there was a young man somewhere behind him in the brush. One who carried a look of something with a bad taste in his mouth constantly. One who would have words for Roland, who had just as much to say himself.
The slight buzz from whatever the drink was had Roland feeling euphoric for a change. It was a stark contrast from the box and all of its bells and whistles. Colon had been speaking to some of his lieutenants when the distinct sound of gunfire rattled away in the nearby jungle. A large crashing sound came next. Then all was quiet again. Colon turned to Roland, approaching him with a look that made Roland stand. " You don't have anyone coming to get you, do you Mister Roland?" Roland honestly didn't know. He surely doubted it at this point. He wondered if the small metallic circle in his lower intestines might have relayed a signal. " I have no friends, Senor."
After a sizing up of sorts from Colon, the camp leader seemed satisfied with this answer and turned back to his men, who seemed to be leaving into the jungle toward the sound of the mystery guest or guests. The euphoria of the alcohol quickly turned into a very sober realization. All of the guards were looking away from him. No one had any interest in the gringo who was going to catch a bullet in the head shortly. What a terrible, terrible mistake on their part.
Each guard generally had a rifle and a few grenades. The higher ups had sidearms as well. The important detail to Roland was that the majority of grenades hung on small bandolier belts. This no doubt kept them safe from accidental activation via tree branch or something similar. The perk was that this also made them quite visible, especially the pins. Roland looked around for somewhere solid to hide behind. The closest and most stable structure seemed to be the well house, made from local stone.
A few paces back in a nonchalant manner and Roland ducked down behind the well house. He opened his fist, counting the pins in his hand. Eight. Not a bad haul consideri--'BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM' Dirt and smoke covered everything. It was strangely silent for a moment, save for moaning and cursing and the occasional barrage of gunfire. Discretion would be the better part of valor in this instance.
The apparent animosity brought on to Roland by the men around him was business, it seemed. After he had been given a good dousing or three with water, he was given some actual food and water. It was a little gamy, but by the standards he had been subjected to, it was filet mignon. He ate slowly, chewing his food and letting the water enter his parched body in small amounts. Doing so encouraged his energy level while discouraging the need to defecate. It was quite a need, but the idea of a little blue ring beeping in the feces just didn't seem to sit right with Roland.
It appeared that number one was a rather well groomed man. Especially considering the weeks he must have spent there in the jungle. He introduced himself as Jaime Colon. (High -may Coh - lone) He seemed to be an educated man. His fingernails were clean and his knuckles had no discoloration. He gave the beating orders but did none of the beatings. This made him easier to talk to. " Senor Gershon paid us quite a bit to keep you here. You must know something quite valuable. Seeing as you never gave it up, I must assume it is something more valuable than your life or you are just stupid. You don't seem so stupid."
Roland chewed slowly on the meat and then answered. "I think it was more personal than business. I worked for Gershon long ago and we had some personal business that went unsettled. I suppose you'll be collecting the debt today." Colon nodded as he continued to write, the familiar scratching of stylus to paper that Roland had heard prior."I'm afraid so, my friend. However, we are not barbarians and now that we have been paid well, we will allow you this small bit of hospitality before we kill you." Roland nodded. " At least I'll die in a professional manner." He toasted the man before him as he had a shot of the local rotgut.
The symphony of insects gave Roland something to listen to. His Spanish wasn't that great in the first place and separating himself from the men outside, even if only inside his head, brought a measure of relief. He imagined that they were all tuning their legs for a perfect biological opus, just for him. Roland scratched at a few itchy spots as he scooted up to the small hole in the door. The slightly less humid version of a fresh breeze wafted to his face.
He could see that there was only one guard. One guard within sight. There could be fifty more behind the box. He doubted it though. He suspected that they were unaware of his genetic status. Keeping them in the dark probably kept Roland alive longer. Or not. One could scarcely grasp the motives of jungle guerrillas. The one that was half watching seemed to be smirking and motioning to someone outside of the current field of vision. Roland found out why as a rifle butt came sailing into view. The reverberation of aluminum and skull was enough to send him back to his delusional slumber. Their chaotic laughs and guffaws vanished and muted in the background.
Roland stood at a podium, dressed in a tailored coat with tails. He found he had a small stick in his hand, like that of a conductor. Before him his orchestra made ready. Mantises on percussion, spiders on strings. Aphids using maracas and a lone mosquito played the tuba. He raised his hands and the cacophony of sounds quietened. He tapped the little stock against the podium and raised his hands in anticipation of the first movement. He was interrupted by a fresh bucket of water.
Coughing and gagging, Roland looked up to see Porky looking down on him, a wide smile on his semi toothless mug. " What, no blindfold?" It was surprising to Roland how scratchy and alien his own voice sounded to him. Porky looked down and chuckled at him. " There are no more need for blindfolds, friend. Today is your day of liberation." Only the naive or the stupid could miss that verbal clue. Gershon was done with him. By the end of the day, he would be dead.
After a lovely beating or three, Roland retired to his aluminum suite, escorted by some lovely gentleman with monstrous B.O. His head swaying, a bit of blood and drool stringing from his mouth, he considered the possibility that he was the odoriferous beast. It made him grin. Porky didn't see it or he would have had it promptly beaten loose. He hit the ground hard as he was tossed into the box. He perked up for a moment to receive the last breeze as the door closed.
Home at last. Although the box was a nightmare of its own, the lack of large Spanish speaking men punching Roland made it seem all the more homey. His mind wandered in the growing oppression of heat. Images cycled through his mind's eye. His Nubian goddess, her white eyes looking down at him in scorn. The cat girl, trained well for her purpose, now sitting alone in a cage. Surely she could escape. Her strength was unmatched. He hoped she would still be there when he returned. Then Meow Meow, friend of his masked rival, would definitely have her hands full the next time they met.
A shudder went through his bowels. The water of the region was working its bacterial magic on Roland's innards. His hand gingerly moved across his torso as he considered the possibility of removal via mutation. It was a possibility he had toyed with for some time now. The problem being that should his aim be less than perfect, he could easily cause a hearty hemorrhage, one that nothing short of surgery could fix. He didn't believe that any of the men present were doctors. In a way, that was also good, since doctors made profound torturers.
