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 enjoyed luxury. Anyone who knew him or one of his aliases knew as much. Brunch along the French Riviera seemed commonplace to him, though to some the concept of brunch itself was pure fantasy. Gilded cutlery and crystal was laid out before him. The service seemed to be slow or nonexistent. But on such a cool day, a few moments of waiting would hardly be suffering. Roland stepped out on the balcony and inhaled deeply, placing his hands on the small wall before him.
A sharp pain caught his right palm as he pressed it against the cool bricks. He pulled his hand away and looked at it instinctively. A small wound on the ridge of his hand was appearing, blood breaking the surface and trickling down his forearm. Roland cocked his head in inquiry. His finger touched the wound and it opened wider, the flow of the blood increasing a bit. A staunch smell of decay and rot crept into his nostrils and an oppressive amount of heat followed.
His eyes snapped open in the half light of the box. Its aluminum sheet metal walls were shimmering in the heat. Roland sat up as much as he could manage, keeping himself balanced on his elbows. The wound from his dream was still open, small drops of blood scattered across the dirt floor of the box. He suspected one of the many extra residents that the locals dropped in for entertainment. One of the many maladies affecting Roland escorted him back to this hell's version of sleep.
A shock of cold water hit Roland like ten thousand bricks. He vomited reflexively, much to the delight of the locals. Laughter and odds began to form in the conversations around him. His usual dirty rag was tied to his head, which was a blessing to him as he wondered how damaged his eyes were from the darkness. His hands were once again bound with the lovely hemp like vines of the local flora. Gershon had taken special care to put him here in the jungle. Roland imagined the pleasure of returning such good wishes upon its owner.
While Number Two was barking something about airplanes flying over, Number One was doing his writing. Roland could hear the slight scrathcing of a writing implement against paper. It was a source of usual accompaniment for Number One, so named for his apparent leadership role here. Number Two, his lackey and right hand, received his number both by logic and disrespect.
A sharp pain ripped through Roland's innards. The package was definitely in the mail now. He had not been given much time to make a decision on the package's delivery. Basically a condom and a half second alone had been all the planning he required. Now the precious Kabal communicator and its only hope of his rescue made its way through his intestinal tract.
It had been the Utopian colony's council that had contacted Roland initially. Regardless of the weight of the mutations that could have easily defended the frozen haven, the governing body had chosen to stockpile weapons in its little known vault, a mile beneath the ice. Now the U.N. had notified them that they were sending a team to investigate the rumors of said cache, as it would nullify the colony's claim in the frozen continent, since no military applications were allowed there via the treaties.
Roland's reputation was well known in the circle of arms and their relocations. His being a mutant had opened many doors that would have remained closed or secret had he maintained his anonymity. The Colony needed to clean house prior to the inspection and Roland always enjoyed increasing his arsenal. He suspected his genetic profile had opened this door as well. He traveled by snow cat across the icy tundra, marveling in the grandeur of the growing abode as its massive domes swelled across the horizon. He fathomed the efficiency and threat of such a force had their aims switched to war instead of peace.
After a brief screening for Haywire and a short tour of the place, Roland found himself rocketing down through the ice via express elevator. His accompaniment came in the form of a small man named Ron. Ron apparently served as some sort of liaison for the Council, having a kind of medium power that allowed the secretive group to literally see through his eyes, speak through his mouth and hear through his ears. Roland found it a bit creepy.
A long metallic hall awaited their departure from the elevator followed by a series of equally droll hallways that could easily be confused had he not had the assistance of the living marionette. A second coded elevator took them a short distance down to the vault prep room. Roland was unsure of the need for a room to prepare to enter a vault until he saw the numerous bio-hazard and universal nuclear symbols. His look was mirrored to Ron.
"Yes, I suppose you can understand why we need your assistance, Mister Turpit. We are in the process of changing the vault into a storage facility for hazardous waste, byproducts from some of our more radical members.Nonetheless, the contents of the room must be removed first. If you would be so good as to suit up." Roland carefully put his bio-hazard suit on and waited as the small airlock was sealed.
The doors opened and it appeared that one of the natural subterranean caverns had been modified to contain what appeared to be sixteen warheads. Roland asked the obvious questions."Are those what I think they are? Why are they here?" Ron looked at him with blinking eyes and moving dummy mouth."Yes, they are low yield nuclear warheads which we...obtained from a submarine that intruded upon our domain recently. As you may guess, it is in our best interests to remove them as evidence prior to our inspection." Indeed it was. Roland imagined that while their dispersal might be low yield, their fetching price on the black market would be quite high.
Roland looked out the lovely porthole of his cramped suite, also known as a stately crewman's bunk. The seas were relatively quiet, only large twenty foot swells to gently push the tanker back and forth. He looked over the dossiers of the cargo. Three pictures looked back at him from dreary passport photos. A woman, a man and a young boy. It was mere coincidence, but had it not been for the circumstances, one could almost believe them to be family. They were in a way, he supposed. Family in the genetic sense.
The three of them had extraordinary abilities, even in the realm of mutation. The woman, Laurie Milds, was a crop manipulator. Beyond simple plant growth, she could bring entire fields into life overnight, feeding many. She would be feeding soldiers instead of peaceful mutant hippies soon. The man, Jack Orr, controlled heat in the form of thermal currents. With the Gulf Stream down and things getting frosty, he suspected he would be impressed into research. The boy was the most dangerous. Known only as 'Tri', the young Asian boy could split himself into three forms at once. One had immense strength, one had superior intellect, the other inhumanly agile and fast. The three became even more dangerous considering that they acted in concert, as one.
The tanker finished the docking procedure with the offshore rig as Roland dressed himself to go out into the frigid weather. The tanker appeared to be from India on paper. The crew and captain certainly were, originally. However, it was the Chinese attache on board who really ran things. Roland stopped at the captain's cabin, which the portly man had.
<< I'll be heading out to the mainland now. Anything else?>> The man in question, Yoo Chien, was apparently not used to the frequent sway of the sea. He was visibly ill and sweating profusely, dabbing his forehead with a cloth.<<No, no. Just make it quick. I want to get out of here and get back to dry land. Don't forget, Mister Turpit, should you be found out..>> Roland nodded. <<Yes, yes. Death or worse. I know the drill.>> He left with a nod as Yoo returned to the lavatory. The Chinese were a fickle bunch.
The Louvre stood in its ancient glory, daring the man before it to enter and do his best against its seemingly insurmountable defenses. One of the greatest art treasures in the world waited inside. A beautiful lady waited inside, her demure features and subtle hint of a grin looking down at the tourists and art lovers. She truly waited for Roland, waited to feel his caress. It would come.
As he sat among the throngs of visitors, tourists and residents alike, Roland pondered what Slate had expected of him. He imagined that some sort of spy novel business was the kind of action expected. Lots of sneaking about and dodging lasers and such. It wasn't out of his capacity to do so, but there were so many easier ways of doing things. Easy money was the best kind, regardless of what hard working people thought. They were jealous.
He mused on the idea further as he waited for his Parisian contact. Perhaps when he was younger, he would have gone in there, flipping and dodging. It just seemed so silly to do what was expected of him. The guards, the sensors, the alarms, they all waited for such a bold maneuver. Why break in just to steal a fake?
Yes, the lady looking down at the snapping camera lenses was a brilliant and clever forgery. The real lady was in the sub basement of the museum, being restored. Roland had found this out using his old contacts from his past life. He called himself a friend of a friend, but the voices on the other ends of phones had known exactly who they were speaking to.
Were. It wasn't terribly original, but it was something to remember. A bit of bile was rising in Roland's throat. he didn't suspect acid reflux. It was the kind of bile he recalled tasting when he had to suffer the most annoying Order member he had met. Possibly the only one, as well. This cat really was sitting pretty there, watching him, trying to bat him around like a plush toy full of catnip. Her vague answers were more batting, more mewing. He was finished with her.
He nodded as she spoke and began pacing, eyes pointed to the ground. To her, only his head would be pointed down, as the eyes and the rest of his face and its revealing tells of eye flashes and grins would be undetectable, hidden behind the black polymer mesh of the hood and the eerie cross of the HUD. She could certainly defeat him in a fair fight. Roland generally looked at fair fights with distaste, feeling that any and everything that could be used in his favor should be.
There were a few tricks he still had up his sleeves. Two of them literally were there at his forearms and wrists. The one that would be played in this scenario was a small canister with a small pin release. A grenade, yes. However, this one was known as a 'flashbang' , in common use by S.W.A.T. teams and other paramilitary organizations. It released a deafening blast, a searing phosphorus based flare and a good bit of a concussive blast for flavor. The canister appeared in his left hand, the pin in his right.
Without a moment's hesitation, a wave, a bow or any other type of dramatic fluff, Roland stepped backward off of the edge of the roof, his body hurtling down. After he cleared the side, he hurled the grenade up and over. Whether it hit or not, Kitty's senses would not be pleased with the residuals. His arms to his sides, two pitons fired from his wrists, the wires reeling out until the hooks found their marks. Roland felt a slight jerk in the line as his body was stopped. As the slack gave, the lines and pitons were securely nestled back into his wrists, his feet on the ground.
Those feet began making tracks through the alleys, no concern for the angry and frazzled kitty left behind. First, the mask came off. It would be easier to explain a bodysuit with a human face. Fortune smiled as he turned into the next alley. A man was emptying the trash from a discount clothier, shredded paperwork and takeout boxes strewn about. Roland didn't break his stride as he came up on the man, his hand wheeling to the side and a thumb extended to shock the man's temple. He found his way into the stockroom , where he sifted through anything that fit. Style was irrelevant.
Looking out into the alley, a bare chested Roland pulled the man inside and closed the door behind him. No reason to nearly escape only to leave an unconscious victim behind to alert the feline. He didn't let the brief rest slow him. He quickly came out of all but his boots, taking the man's briefcase and emptying it to replace it with his suit, which didn't want to go in so easily. Roland had to slow his breathing and wipe his face, working meticulously to arrange the suit and its contents in a manner that would allow the case to close. He sat in the break room chair and breathed evenly.
The cat smirked as he winced during his leg movements. He let all contempt for her remain in the backseat of his mind, where it belonged. He was already tiring of their banter, but was waiting for a good opportunity to come along and allow his timely escape. He wasn't even really interested in the man anymore. She was the one who seemed to harbor something for him, so she could be the new target. It was only fair.“He harasses those who aren’t obeying the law. So that makes two of us who live life less than honest.” Admission of guilt, though he found it strange that two people who had a similar adversary would fight each other.
“I don’t drop grudges either and you not only through live explosives at me, you shot me. You’re luck to still have a head, because even when I hold a grudge, I’m still lenient. Too lenient.” This was porbably accurate. She certainly outmatched him in physical attributes. The jury was still out on mental superiority." Fair enough. I did start it and you did finish it. Or at least you finished it to the point where you were satisfied. Now what?" He kept his emotions in check, remaining cool and confident.
She then verified that they spoke of the same man once she mentioned the strange figures seen with him. Only someone who knew him would know that. As far as Vector or Staff or whatever this man called himself, it was no longer as interesting as the name he was most interested in." Yes, those images were disconcerting, to say the least. What causes that, exactly? Oh, and by the way, do you have a name? I suspect it isn't Meow Meow."
Her next statement was clear and to the point. SHe had little intention of letting him go. She was merely toying with him, as a cat would. Roland decided he would test the waters slightly. As she spoke to him about his opinion and how much she didn't care about it, he pushed up and stood. He made no sudden moves, nor bolts of sprinting in one direction or another. He merely stodd. He was no longer going to be a victim, regardless of the outcome.
The pain was sizzling across his temple. Roland kept one eye closed and sat up a bit straighter to breathe better. Tail flicking in a playful yet deadly serious manner, the one before him sat crouched and dove headlong into her interrogation. She wished to start with basics. It was Roland's best way to start as well, as it gave him an opportunity to ask questions as well. “Lets start with why you’re taken such an interest in a masked crusader." Roland stared at the beastwoman for a moment.
" Crusader? Is that what he is? What, pray tell, would you call his crusade? The protection of rooftops and the harassment of others? I saw the man when I was out doing my own bit of work on rooftops. He chose to attack me and I defended myself. Let's say I don't let grudges go so easily." She would hopefully be open enough to give him some information as well, be it indirect.“Why are you calling the Staff out and setting traps in your weapons. I’m going to get you were counting on him. Not me.” Roland fired another look of piercing wonder at her. " I explained to you completely and specifically that the Staff was not his name and you agreed. So why don't we drop the charade and you tell me what he is really called. Also, while I was indeed trying to bring him out of hiding, you came to his aid quickly. You are the one intruding. That's just my opinion, though." He stretched the sore muscles in his legs as he enjoyed the rest period.
It seemed probable to Roland that the feline huntress might indeed drop him. She made a strange, guttural type of laugh as the sound passed over throaty vocal cords. He may have overstepped himself with the call of draw, but he had his personal integrity, dammit! She steadied him, as if she was preparing to do something. That something quickly manifested itself as the world did a backflip in Roland's sight. As his body was beginning to become upright, any chance at escape was brought down by a quick and hard shot to the temple.
A dark, warm blanket of fog caressed the man's senses. The white eyes of Nehanda shone like twin lighthouse beacons, burning through the darkness and caressing his fatigued mind. The ocean of lies and deceit surrounded him in every direction. Where was he? He didn't feel wet and he didn't seem to be bobbing much in this ocean. His singular view did not give him hints. It merely changed its perspective, scanning the horizon for more stimulus. Thunder came across the bay of lies. It came in rhythmic pulses, pain shooting through the side of his head with each flash over the tumultuous waters.
Light streamed into his sight once more, stinging his eyes to match the burning throb coming from his temple. He was seated, cool brick against the back of his head.As his sight began t ofocus, the shadows grew into one large one. This particular shadow was quite familiar to Roland as it crouched on its haunches, awaiting his return to the land of the conscious. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, no plans for play now. She had questions and he would provide answers. " So, what did you want to talk about?"
Feet padding the ground. Roland's breath was quickening as the little thoughts began to seep into his mind. Had he bitten off more than he could chew? Preposterous. There was no job nor enemy that could outfox Roland Pruitt. So why was he running so hard? His internal dialogue silenced as the edge of the roof approached. A push of the legs and he sailed over to land on the next rooftop. Suddenly, a flash of fur caught his eye as he landed. It was much too fast and well planned to avoid.
A strong grip and what appeared to be claws piercing the suit and his flesh was the next sensation, centered in the ankle of Roland's boot. Gravity ceased its forward grasp as he quickly found himself hanging upside down, staring at the alley some several stories below. Those little thoughts grew in size quickly. The thought of firing a piton through the werecat's shoulder and belaying himself down the wall came to mind, but Roland needed a breather. Besides, if she had wanted to kill him, she surely could have by now.
The mask unsealed itself and disappeared into his suit. Roland looked up at his captor, sweat dripping from his scalp and into the alley below. " Looks like you have me then. Shall we talk now? I will let this slide as a draw." He hoped that she didn't let her grip slide as well.
Roland stepped away from the screen as the yelling continued. He checked with the pilot on an ETA and then returned to his leather chair. " Excuse me. Let me explain something to you all now. I assume that if you can see the carriers out front that you can also see several other things. Please check to the west and east of your quaint little village now." Roland looked at his own radar as the council undoubtedly did as well. "What are those? Missiles?" The crowd's anger quickly settled and changed into a more formal kind of mewing.
" Missiles? No. But they are carrying missiles. I'd like you to meet my own personal little army. Military drones, all on remote control and all ready to wipe your existence from the desert's face. I'd like your cronies to go back inside until the transaction is complete. I'd like you five to come outside with the money and wait for the exchange. Anyone else appears and T-shirts will be the style when it heats up inside. " Before any more objections could be made, the screen was silenced.
Outside the complex, the men received tinny orders to fall back to the safety of the walls. The lead man, a Cpl. Watts, looked around in disbelief as he began to move his men back. "Whaddaya mean? There is nothing out here besides these empty trucks! Affirmative!" He drew the men back inside the walls, though they did take points along the walls to watch and protect. A strange, droning hum could be heard once things became quiet. It seemed to come from all sides, growing slowly in its buglike swarm intensity.
Watts took a pair of high powered binoculars and swept the area. On the second sweep, he did a double take. It appeared at first to be birds, but these birds flew in a sketchy manner and were indeed too large to be any known bird capable of flight. "What the?" Watts took one of the sniper's rifles and zoomed in on the lead ' bird'. It was metallic and had a fixed wing with two large Stinger miussiles on its undercarriage. What would be a head was a large array of lenses, turning and scoping at him in turn. Soon Watts was only holding his arms out and had an eye squinted at nothing.
Many of the men on the walls had similar problems. Once the swarm arrived, there were easily one hundred of them, swooping and buzzing, their lenses feeding back to Roland. He stood in a large chamber in the cargo bay of the helicarrier, his hands moving amongst the various views from the drones. A group of programmers and r/c pilots worked the swarm from the same bay, so that voice orders could be carried out from the source.
Three large armored carriers sat parked in front of the large walls that the humans had erected. This was one of the many border towns near the DMZ where mutants had taken over. This particular town had seen better days when it was simply Adelaide. Tourists came and went and its economy was stable. Now, it was one of the main refuges for the humans that had fled from the ongoing mutant action.
Roland had the town's current council on vidscreen as he sipped a cappuccino. They were bickering with him about the price he had offered for weapons, fuel and supplies. Roland always enjoyed a good haggle."You simply don't understand, Sir. The amount you are speaking of is tantamount to extortion! You are taking advantage of our position here! Don't you have any decency?"
Roland set the drink down on a saucer as a beautiful Swedish girl brought him some paperwork. The men of the council let their eyes roam freely." I am decent enough to deal with you at all. No one else is coming to help you. Also, what exactly do you need money for now? The things I have to offer you are going to get you much farther than paper will." He spoke in Swedish to the young girl and she left the camera's view, causing a slight slump in the fat balding men of the council.
Another screen showed an armed detachment of men approaching the APC's. Roland turned to the council camera. " I assume those men are your insurance policy? Or perhaps you thought you could just take what you don't want to pay for?" Roland nodded off screen and then watched the little pretend army men duck and cover when the tailgates of the carriers popped open, revealing little more than several monitoring banks of computers and screens near the cab end.
The barking got louder on the council's end."What kind of fools do you take us for? Did you think you could just rip us off so easily?"
A nod and a flick of the finger and the original contract sat before him, soon joined with a newer, crisper copy. Roland could not read this young man, but he still had the feeling as if he probably didn't need paperwork. This meeting was never intended for actual legal formalities. Undoubtedly, there was little legality or formality to be had here.As Roland scanned the papers for new parts, he listened to Slate speak."That is your old contract, Mr. Turpit. The only change is the last page; simply an addendum to the original which changes your employment from being directly under one Hunter Antonescu to being under Melissa Rivers. You will understand if I do not wish to attach my name to official documents.[/i]"
Roland nodded in time with the statements made as he signed his accepted false name to the document. He then slid the papers back to Slate and neatly teleported the pen to its holder. Remarks of uninterrupted pay and bonuses were spoken as Roland eased back in his seat, displaying a slight slouch in his otherwise flawless appearance. Paperwork was never necessary. Slate and the company could decide at any time to cancel the contract or just attempt to shoot him. The important thing to Roland was the detail involved. Better to sign the supposed useless paper than find that an equally useless paper could be used against him legally. Perhaps when they decided to change legality stances at will. He remained quiet, waiting to see what happened next.
The very dust in the room retreated to the safety of cobwebs from the pair of chilly intellects in the room. One could suppose that they were telepaths, discussing their terms and agreements via brain waves, with all of the lack of talking present. Roland's calm came from experience. He wasn't sure where Slate's came from. It was mere dalliance to ponder such things.The answers to his questions came from Slate's lips in a manner that made him think of ticker tape, streaming from the mouth with droll facts and figures scribed therein.
The Calley mission offering was taken neatly and without thanks nor dissent. It was more of an organization call on Roland's part. He didn't like old and unworkable jobs to hang over him and mar his reputation. He liked to shoot them down as fast as they were set up."As to your second question: given your reliable record with us, I believe we will call on your services again quite soon. First, however, for the sake of blunt clarity: do you agree to my terms?" It seemed like a regurgitation of the previous statement. It only seemed that way, however. Roland knew too many comrades who had ended up with a meager showing for their work due to a mere word change in a contract or verbal agreement.
" You stated previously that you were interested in renewing my contract on its previous terms. If this is the case, I have no reason to say anything but yes. However, since you said now that they were your terms, I'd like to see a copy of the current contract and the new one, side by side. I hope you will forgive me if I seem distrusting. I am merely extremely vigilant and protective when it comes to my most favorable and prized asset. My reputation."
The tinny voice coming from the young man seemed to make him like some sort of automated lifeform. Of course, in dealings past, Roland had come to terms with the fact that most company men were similar in design. As tepid as dishwater. When asked to take a seat, Roland nodded and sat comfortably in the leather chair. He wheeled up to the edge of the table and neatly folded his arms on the surface before him, staring into the eyes of the boy. They weren't especially lifelike either, reminding him of a shark.
After a brief visual summary of Roland's file, the boy looked up again."Forgive my rudeness; let us begin. My name is Slate. I am the new owner of both Mondragon Labs and the Kabal. Given your satisfactory track record with us in the past, I am interested in renewing your contract, under the same terms as present.[/i]" There had apparently been a management change recently. What few times that Roland was near places where the few visible employees gathered, he noted a good deal of whispering about takeovers. Such is life in the business world. The important words here were renewing your contract and same terms as present. Roland's visage and demeanor remained constant.
"Before I ask you formally to resign with me,I would like to offer you the opportunity to ask any questions you might have about this new arrangement.[/i]" Roland remained silent for a moment as his mind scanned over various answers to the question. He chose obvious. Everything has been more than satisfactory. Two questions. First, there is a job that I was asked to perform. The current situation suggests the job be modified or scrapped. As I say, it is only a suggestion." Give the Calley bit an escape route. Sometimes energy had to be released, in one form or another." Second, when can I get back to work?" These were the main points, in Roland's opinion. The rest was pomp and circumstance.
Seconds became minutes and then moved into the shadows of hours. Multiple combinations of gun parts and bullets worked their ways across the worktable as they searched for their sibling pieces, working themselves into a timely unity under Roland's watchful eye and controlled mutation. It caused him a bit of mental fatigue to work the same combinations and precise pre-planned movements, but he knew that one day these exercises would save his life.
After what seemed to be hours, Roland took a break and put the guns away into their locked lockers, gun locks affixed dutifully to pass any inspection by law types. He then went upstairs and got the fire roaring and a stiff glass of whiskey. He stood in front of the inferno, sipping his drink and preparing himself for the more complex exercises that lay ahead in wait for him. He took a hot shower and then applied a generous amount of talcum powder to his nude body, shortly after making his way back to the basement, disrobed and powdered.
He found himself standing before his stealth suit. The bonuses and constant visitations to Mondragon Labs and their R&D facilities had begun to make their mark on the suit. It was changing from stealth prototype to standard weapon, as familiar as his money belt. While looking a bit pale from the liberal amount of powder applied to his form, this , like all things to Roland, had a purpose. He looked at the suit as it clung to the solid foam mannequin before him. He'd start small, with the gloves and boots.
