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.
It was precious, really. If there was more time to frolic, Roland felt that he could really get intimate with these two. Their obvious discomfort, their cold glances. Maybe it was just the scent of fear at the table. It mixed with Kealey's natural scent so well, making it a near aphrodesiac. No time for love, Dr. Pruitt. At least not now.As a gesture of his amiability, Roland took his hand off of the lady. that was probably what the little man wanted. He was so ready to defend her honor that he went so far as to politely shoo the assassin away. A good kid.
Looking over at the little fellow, he smiled and put his hands on the table. Misdirection, the great standard of all magicians. The left hand sat quietly, fingers lightly drumming on the surface of the table. the right chose to open itself slightly, the thumb curling outwards and the index finger making a slight hook. " Don't be fooled. Kealey and I are old friends. However, we have some unfinished business to attend to. So maybe you are the one who should be going." With a wink of an eye and a small manipulation of the prepared hand, a nine millimeter pistol was there. Now you don't see it, now you do. Automagically.
With a slight turn of the wrist, the business end of his magic wand was pointed at the petite...erm, polite fellow. " Now, let's be clear. Kealey and I are going to have a laugh and stand. We are going to walk out of this fine establishment and proceed to my carriage. Any jib from you and I will shoot you in the face." Yes, the face. That tended to get all but the most stringently psychotic to pay attention. He leaned in close to Miss Quinn, whose shivers only succeeded in shaking that unbelievably arousing scent toward Roland. ' And you, precious little kitten. If you do anything besides act as I have instructed, I won't shoot you. You are much too pretty for that. Instead, one of these other patrons will volunteer their round face for you." Roland put his killer expression on, cold eyes devouring them like a shark.
((OOC: Modding of Kealey done with permission of Juli))
" Double espresso." Roland placed a twenty dollar bill on the counter. " Keep it." The wink and smile from the late teenish girl was received, a gritty smirk returned. A sip of the liquid gold and he was ready. turning on his heel, he saw Miss Quinn, getting on well with some little Asian fellow. They seemed happy to see one another. Could it be her new beau, in lieu of Mr. King? That would be nice. being able to use his abilities was important, though it wasn't as if anyone in the shop could stop him, even if he had no magic tricks.
His steps were sure, the click of his heels reporting on the hardwood floors as an otherwise scene of serenity and good times was about to go downhill. At least for Miss Quinn. Hopefully, not for her little friend, but his relative level of bravery was directly correlated to the outcome in his case. Hopefully he was as meek as he looked. Not that Roland minded putting him down, but the easier and smoother he got her in the van, the better for everyone. Mostly Roland.
Just as Miss Quinn stopped moving, a stray shoulder caught her just in the middle of the back, sending her off center from her friend and briefly careening toward the wall. Roland's naked hand grasped the smooth skin of her elbow and caught her, placing his cup on the table with his other hand. His eyes flashed to the friend. Nothing registered yet. Once she was on both feet, he used both her instability and her awkwardness to help the motion seat her across from her friend. Roland took the third seat, looking at the two of them at angles. He smiled to her first and then to her friend.
"So sorry to interrupt your get together.Are you alright, Kealey?" His hand settled on her shoulder in a familiar way. He smiled in a very warm fashion to her little dark haired friend. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Roland Pruitt. I'm an old friend of Miss Quinn here. Funny literally bumping into her like this, huh?" His British accent still seemed to be stained with American slang and talk, but whatever. The few other patrons seemed to be calm now that everyone at the table appeared to be friends. Or friendly anyway. He looked over at Kealey once more as he sipped his espresso. " Miss Quinn and I met in the subway one night." He scratched at the edge of his eye, sending her a wink only she could see.
Roland took a long draw from the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes fixed on the side mirror of the van. The sidewalk which bordered the coffee shop as well as the alley he was idling in was brimming with people. Roland's eyes were searching for only one person though. Miss Kealey Quinn.
After arriving back in the States, he had thought it a hallucination when he had seen her on the streets alive. It only put an exclamation point on the fact that he had left her last tomb in a sloppy fashion, giving her a chance to escape. Not this time. This time, she would be where no one was looking.
He had followed her home once this time, but when he saw that one of the clones lived in the building, he backed off. No reason to alert any of the others at the Sanctuary as to what he was doing, since this was a personal project. With his proper face on, she wouldn't even recognize him now, which begged the question: Why bother? Because meek little women did not escape. If killers and thugs and mercenaries were on the menu, it would be no problem. Why was this weak little weed such a problem to pull?
The answer would come soon enough. The frame, form and features of Miss Quinn bounced across the alley's opening in view of the mirror. The van's key was turned and then disappeared into Roland's pocket. He stepped out, wearing a long trench with high collar, jeans, a black silk dress shirt, boots and his new scruff that he had chosen not to part with yet. He gave Kealey the time it took to enter and find a seat. He entered soon after with murder on his mind.
The adrenaline was wearing off, as the aches and pains of interrogation and confinement began to throb in alarm. The thick smell of blood and detritus, now clinging in slabs to Roland was nauseating. With no one else alive in his immediate vicinity, he took the time to walk the quiet halls of what appeared to be administrative offices. No armed guards or cramped cells. Carpet, art prints and desks were the standard here, which suited the man fine. The knives were long gone, replaced with a single loaded sidearm. In his current state, a child could have probably snuck up on him, his senses dulled with the coming crash.
It was a lovely find and not much of a surprise to locate the Director/Warden's office. He was sure there was a mountain of information in the computers. Maybe he would look at them sometime. A trail of putrescent organa fell in small clumps behind as he made his way into the executive washroom. The door swung open lazily, Roland's usual sharp senses dulled with an hour of visceral violence. The thin pants he had been given fell off in anticipation of a thorough scrubbing.
A shower stall was indeed installed, the answer to his prayers. The 9mm found its way to a small shelf in the stall as the water was turned on. Though sputtering at first, a steady, strong stream of hot began to splash on the tiled floor, a whirlpool of red already beginning around the drain. After just a small manipulation of the cold water and a good lathering of cloth, Roland immersed himself in the stream, the shock of his multiple wounds chiming in as pain. He'd had enough of that recently.His head hanging beneath the soothing waterfall, he could see his skin becoming apparent. An occasional kick to the drain to move the growing semi-solid pieces that were blocking the suction was necessary.
Feeling his chest, there were circular areas where the hair was missing. On closer inspection, he could tell that these were electrode marks. Wasn't the first dance. Some electroshock had apparently been the culprit as far as why the last few weeks had been absent from his recent memory. Not that any of it particularly mattered. His identity was out for the world to see and just about anyone who could have been told anything extracurricular wasn't doing much telling anymore. His face had developed a generous beard, curly and black as it always had been. At least he could grow it out now without trying to come up with some ridiculous story as to why the face didn't match the top.
A turn of the handle and he stepped out of the murky red mist. He was ready for a nice, long nap. No naps to be had today, but he could certainly use one all the same. Even with all of his vigorous scrubbing, the towel came back a dim pink. He was glad he hadn't looked across at the mirror on his way in. The vanity's switch was flipped and it became apparent that he had been underground too long, its sudden overt brightness causing Roland to squint at the bearded man in the reflection. Looking into the stall through the mirror, the sidearm was directed to his right, now lying on the counter top. A new towel wrapped around his waist, another ready for his new old face after some shaving.
The room was as silent as a tomb. There seemed to be a cacophony of violence going on both above and below Roland's current position. It wasn't here. The observation room was smaller than the room he had emerged from, a small table and two chairs present. Also, an open file folder. He walked slowly and quietly around the file until it became right side up to his vision. His head hung as eyes perused every facet of his record. Bright red drops of blood dripped on the file as Roland imagined the gleam of delight in the eyes of Interpol. In the eyes of the Tongs from Sing Sing. In the eyes of many a hunter who had a lump in their throat at the thought of lost quarry regained.
Quiet contemplation quickly tipped into the abyss of rage once more, his mind's brief respite shattered at the quick and decisive stroke which had been dealt. Not a death stroke, though. Close, but not quite. Roland's grip tightened on the shiv, it's crude edge pushing into his fingers. While he had rejected the gift of death given, his smile returned, as maniacal and quivering as it was at the moment. He would return this gift in spades. His eyes turned to the door before him. Judging by the lack of power and the abundance of explosions and the occasional report of gunfire, he could only imagine that the cavalry had come. Hopefully he would recognize them sooner than later.
The door opened and swung on its hinge, answered by the shuffling of boots on the far end of the hall to his left. Sooner than later. With a burst of initiative, his head poked out from the opening and flashed a glance, retracting as quickly as the wall began to explode with jacketed penetration. Skills were wired into his synapses as the shiv turned in his hand, his body pressed against the wall. Someone had to investigate. It was human nature. A flashbang was thrown by another skilled hand as it hit the doorway's opposite side and banked into the room. Unfortunately for the rushing footsteps behind it, the device came right back out.
Roland ducked and closed his eyes, his hands over his ears. The concussion was still enough to push him to the floor from the opposite side of the wall. Moans and distorted moans came after the initial high pitched squeal dissipated. Skills. His body entered the hall, crouched and low, moving forward like a predator. The first one was feeling the wall, trying to orient itself in the chaos of its assaulted senses. The shiv came down like a feral dog's fang, burying deep into its neck, pulled free and pushed deeper into the wound before the blood could flow. Its body became a shield as a stray shot from small caliber sidearms sunk into it.
Be it the chaos, the blood, or the shine of the light on his black, shark-like eyes, the guards began to retract more than retreat. it was as if they had been polarized to be physically repelled from Death, whose eyes scanned them, disarming them. Standing from the corpse and planting his heel firmly on the blade of glass below, Roland felt the glory of evolution in his hands as his hands gripped two pistols. Time slowed to a standstill, the guns training down on the few who could gain their feet. No need for the masquerade, his native tongue lilted with great Britannia. " Never turn your back on Roland Pruitt."
His feet began to move after the feet retreating. First went the born cowards and the newly deaf and blind. His heart pumped with each bullet as it slid out of the chamber, every precious explosion of powder ending lives. The slowest of the runners paid for the price of his lack of cardio as a slug kissed his brain via the back of his skull. Time quickly caught up to the pace of his speeding heart, the great grin widening, a great maw of death ready to envelop the world. They were regrouping, standing ready to fight. Roland's pace never stopped, the chamber sliding back and forth with precision and craftsmanship. It would be a round of closed caskets next week as metal caught faces. Take my face and I'll take yours.
Lack of guns produced knives, which hit the concrete seconds before their wielders did. Chest shots to close the deal went into each body, even as they bounced off the floor. The guns went silent, dropped to the floor as they had spent their allowance. Faces. Roland's eyes scanned the floor, the combat knives finding a new master's hands. Why play the game by their rules? They had had their fun at his expense, at every mutant's expense. Now. Now was the time to flip it on them, to put them on the other end of the hook.
Moving quicker down the hall, keeping to the shadows, Roland eyed a rifle as it came around the corner. It slid across the ground behind him as he closed the gap between predator and prey. The face of surprise and shock met his own of vengeance as the blade slid across the guard's throat. A swift kick to the back of the knees and a handful of hair separated sinew, the wet ripping sound preceding the thump of the body. The spray of jugular blood painted the wall in an arc, similar to the one Roland's body spun in, bringing him back to his running. The door ahead was illuminated enough for its hinges to pop out, the door beginning to fall toward the next victims. His feet left the ground and his body carried the door the rest of the way through.
An attachment of five soldiers had their AK's pointed at targets. Unfortunately for them, their targets were down the hall past them, their backs exposed to Roland as he let loose a guttural howl of violence. Shouts of alarm and the seconds it took to turn their weapons were the last seconds they had. Gunflashes, screams, and the hiss and gurgle of steel making love to flesh filled the hall. No eyes, human or mutant, would ever wash clean to the horrific display which soon ensued.
With a hiss and a pop, akin to an old style camera flash, Roland's eyes opened. The light in the room was dim and only partially illuminated the room from the ceiling. Swiveling eyes saw the origin to be emergency lights, their two lamps focused at the ceiling. A rumble from below jolted the man's senses enough for him to notice that he was on his back. The sudden increase in sensation also awakened screaming nerves as his entire body seemed to be racked with every sort of pain imaginable. He shuddered involuntarily, his hands instinctively moving, though not much considering they were cuffed behind his back. Roland started to roll over to get on his knees but found that the floor was terribly slippery, his body sliding back into place with a thump each time he moved.
The floor was wet with a viscous substance, its coppery odor becoming thicker as his awareness widened. Blood. Lots of it. Considering his vitality, he couldn't imagine it all came from him. Damned collar was still on his neck, taunting him to make a move and be forcibly punished. A large table and at least one overturned chair was nearby in his part of the room. Roland braced his feet against the wall and forced his shoulder against the table leg, giving him enough resistance to arch his back and slide the cuffs to beneath his knees. Then it was simple enough to pull his legs up and have the manacles in sight. Gritting his teeth in preparation for the incoming shock, he looked at the cuffs and then...they weren't there?
Eyes wide with a sense of cautious wonder, Roland's blood soaked and pain wracked body turned and he was on his feet. Reaching up he found that the collar was still in place, yet somehow inactive. His eyes came into more focus, the room becoming clearer. A figure was in his peripheral vision, standing to his left, his instincts leaping to his aid as the large table was on its side, standing on one end between him and the other, serving as cover. Looking down at himself, he only had grimy pants, soggy with blood and slip on sandals. He was shirtless, several wounds of various sources revealed.
No weapons. His hope was that he could spot a gun on this other man with a quick look. Edging to the table's new corner, he quickly darted his head around and then moved back to his position. An eyebrow raised in quizzical concern. Stepping out from the table's concealment, the other man stepped out as well. The east wall was apparently a large mirror, more than likely the two-way variety, considering the rest of the room, which was apparently one made for interviews or in his case, brutal interrogation.
The pain in his body kept his senses snarling like an animal, though no recollection of the events leading to this moment could be accessed. Two way mirrors meant other rooms easily accessed nearby. Mirrors. Reflections. A sudden wave of nausea gripped Roland's entire gastrointestinal tract as it violently seized and bile water splashed on the floor. Even in the faux light of the room, the image of the man in the mirror was unmistakable. His head turned from the putrid puddle at his feet, his body racked with shivers, part nausea, part pain, all shock as his eyes met his own in the reflection.
It was his face. His true face. The one his mother and father had formed. Confusion and disorientation melted before the growing wave of rage that rose from within Roland's chest. A camera was in the corner of the room's ceiling. No longer did it's eye blink, but it had before. His breathing became shallow and rapid, the idea of his long dead face now on tape. That mirror had to go, as did he. A metal chair in hand, he stepped back to take his first swing at the hardened glass. Sandals slipped in the slick mess of the floor and he flew backward, landing on something that felt like another person.
Shaking off the cobwebs, Roland grabbed the legs and turned to face the only person who wasn't him in the room. Fortunately, his stomach contents were already gone as he looked into what appeared to be a thinly covered skull perched on shoulders. Squinting at it, he could see what was once a nose pushed up into the holes in the skull where nostrils once led. Eyes were sunken pools of fleshy fluid and nearly all the teeth were gone. It looked like the man had taken an epic beating from something savage, like a rabid gorilla. Of course, no one else was in the room and with the perusal of swollen, bloody knuckles, it became clear who was the savage.
It must have been when his identity was revealed. Even now he could feel the burning sun within his body, pushing him hard to move, to escape, to kill anyone who did anything but move out of the way. The chair returned to his hand and with a great overarm heave of muscle and the use of his gift, the chair left his hand and appeared at the mirror, its full kinetic force stopping only at the resistance of the glass. The two back legs were impaled into the glass, giving him leverage to push and pull until more of it began to crumble and crack. The violence returned to his mind naturally, as if it had only been stayed for the shock of self realization.With each pull, push and swing of the chair, he could hear strained growls of rage utter forth. As soon as there was room to get through, the glass along the mirror's bottom edge moved away, one particularly large shard finding its way to his hand. Roland ripped the fabric of his lower right leg, severing it free with the shard and the strip was wrapped tight many times around its base. Prison skills never died as a wicked shiv gave him something to work with.
Hey all, no meltdowns or anything, just trying to prevent that sort of thing. I have too much stuff going on right now, so I need to take a break from here for a while. This affects Garrett and Roland.
Roland sat back and listened to the crunching of the peanut gallery. He hadn't seen any of these people before and yet they were all speaking about the situation in Romania as if he were the new kid on the block. Ah, well. Their opinions were neutral at best. Once he received his orders, he would move in his own direction. If he saw these people again or not was as important as if he would sit in the particular chair he was sitting in again.Fortunately, the horned man had little to say about it, unless a raising of eyebrow counted as an opinion. Not so much.
The alpha clone began to speak and he could understand why there might have been friction in his pal Saturn and this mountain of yam. he stifled a grin as best as he could when the creature seemed to try to cover for whatever faux pas had been uttered. The bombing? Did anyone seriously consider that the Underground did anything besides plead for help from the Order? It was ridiculous. Now he listened to an outrageous plan involving Stone. Carry him in a rock? really? He wondered if anyone in the room had operational experience. Doubts were high except for the female. Adapted.
It was interesting to put a name on it. He wondered how many of them there were. Apparently they were a minority of humans or they rarely appeared. Roland now knew of three. King, Tyranny and this one. No longer would he take it as a common mutation, this was a new breed of humans, or at least some kind of enhanced human. More research would have to be done in the future. For now, it was storytime once more. The lass told a good tale and seemed to be smart at least. She could see the holes in the alpha's plan and had one of her own as well. It was obviously beyond her that he would be able to conceal a device as long as he could, apart from being stripped nude. Though even that was a possibility. Once they were all done, he took the initiative to speak once more, Alpha's approval or not.
Standing from the chair, his cigarette fell beneath his shoe, crushed to death as he took the spotlight." All fine ideas. I particularly like the idea of this other mutant you speak of. However, I wished to offer a slight modification. While you are quite correct about metal detectors, perhaps I could attach a device to the underside of the vehicle I enter. That way you could track where it goes and returns from, hopefully finding the camps before long. I suggest you also use this other mutant and never introduce us to each other. That way, we are perfect soldiers, armed with plausible deniability. If we don't know each other, we can't tell on each other, no matter what. Two attempts yields a 50/50 result at least." His eyes swiveled over to the nubile strategist." Of course, I can only hope more of your kind aren't present. if you don't mind me asking, how many more of you are there? I've met two other than you so far." Nothing wrong with mixing personal projects, especially if no one knew they were personal.
So they were to go to another concrete room full of chairs. Very well, though Roland wasn't entirely sure where privacy ended or began in an Underground meeting space. Carrying his chair with him, he placed it facing the right way in the room, leaning it back slightly against the wall ad smoking, listening to the horned man and his woes.
“I'm sorry to be so forward with this request, but time does not always allow for lots of formalities. At the recent senate bombing several mutants were captured. My wife and several of my friends were among those captured. I need to find out where they were taken, and then I will rescue them. I know of a few people that can assist me with the latter step, but any help you can provide with locating and rescuing those kidnapped mutants would be greatly appreciated.” A look of what would pass as surprise on Roland's face occurred at this news. Roland looked at the others and stood from his chair, his cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth as he spoke.
" Sorry to hear about your wife. I thought the two of you looked charming at your wedding. First things first, no one knows where the mutants are being taken? It's not entirely surprising since, honestly, without the Order's help, this fledgling armada of Romanians wouldn't get anything done. That is beside the point though. It seems to me that what we need is someone to get caught. Bait, as it were. I'd be happy to volunteer and then you can all follow me there. Seems easy enough. Of course, I have to get the go ahead from one of these red guys, I assume the one with the stern look."
He looked at the faces of the clones as well as the others in the room before taking a long draw on his cigarette and retaking his seat. An afterthought appeared in his mind that felt like it needed to be voiced, just for simplicity. " Oh, also, I was the one who bombed the Senate building. Better to say it now than hear about it later." The chair tipped back against the wall and the grin of smug satisfaction took its rightful place on the mug of the assassin.
"For the record, there are six other guys that can do that just as well. And probably with more flair.”
True enough. The thought of seven behemoths stomping someone into particles was charming. Saturn was either stubborn or tough. Roland couldn't really tell or care. As long as they did the job as efficiently as this one, it was smooth sailing for the rest of the campaign. The scenery whizzed by the two of them as the red beast went on about the Order and Miss Faust. From what he could glean from the man's words, many respected the blond. Of course, with a colossus as your personal bodyguard, respect came first. Combined with her own mysterious powers, they were a force to be reckoned with. King Pharmaceuticals. A new name to be filed into his mental Rolodex.
Instructions soon came from a phone call to Saturn. Get to the base as fast as possible. Check. With a handbrake and a few shifting gears, the car was moving at breakneck speeds back toward the city. War was to be the next mission.Roland smiled along with his companion at the thought. Subtlety was a skill of Roland's, but violence was a pure pastime. "What kind of business did you have in mind?" As the roads steadily became more congested, Roland flipped his cigarette out the window. " I don't really care what kind of business it is. My days of breaking my back for a paycheck are long gone. Now it is time for me to relax and learn to use my abilities for fun and impact.I feel like with your organization that I can really hone my craft and become an artist of violence."
With a precise and polished drift, the car drifted into a spot between two others on the curb. Perfect parallel parking. In Roland's mind, everything he set out to accomplish was done with sterling success. "Curbside service." Stepping from the car, the remaining smoke swirled out behind him, trailing as if it waited to see what he would do next. The two made their way into the building, their auras of badass enough to make any milling mutants part like the Red Sea. A party had gathered already, including the horned man Roland had seen with Iris so long ago. Also present were three more of the red beasts, each just slightly different from the other. One in particular seemed to stand out as the alpha. Alphas usually did.
As Saturn broke of for a family reunion, Roland saw a metal folding chair nearby and it promptly appeared beneath him backwards as he took a seat before the others. Blindfolds? The new arrivals must have been from an outside organization. Lighting a new Dunhill, he took a draw and waited to be spoken to before speaking. That seemed like the best approach for now.
“ That was a fricking mazing. You win. That was disgusting and so….Epic.”
As the pair hurtled down the highway, Roland couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. This kind of fun was what he had been missing in his old lives. Too much stealth and subterfuge had dulled his mind, rather than focusing it as it should have. Raw evisceration and overkill was a stimulant he could not ignore. He had another cigarette burning not too far after its brother's extinguishing. Had it been truly epic? From another perspective, sure. His personal favorite was the domino effect impalement he had set up in a coffee shop in Central Park, but each had their own measure.
The car pulled up to the curb opposite from Saturn's next target. Roland could feel the infectious excitement that this game was spawning in the two assassins. He turned and drew more luxurious smoke into his lungs, watching the scene unfold before him. Like a great red bull, the other man charged into the building, debris flying. In a moment, the smoke cleared and he was carrying his mark like a wet dishrag in his hand. What happened next was stunning. Roland even rolled down his window and stuck his head out, gawking at the sky and the lack of mark in it....anywhere.
Seeming unsatisfied, Saturn shrugged and remarked on his being behind. Roland chuckled some more as he popped the car into drive and they left. " You really don't give yourself much credit, do you? You just threw a man into lower orbit and you feel as if you missed the mark?" he laughed loudly and slapped the beast's arm reassuringly. " Your strength is unmatched. You should be stomping the doubt out of anyone who would deny your superior might. Be what you were obviously made to be. When I discovered my gift, I realized that I should be a thief. You, you should be whatever you want to be and damn anyone who tells you otherwise."
Saturn's next target was out in a rural setting, so there would be some driving time. No reason to to bring up business, mix it up a bit. " I'm heading to your target, since I got two of mine at the same time. Since we have a bit, I was wondering if I could pick your brain about Miss Faust and what the Order has in store for us. I haven't seen or heard from her since I arrived and we are running out of things to do. I imagine at some point we will make it to the camps, but how? And when? As much as I enjoy the lawlessness of this place, I look forward to getting back to the States and taking care of business."
It was good to be free of serious business for a while. Play time was just as important to Roland as work ever was. Probably more important, actually. While the list of people they had to kill was still technically work, he was encouraged by Saturn to make it fun and challenging. So much more pleasant than waiting on someone to go to sleep and extended their rest with a bullet behind the ear. This is what he had really come to the Order for in the first place, to practice his craft under open conditions.
" Points. Sure, why not? Of course, I generally go for style, but maybe we can keep a running tab overall. I'll let you sort the numbers. We should probably head out now." Already neighbors were coming out to inspect the damage of the 'freak' accident. As the pair drove across town to the next location, Roland received a phone call. He nodded a few times and then the phone left his hand and returned to his jacket pocket. " As usual, my work usually entails improvisation and timing. It seems our next target, out of paranoia or giant ears, has decided to board a helicopter and leave the city to a more rural scene. I'm going to jump down to my next target in order, who should be walking his dog in ten minutes. These administrative types generally keep to a schedule."
Their current route took them along the seashore, small parking spaces dotting the road for vantage points or lovers. As the men came to a halt, Roland stepped out of the car with a cigarette burning, pointing out to his large companion the man walking a dog near the ocean's edge. "The phone call was from our compatriots in the Underground, letting me know my first target had deviated and taken flight. They also let me know that he was planning to fly over the ocean, so as not to draw too much attention over the city. Besides, after the bombing, I'm surprised they haven't all left." Roland took a firm draw on his cigarette, the sun's light waning out over the horizon.
After a few minutes, the thwup thwup of the helicopter came into range, its image coming into sight as it skimmed near the water's edge as closely as possible. " Throwing a car is obviously out of my abilities. So, I present to you a case of finesse and timing. Don't get me wrong though. Your way is just as effective." He certainly didn't want a vehicle hurtling in his direction anytime soon. As the craft came into range, his attention focused on its rear rotor. His eyes squinted as he strained them to focus on it. In the blink of an eye it continued to spin, but not on the tail of the helicopter. As the craft spun wildly out of control and slammed into the ocean, the rotor was moved to the general proximity of man and beast on land. Retaining its kinetic fury, it mostly eviscerated the dog walker. Roland couldn't be sure as the light was fading further. The helicopter's survivors, if there were any, would be dead from shock and frigid waters before anyone could save him. He giggled slightly, pointing to the dog running along the beach before entering the vehicle and starting it up. " Score that however you like."
It wasn't long before the Mouth came to his surprise party. Roland watched him arrive with no explosives in hand, as expected. He guessed they were somewhere on their way down his digestive tract by now. No matter, as the placement of his own devices was more than sufficient to bring enough steel down to do the trick. The van would still make an excellent decoy as well, though his time was now wasted to position it with his waiting. It was more important that Mouth didn't tamper with what was already done.
The boy looked like a kid lost in a shopping center. No idea where he was going or what to do next. Roland knew where he was going. He was going down, with the rest of the roof. He didn't know that just yet, though. That would be the surprise. A silenced pistol became apparent in the assassin's hand, his eyes steeling with the intent. Lining up his sights on his opposite forearm, he took careful aim on the young man's ankle. It would be painful and assure he did not escape. The slight pop and Mouth spun on his axis dropping to the ground, Roland walking out into the light to greet him. As he approached him, he shot him in the good ankle, ensuring he remained for the party.
Standing near him with the pistol pointed between his tear filled eyes, Roland smiled down at Mouth. " I figured you would eat them. I'd say sorry about your ankles, but I'm not. Maybe Slate will put some heroic saying on your tombstone. Maybe not. You should have stayed in that hole in Colombia. Anyway, it's 2:56 now, so in four minutes, you won't have to hurt anymore. Hope that helps. Ta." Maybe the kid was blubbering something. It was irrelevant. A piece of piping was in his vision as he left the roof, in his hands as he blocked the door with it on the other side. A quick trot and several leaps down the stairwell and out he went into the sunlight. A beeline away from both building and van. Two for two. He couldn't wait to see what the rest of the country held in store for him.
Apparently, the Mouth had been working on his general demeanor and ability to take orders. It seemed the little tyrant had whipped him into shape after all. No egocentric outbursts, no lack of decision making. Just quiet and nodding of head. Perhaps a job was going to go off without a hitch and Roland would be two for two. "I perfectly understood sir , be sure to put all your charges correctly . We don't want our boss to be mad at us .¨ Roland smiled as genuinely as he could, stifling an all out cackle at the mention of their boss. " Very good. I'm off then." An armful of plastic and a swift click of the deadbolt and he was on his way.
It would be quite a different scenario had he the Colombian face. What would the kid have done? Worst case scenario? Stammer and call Mommy Slate about the wandering knight errant. Pleasantries spewed from Roland's mouth as he passed people in the hallways and entered the elevator. No reason to appear on stairwell cameras until the last moment. Making his way toward the roof access, he mused over the threads of eloquent subterfuge that had brought them all there. How things could have been different or perhaps the same.
The cameras eye was fixed in a singular position up to the roof. For a moment. Then , it was singularly fixed on the floor below its mounting, as Roland trotted up the steps. The door was locked, of course, until the lock was neatly disassembled and door pushed open. The light of day shone over Roland's manipulated face as he surveyed the area. With his mutation, the explosives were placed in a timely fashion, each little present activated prior to its instantaneous attachment. Once his ducks were in a row, he spied an excellent hidey hole in the form of a large air conditioning unit. Glancing at his watch, he waited for the inevitable appearance of the Mouth. For the boy's sake, he hoped the lad had his packages. Probably not.
As reception made small talk with him, Roland scanned the service entrance for his 'backup'. He figured that the Underground would send one of their locals. Maybe someone who knew the resident culture and news? Nah, just some random mutant. It was a real shame that this Resistance was faltering as it was. He imagined that were he leading a resistance, he would have the human counterparts in full surrender inside a week. That was with a few hundred trained mutants, though. A force like that could really do some damage. Something to ponder on.
Roland's eyes swiveled and stopped on a yellow suit making its way toward the building from outside. He immediately began to charm up the middle aged secretary, mentioning he had a 'new guy' joining him in a few moments and how nice it would be for the lovely lady to go ahead and handwave his entrance through security. Apparently he was not lacking in his social skills, as unpracticed as they were. Before he could finish writing her number down, his eyes shifted from beneath the brim to the partner that was to join him. His pen lingered on the last of the digits as the face beneath yon yellow cap was none other than little boy lost, fresh from the Colombian undergrowth.
Another value of his modified face. Roland pondered what kind of fun would have occurred should Fausto see the face beneath the face. Snapping into character, he came over to the boy, greeting him and putting the large handtruck handle in his hand before seeing that his small frame couldn't hold the massive burden. Taking it back from him and rolling it down the hall and away from security, he thought he would have a bit of fun with the acidic assassin, using his native British accent when he spoke to him."So, I think we need to go to the bathroom. This one, up on the right."
As they entered the door, Roland sat the truck down and checked under and inside each stall, looking for any possible eavesdroppers. Seeing no one was there, he crossed the room and flipped the small deadbolt for the door, locking them in. Taking one of the envelopes from the stack to be delivered, Roland opened it and revealed a pair of blueprints of the building, one for each of them. He handed a copy to Fausto and placed his own on the sink counter, his fingers pointing to various access points to the roof and the various cameras to be destroyed. Opening the cases, he removed several kilos of plastic explosive, prewired to be detonated by remote. " I have the remote. Sorry, but can't afford to fail the mission on your nerves. You take half of the drop on the cart, I'll take all of mine on my person. We'll deliver the packages separately, one on the roof, one delivering legit packages. We need to be clear of the building by three o'clock, as that is when the Senate head will give his speech to the press. That's when we blow the roof. Any questions?"
