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.
Posted by "Chief" on Oct 9, 2017 7:02:59 GMT -6
Tempest likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Jack's throat knotted when the door opened, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of Devon. The prawn wasn't demonstrative in terms of physical affection, just as she wasn't usually outwardly emotive. But seeing Devon-- seeing Devon with his concerned smile, careful words, and potential to help her (really, truly help her)-- nearly broke the prawn down. She wanted to wrap him in a hug and just stand there for a bit... but she didn't. Her throat tightened,
>> “Come on in, Chief.”
Jack nodded, following Devon's gesture into his abode. His place was huge-- she could fit four of her apartment in there, easily-- well, when she'd had one. The prawn would have appreciated her grandiose surroundings if she wasn't teetering on such a precarious mental edge.
>> “Would you like water or a drink? Are you hungry? You can rest and relax here, but if you want to talk about something I’m happy to help as formally as you want or just as a friend,”
"A water, 'lease," the prawn requested, her voice thick and wet. As badly as she wanted to imbibe, her time working in nightclubs had shown her the havoc alcohol could wreak upon distressed patrons. The last thing the needed was to throw-up from stress and drunkenness. That concern also put food off of the table. Jack shook her head politely. Resting and relaxing was also out of the question, with all the nervous energy that was running through her. She felt like, at any moment, that man with the gun would come traipsing through the door. Or the cops.
It was obvious that something was eating at her. Once Devon offered her a glass of water, she didn't drink it right away. She undid her surgical mask, sure, but the glass was clasped between her two hands, an idle index finger tapping its side. Her gaze would occasionally hazard towards her friend, but were mostly fixated on her hands. This wasn't like "Jack". This was a scared and withdrawn version of her.
"I need hel'," she finally mustered, the words spoken as if they were the three most difficult words to utter. Her gaze lifted towards Devon. Jack teetered in her spot, her body tense, "I need... your hel', as a s'riend... D'is... I'd like d'is to 'e as lowkey as it can 'e."
Her words were halting. Jack swallowed hard. And finally mustered a sip of water. There was no telling how Devon would react. He might call the cops, and then she'd be on the run again. Jack measured his reaction... his response... with her eyes.
"Last night was crazy, it's... it's hard to sink it's e'en real, y'know?"
The tears that rimmed her eyes welled-up and overflowed, her grip tightening slightly on the glass. The less he knew, the better.
"I just... I need to, uh... disa'ear."
That pronouncement probably rose more questions then answers. Jack took another sip of water, her hands trembling.
"I has... sound nysel's in a lot uzz trou'le and I need to disa'ear."
She looked at Devon, trying to gauge his reaction.
Allegra tried to make a case for herself-- that she wasn't mean, she just avoided certain people-- but the argument didn't hold any water. Sometimes the worst thing was being excluded, as opposed to be outright attacked... at least, for a teenager... Jack seemed unconvinced, and offered little commentary in response, beyond a faint, "Didn't say you were one..."
Honestly. There were some people who were probably pretty decent, who acted like d**ks to mutants. It's jsut the way the word was. The prawn stood passively behind Allegra as she attempted to plead her case with the security officer behind her desk. Did she see the screen full of security cameras behind the desk? He was the guy who'd radioed Jack in the first place, the one who'd sent her out to intercept Allegra. She quickly sensed that it was an exercise in futility and fessed-up. And apologized. Whoa.
The prawn shrugged. What was she sorry for? Being a brat? Sneaking out? Everything? It would be tedious to press for details.
"It ha'ens alot," the prawn assured the blonde, opting for a vague response, "Don't sweat it."
The man behind the desk finished filling out a sheet of paper, and placed it on the counter. It was a detention slip, detailing the date she'd do her detention, the reason she was being referrred, and her name. All it requried was her signature.
"Sign, please," the guy behind the desk said smilingly. He glanced Jack's way. The prawn twitched her brow in response. She didn't even bother correcting the fauxpas in gendering Jack. As if the kid needed to be embarrassed further.
The prawn grimaced. Small talk wasn't her strongest suit. Questions, answers, the natural flow of conversation… it was like trying to ice skate, and the prawn hadn't skated in years…
The scooter filled the silence with the click of tires on the sidewalk as it was pushed along. Jack subconsciously clasped her sore arm with the opposite primary hand… rooting around for a topic of conversation.
“So… I told you how I work in a nightclu’,” the prawn began offhandedly, “What do you do?”
Simple enough. It also made no assumptions about whether Winnie worked or went to school or did neither. It was hard to tell with ladies who looked like Winnie, who could be anywhere between 18 and 30 easily. The two strode down the street, Jack walking slightly behind the smaller woman so that she could follow Winnie’s lead.
Jack didn't really get it. What was the opposite of an Adapted? Did she trigger mutations that hadn't emerged yet? Jack could certainly pass on additional mutations, especially if they were as explosive as her most recent addition.
Jack just nodded in agreement, as if she understood. Devon was a really nice guy. He'd welcomed Jack in, helped her get back on her feet again… she was so grateful for that… really, she owed him a lot. But that wasn't a comfortable feeling, to owe someone something, for an ex gang member.
>> "You wanna talk about it?"
“No,” the prawn mumbled, a tension creeping into her tone. It'd been two months, but she still dwelt on it. She stopped catching momentarily to survey Sveta, “N-not really…”
An apologetic look crossed her features.
“I just… sun guys ‘roke into ny house,” the prawn said vaguely, “Dey was as-ter my s’riend… tried to kill nee…”
She set the wood and whittling knife down, wringing her hands together. Her gaze dropped.
“I was lucky… I got away… he…”
She looked back up at Sveta, to see if she understood. Jack couldn't bring herself to say any more. Her throat clenched, threatening tears.
The prawn looked sheepish at Winnie's theatrics, her gaze sliding sideways again. It was less that she'd been scared sh**less, and more that she'd been flustered by exchanging a cute, tiny bird for an actual human-looking mutant.
"Don't nen-tion it," the prawn said softly. Anyone would be cagey after that run-in with a messed-up META, so Jack (once again) tooootally understood if Winnie just wanted to put it behind her. (Or, alternatively, if she wanted company on the walk home. Because, let's be honest, Jack was probably one of the scarier sights to behold, in terms of mutants.)
>> ”I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you follow me home? I got ice you can put on that arm. I mean, I guess it’s the least I can do for my heroine.”
A flicker of a smile crossed over the prawn's features. It was a really kind gesture, really, it was. A hot compress might help even more but, hey, ice didn't sound bad either. Jack still reeeeeally wanted that drink, though. That had been the original purpose of setting-out from her apartment in the first place.
... but it had also been a while since she'd been in the company of, well, anyone. It could be nice. And hell, Winnie was extending that offer even after watching Jack obliterate a robot.
"I'd like dat," the prawn said, after some deliberation, "Are you sure it's okay?"
Was Winnie sure she wanted someone like Jack in her house, is what she meant. Some people offered these types of things just to be nice, with no real intention of someone taking them up on the offer. The prawn had to give her one more way out.
Jack nodded her head at the proffered "nice to meet you", but then made a confused chirr when Sveta commented on her mutation.
"Are you an Ada'ted?" the prawn clicked in confusion. She didn't really know that Adapteds were technically humans... to her, they were just mutants with a special name, because there were so many of them. It was a gap in knowledge that was humorous for someone as street-smart as she was. Regardless of the young woman's answer, the prawn turned her attention to her hands, which wrung together anxiously.
>> "... So, did Devon invite you here as well?"
Her mind replayed that morning where, in desperation, she'd turned to Devon for help. Watching a friend die, another man dying by her own hands, the wall of her apartment being blown-out. She had been desparate. Terrified. As any sane person would have been. She couldn't go to Zinnia, couldn't take that trouble to her parent's house. What if she'd been volatile? She couldn't go to Xavier's either, for the same reason. Devon was all she had.
"No..." the prawn said, after a pregnant pause, "I cane to hin... he was all I had."
Her expression pinched, as if something had stung her, or she was holding back tears.
"I work downstairs, at In-ser-no," she murmured, "I knew Hadden has resources, and could 'ro'ly hel' nee out..."
The prawn continued to slice away at the small wooden block, her gaze very pointedly directed away from the woman's face. Surely someone that pretty couldn't have too many troubles integrating into society.
>> "I know what you are talking about. I have been... um, taking time off in my apartment."
Shame on Jack, for assuming someone human-looking couldn't know how she felt. A shade of surprise flickered across her face, and she paused in the carving to look at the other young woman. Like really, truly look at her.
>> "When I go out it is like I'm always on edge... so I only came this far today."
"Nee too," the prawn sighed, "I's only gone out sore... to get sued-" "Food", which was the optimal codeword for "booze", "-'ut still sings kee' ha'ening e'ery tine I go out." Like blowing-up METAbots in the defense of a stranger. Ugh. The prawn resumed carving the wood. Some of the hard angles of the block were adopting curves here-and-there. She'd have to work her way up to going out again... but at least she lived right above where she worked.
>> "My name is Sveta, by the way. And yours?"
"Jack," the prawn answered back, "Short sore Jacquelyn. Nice to neet you."
The prawn wasn't sure what else to say... after all, Sveta had come out to watch some t.v. ... the prawn wasn't going to interrupt that.
Jack's head snapped to attention when a soft voice interrupted the downward spiral of anxious thoughts. A really pretty blonde woman was standing at the edge of the lounge, softly pressing to see if it was alright for her to intrude. The prawn’s antennae lifted.
“O-oh, no, it’s no trou’le at all,” Jack mumbled bashfully, gesturing to the surrounding couches, “‘lease. I insist.”
Her lavender eyes cut towards the floor. She could feel her throat clenching shut, one of her fingers developed a tic. It’s fine, she told herself. You’re fine. You aren’t going to hurt anyone. Some company will do you good. Even if said company was just watching t.v. and not actually talking to her.
“S-sorry iss I seen on-edge,” the prawn muttered quickly, digging into her bag and fishing out a block of wood and a whittling knife. Carving would help cool her nerves… hopefully, “I, uh… you e’er… not talk to anyone sore a while, and den when it cuns tine to talk to sun-one again, you don’t really know how?”
God that sounded so dumb. It was true, though. Words creaked out of the prawn’s mouth as though her voice was a rusted-over hinge. In the wake of her explosive development, the prawn had been a bit shellshocked… through moving, through rehabilitation, through attempted (and failed) reintegration… she was so busy trying to function that she kind-of forgot to speak sometimes. Agitatedly, Jack began whittling at the wood, her knife shaving-off a corner with a satisfying *shik!*
“Nay’e that sounds silly,” the prawn dismissed the sentiment.
It had been two hours. The sun was up. The city was awakening from a long night’s rest, starting their work-day with a cup of coffee, a spare breakfast, a shower…
Jack had had none of those. She hadn’t slept, she hadn’t eaten, she hadn’t showered. She’d found some hiding place in an industrial district, shivering and sobbing, as she contemplated her options. It was beyond the prawn, if the destruction of her apartment complex was all over the news or if it had just been swept under the rug as another “mutant power gone wrong”. Jack could hardly scrap together enough coherent thought to ponder that, however. Her mind was spiraling down a path of stomach-knotting sorrow and dread, and a dull ache was growing in her arm.
Where could she go? She had nowhere. No family. She couldn’t go to Zinnia. Not in this state. Times like these she wished she was still in a gang. She wished she had that network of support to protect her from the law…
Dimly, her mind was drawn to a night at Inferno-- why now, of all times, she was remembering this was beyond her. Devon was having a drink in the back of the club, in a private booth, with men who wore suits that were too nice, too much jewelry, etc. A toadlike man that exuded power. This wasn’t the first guest that Devon entertained, and it wouldn’t be the last. Wealthy cats who likely held some sway within the city.
Even if he was a good man… he was a rich man… a powerful one… who hosted a nonprofit organization that helped provide a “safe-haven” for mutants. Devon fit the bill for someone who had connections. Jack sniffled and unfolded herself, a dull pang pulsating in her arm. He was her only hope. If anyone knew how to make someone disappear, it would be him.
===
Keeping to the alleys and quiet streets prolonged the walk over. But, soon enough, she crossed the threshold into Devon’s building. It was a quiet morning-- good. She crossed the grand entryway, past the entryway to Inferno, and towards a row of elevators. The prawn hit the button to go “Up”, a door dinged and slid open.
“Lobby,” a smooth, female voice announced. Jack stepped in. Devon was on the top floor. She selected the appropriate button.
Up, up, up, the elevator went. It was a high-speed elevator, but one that only made you feel heavy for just a moment, and didn’t bump around too much. Soon enough, the doors slid open, with a quiet “bing”.
“Penthouse,” the same female voice whispered.
Jack walked carefully across the carpeted floor, towards the doorway that led to Devon’s place. Outside, there was a buzzer, a camera, and a small speaker. Jack pressed the buzzer and waited, shifting uncomfortably. She looked tired. Tears still rimmed her eyes, and she shivered with a chill that went beyond just physically being cold.
The speaker clicked.
“Yes?”
“Hadden,” Jack greeted, the relief in her voice barely concealed, “Is nee. C-can ‘e talk? Is now a good tine?”
Her voice was thin with desperation, and Jack hated it. She hated sounding vulnerable, and she hated that she was turning to Devon-- her employer-- for help. She should’ve just run.
Color the prawn positively touched. Winnie sounded like a really pleasant person, even though at the present Jack only knew her as a kiwi. A flicker of a smile drifted across her features, and she hummed contentedly. The bird nodded, and this propelled Jack further, down the sidewalk and around the corner.
A scooter was indeed parked there, an eyesore of international orange. Good. It didn't get stolen or scrapped for parts, both very real concerns on the city streets. The bird breathed a sigh, and then-- POP!!! wasn't a bird at all.
Jack flailed for a moment at the sudden increase of weight, thinking for a panicked moment that she might drop the bird-shifter. She managed to maintain her hold, looking rather alarmed as a very human pair of arms wrapped around her massive neck. The heavier figure in her arms sent a spasm of pain up the arm she punched with, and Jack gritted her maxillae.
"W-Winnie?!" she stammered. Of course it was Winnie. And the prawn knew Winnie was a mutant so, the logic would follow that eventually Winnie wouldn't look like a bird. The gears were turning in the prawn's head. It took a moment for her to realize that there was, in fact, a young woman now in her arms.
>> ”Ah, there you are Jackie. Excuse me, I hope I didn’t startle you. I guess you managed to calm me down. Aren’t you the best?”
Bewildered. That would be a good way to describe Jack's expression. She was bewildered. Winnie was really cute-- really, really cute. She kissed her two forefingers and touched the thing plates of Jack's face, just above her surgical mask. Thank god for armored cheeks, because Jack could feel her face radiating heat.
"A- a little started," Jack admonsihed, gently setting the other young woman down, "S- sorry."
She took Winnie's appearance in, appraising her. She didn't look even vaguely bird-like in this form. Just tiny.
"Sink you got it s'run here?" the prawn asked carefully. In human form, surely the young woman wouldn't need her help pushing the bike or carrying a gas can (if she even had one) or anything of the sort. But the prawn was also providing a window for Winnie to either dismiss her and part ways, or to invite her long. Jack had served her purpose and she didn't want to outstay her welcome.
The prawn could count, on her two primary hands, the number of times she'd been out of the apartment in the past two months-- and that was saying something, since she only had six fingers. In two months, her anxiety had had no improvement. Every venture beyond the confines of Hadden's building made Jack feel like she was drowning-- pulse climbing uselessly, unable to catch her breath, the air around her pressing in, vision darkening... It didn't help that one of her half-dozen ventures out ended in decimating a glitchy METAbot in defense of a talking bird.
Inside, it wasn't much better-- she wasn't sleeping well, and the tiniest things set her off. Be it the guilt of accidentally killing someone (though she was acting in self-defense... the man had been wielding a gun and had already killed her doppelganger), or the dismay over losing someone dear to her heart, or the fact that she couldn't see Zinnia again... or even if she could, Jack couldn't bring herself to endanger Zinnia or the student at Xavier's. Sometimes, the inkling that she should turn herself in surfaced, but no-- the prawn had always been a runner. She couldn't stop now. And besides-- most people thought she was dead. After all, they'd found... Jude... shot in the hallway of her apartment. He didn't revert when he'd been shot, either... he looked like her. What else would they think?
To say that Jack was a mess was an understatement... and, in the past two months, she'd mostly just bided her time, and hoped for improvements were necessary, and to fade into obscurity in other less savory facets of her life.
Today, in a display of bravery, the prawn had decided to leave her unit and sit in the lounge on her floor of the building. There were a number of apartment units, each housing a resident (though perhaps some apartments were empty) and between all of these apartments, a common lounge with couches, a t.v., a table with four chairs, and some snack machines were shared. There were even a few desktop computers. Venturing to the lounge was a baby-step towards hopefully, eventually, acclimating herself to going outside once again. Without the panic attacks that she presently fell subject to.
Armed with a messenger bag full of things to do, the prawn left her apartment and stole towards the seating area. She chose a spot on the end of one couch, taking a seat and tucking her knees against her chest. Already her heart was hammering. What if someone else came out? What if something happened to them? The pinpricks of light had started to glow along the spines and ridges of her arm, indicating the anxiety that her heartbeat did a perfect job of conveying.
"No, no, no..." the prawn muttered to herself, grinding her mandibles. Glowing preceded explosive punches. She had to calm down. In the bright light of the lounge, the weak illumination from her bioluminescent pores almost looked like sparkles. Jack rubbed her arms, as if to wipe away the anxiety and the luminous pores... maybe this was a mistake...
It happened in a blur. The man who’d been struck with the toilet’s tank lid was grasping for his gun, a curtain of blood spilling from his brow. Jude stomped on his hand, eliciting a yell, and turned to run for Jack’s bedroom at the other end of the house.
He never made it.
The man whose gun had been pointed at Jack turned down the hall, fired once… twice… Jude began to raise his hand to his throat, then crumpled to the ground.
“Jude!!”
The blonde man turned back towards Jack, but she was faster—Jack caught him by the neck and threw him across the room. The man fell with a crash into a bookshelf, before crumpling to the floor. She wanted to kill him… to make him pay for what he did… but… no…
Her eyes stung with tears and, through her swimming vision, she could almost see pinpricks of blue light sparking to life along the ridges of her carapace. She moved towards the felled man. If he wasn’t already unconscious, she’d beat the sh** out of him until he got there, and then she’d let the cops deal with him. With both of them.
“He was like a son to nee… like san’ily…”
“You have the wrong g-“ the man in the hall sputtered.
“LIKE A SON!” Jack yelled, her voice raw. The sonoluminescence flared as her temper spiked, it was undeniable, now. She was glowing, “AND YOU KILLED HIM.”
She heard a gun click, the prawn spun, her reaction was reflexive. She couldn’t hit the guy from here, but her body moved on its own accord—fist balled, arm drawn, and—released. Kra-KOOOOM. With the gesture alone, a shockwave was released. And, in the narrow apartment, was like a bomb had been set off.
Everything was flung away from the prawn’s fist. Furniture. Eletronics. The outer façade of Jack’s apartment. Window’s shattered. Blond, gun-toting assailant was hurled against the wall as if hit by an invisible bus. The force of the shockwave filled the apartment with dust. A gunshot cut over the din, and Jack dropped to the floor, her breathing ragged.
What… the f***… was that?!
She remained on the floor, her face scrunching in fear and despair. Jude... goddamnit Jude... it wasn't the first person she'd lost to a gunfight... but she hoped it would be the last...
"Triiiiaaaaa!" a voice cut through the haze, "Triiiiiaaaaaa!"
The man from the hallway. He was charging into the dust, towards the crumpled man, past Jack-- she wasn't his priority right now. Beyond the apartment, shouts were erupting. The neighboring tenants were waking-up. Jack couldn't hear that, though. Her ears were ringing. Swimming lavender eyes watched as the twin checked his motionless brother's pulse... nothing... he grit his teeth... raised his gun and pointed it in Jack's direction... but... his gaze cut towards the door in. People would be gathering soon. The blonde man pocketed the pistol and ran.
Jack rose stiffly to her feet, a searing pain shooting up her arm. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the maw of the hole in the wall, where a trio of narrow windows had once been. Did I do that? The blonde man who'd been caught in the explosion sat, with unseeing eyes, limply against the wall. A trail of blood was working its way down his chin. Jack swore, her mandibles trembling. What now?
They'll lock you up. They'll kill you. Murderous muties are never let go. They'll kill you without thinking twice. A sob escaped Jack. They'd killed Jude. And Jack had unwittingly exacted her revenge. And... that other one... Tria's twin... he might be back. No, if he was with some sort of gang, he'd definitely be back. She couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe.
Jack's thoughts catapulted through more urgent and less articulate imaginings, until the panic propelled her to the gaping maw of her apartment. She was only a few stories up. She had to escaped. The other tenants were gathering in the halls. The ringing in her ears had finally subsided enough that she could hear that. Jack crouched at the maw, looking towards the street below and... jumped...
A dull pang of pain shot through her legs, but Jack fought the stiffness in them, and found the strength to run. She didn't know where she would go... but it had to be away from here.
A Metropolitan Transportation Authority bus rolled up to the corner of 7th Avenue and West 137th Street, less than a block away from Jacquelyn Dyer’s residence. Two identical blonde men in button-up shirts and slacks disembarked, one of who was attentive to a tablet clasped firmly in his hands.
Tria gestured wordlessly towards the next street up. Dyo followed his gesture. It was close. The bus disembarked, thinking little of the two. Perhaps they were on their way to a friend’s house, to crash for the night?
The streets were quiet, an occasional sleepy car rolling past, without paying either man much heed. The two strode unnoticed down the street and around the corner, to the right, onto a narrow unpopulated row of brownstones.
Their gazes tilted in the direction of where the GPS signal was pinging, like a beacon. One of the nondescript buildings, four stories tall. In any other time of day, the process for hunting the creature down would take quite a while. But at this time of night, only a few windows were illuminated by lights from within. The two men crossed the street, gazes pointed towards the lit windows, and ascended the steps into the apartment building.
===
Jack prodded distractedly at the pale, uncooked chicken breast, breaking it apart with a spatula. Four chicken breasts had been marinated in teriyaki sauce before being tossed onto the pan. They’d be ready in a bit. The prawn glanced towards her phone, which laid on the counter, a blue light blinking insistently at her.
Zinnia…
Zinnia knew she was quitting Chrysalis tonight. She’d probably wanted to know how it had gone. Maybe meet up. But Jack had other things on her mind right now…
Zinnia would know what to do in this situation. She had the medical background to treat someone with an injury like Jude’s… but… truth be told, Jack didn’t want Zinnia over here right now. Not with how weird the kid was acting. His eye was all f***ed up, he barely spoke, and where the Hell were his clothes? It was too f***ing weird, and Jack couldn’t risk bringing her girlfriend over. She’d handle it herself, and call for help if it was absolutely necessary.
Knock, knock, knock—
A rapping at the door drew the prawn’s attention. Jack set the spatula down on the counter and flicked the burner off, moving the half-baked chicken breasts. Who could that be, at this hour? The prawn padded across the kitchen, towards the front door to her apartment. Diagonally across from the front door was the bathroom, and fat drops of blood from Jude’s wound. Jude looked up inquiringly from his seat at the edge of the bathtub.
“Stay,” the prawn hissed at her doppelganger, closing the door to the bathroom preemptively. Jack peered through the peephole. Two blonde men stood outside of the door. Jack slid the door-chain into place, and undid the deadbolt lock. The door was opened marginally, enough for a lavender eye to scowl out.
“You lost?” the prawn grunted, “It’s late.”
Or early. The wee hours of the morning were difficult to label, sometimes. The identical men stared for a fraction too long, and the prawn’s expression tensed in annoyance.
“Oh, sorry!” one of them said dismissively, “Wrong apartment!”
The prawn huffed and began to close the door. She didn’t have time for this—she had a beat-up kid to bandage and chicken to bake—but before she could re-latch the deadbolt, a muted shot rang from the hall, and wood from the door was sent splintering.
“Wh-?”
The prawn scrambled out of the way, shielding her eyes from the spray of wood. A gaping hole sat where the door-chain had once been. Jack struggled to her feet, running into the kitchen for something with which she could defend herself—defend Jude—who were these guys?
Whoever they were, they let themselves in. Guns drawn. Silencers affixed. Jack scrambled back, one hand outstretched, eyes wide with terror.
“The hell do you want?” she demanded, her voice thin with fear, “Don’t nean no trou’le, ‘lease, just— don’t go in dere!”
The other man was testing the doorknob to the bathroom and—against Jack’s caution—opened the door. He was greeted by the lid to the toilet’s tank. It connected with the side of his face, and sent him sprawling to the floor.
The prawn's antennae lifted at the sounds that escaped the bird. Weird birdsong. It took a moment for the woman to realize that the bird was laughing. Well, you couldn't very well tell the gender of a bird just by lookin at it. Or, at least, Jack couldn't... maybe some wildlife t.v. show host could. Winnie confirmed that she was female, and the "f***ing classiest", to boot. This earned a grin from the prawn, as well.
"Jackie," the prawn confirmed. She was astonished that her newfound friend had even bothered to ask-- people usually just went with the male pronouns, and Jack didn't care enough to correct them. It wasn't as though she was actively trying to seem female anyways. The prawn rounded the corner, approaching the spot where she'd first scooped Winnie and booked it. From here, she wasn't entirely sure where to walk, and this was apparent in the fact that she paused.
"Utt... ahead?" Jack rumbled, uncertain. Hesitant steps were taken towards the next corner, around which the scooter would allegedy (hopefully) be parked.
