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.
Jack’s experience with video games was limited at best, but she nodded despite her lack of understanding. Her power was the screen of a video game? Huh. Okay. She’d just have to settle for not knowing. Once the boy was out, Alice set-up the sign bemoaning the tendencies of the opposite gender. Jack huffed in mild amusement.
“Showers,” the prawn reported, “Sanitize and den s’ray down.”
They could do that together. Jack looked at Alice appraisingly. At least she was capable of wearing gloves. Jack had no such luck.
“Let’s do it,” the prawn agreed.
By some miracle, the two survived, despite the assault of stringent cleaning chemicals, unpleasant surprises, and the occasional (attempted) interruption by students needing to use the restroom. It was an experience that both would be happy to never have to endure again.
“Should talk to duh nan-ager at duh nightclu’ I’n at,” the prawn clicked ponderously, “Lots uzz nyutants dere, sun-tines duh con-sron-tations get… crazy.”
Gemma spoke of using her powers defensively, so that made the prawn certain that she could relate to “crazy confrontations".
“’eing an ada’ted would ‘ring sings to an a’rupt halt,” the prawn concluded. Then again… it would not benefit mutant customers who were just minding their own business—in fact, it might hurt business, if people were thrown into blinding pain just by entering an adapted field, like Jack had been.
“Does the aura turn on and oss?” the prawn queried, “Or is it al’ays on?”
The prawn leveled a stare at the man, her skepticism blatant in the expression of his eyes. Not his New York? There was only one New York, as far as Jack was concerned.
Despite his stammered protest, Jack was almost certain that the man was inebriated in some form or fashion. How else would you describe the passing-out in alleys and general incoherence?
“Hm,” Jack grunted, “Well… I ho’e you sine-d your New York.”
You didn’t gain anything from arguing with this type of person. Best leave them be. Jack began to make her retreat again.
The protest that the guy had not, in fact, been sleeping snagged Jack's attention. The prawn paused, turning to glance over her shoulder at the collapsed man.
>> "Where is this?"
"New York?" the prawn replied, "Near Harlen, to 'e 'recise."
Jack weighed her options. If he didn't know where he was, there was something more going-on than just napping in the alleyway. If there was something seriously wrong with him, and Jack left him here, his outcome would be on her hands.
"Are you on drugs?" the prawn grunted, turning sideways to face the guy.
As Gemma detailed all of her duties and responsibilities, the prawn listened, intrigued. That's right, high school counselors handled more than just psychological stuff. Some of it sounded pretty par for the course, but then, when she listed the additional things like "food, clothing, defense against parents", the prawn's respect for the woman deepened.
"So you're like... duh nuzzer hen at X'aier's?" Jack summarized. "Mother hen" was in no way meant to be reductive of Gemma's position. Moms were important, especially if relations with biological parents were shaky at best. If Gemma was the mom, that would make Jack... maybe an uncle of some sort. A weird, socially inept uncle.
Jack extended her hand towards the motionless man, one finger unfurled so as to touch his neck and check his vitals. She was inches away from him when he moved, and open his eyes. In spite of herself, the prawn squeaked in alarm, nearly dropping her basket of veggies. He was alive?! Jack rose to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Iss ya slee' in alleys, solks are gonna sink you're a dead guy," the prawn chastised. With a huff, and some incoherent muttering about "gooey guys", the prawn began to shuffle up the alley. She heard the guy getting-up, but now that he was confirmed not-dead, she wasn't going to stick around.
Most kids had the good sense to know when they weren't winning their battles and back the f*** down. This child, however, seemed to think that she could talk her way out of it. Or, at the very least, drive Jack so close to insanity that the prawn would somehow come to her side. What the f*** was she even talking about now? The prawn dragged a hand over her face, groaning audibly. She was like the thing that wouldn't shut up.
"Listen," the prawn said, placing her hands together, as if the gesture would somehow bestow infininte amounts of patience unto her, "I... really... really... don't care. At all."
She was inches away from throwing this airhead over her shoulder and hauling her *ss inside, or at the very least, losing her cool, "You sign a contract aster enrolling, dat says you read duh rules, and'll so-llow den. It's not duh school's sault dat you didn't actually read duh rules and essentially lied on a contractural agree-nent."
"Duh rules also ex'lain what hat-tens when you don't so-llow duh rules, such as-- getting written-utt neans getting detention," Jack explained. Her voice was tight in a way that demonstrated how done with this girl's sh** she truly was, "And dat sail-ure to do what your teachers or adults say-" the prawn gestured to herself, lest the girl not know who the "teacher or adult" was in this situation, "-can incur higher 'unish-nent."
The prawn did not even broach the subject of how she didn't care about the girl's mom, her old school, or whatever "individuality or low self esteem" she was referencing. The child very obviously had plenty of esteem and individuality, particularly given her... chattiness. At least she was walking towards the Mansion. That was a plus.
"Now," the prawn said, her eyes pinching in a smile. Her smile betrayed no friendliness, and was much like when a chimp or a dog bared its teeth in aggression. "We can go inside, now, and you get one detention. Or, you can argue dis nore, and try sore anuzzer detention. Your call. I has all night, and dere a lot uzz Saturday's dat we can hold detentions on."
"Like dis, all duh tine," the prawn avowed, "Sha'e-shist-ed only once."
If you got her drift. Jack readjusted her surgical mask.
When Gemma pieced together that Jack was talking about Amber, the prawn nodded eagerly. Amber was exactly who she meant! Amber was nice. A good person. She didn't seem bothered by the prawn's appearance in the least. Kind-of like Gemma!
>> "So... you work security? I think I saw your name on the list. How is that going so far?"
The prawn clicked to herself, pondering the question.
"Like it nore den nightclu's..." the prawn murmured, laughing faintly. It was her attempt at humor. Then, more emphatically, "I luzz duh kids. Dey're... awe-sun. Ne'er taught I'd actually... y'know, 'e good 'iss kids. E'er."
Working with a demographic that was always inebriated in one way or another made Jack jaded about working with people overall. Some nights made her wish she was still working construction. But working with kids was the outlet Jack never knew she'd enjoy.
"What your jaw entail?" the prawn inquired, returning the question, "Is a school counselor like a... psychiatrist?"
Psychiatrist was a good word. It was so easy to pronounce.
The prawn nodded her head at the sentiment. If anything there might be lipstick kisses in the girls' room. And the sanitary recepticles, but those were far less daunting than... guys' bathrooms overall. Alice remarked about her power giving her a "quest" for this, and the prawn uttered an inquiring chirr.
"What's your," the prawn flapped her hand, "Nyu-tation again?"
Had she asked that already? She could remember. Why would it give the girl quests? What did that mean. The prawn nodded up the hall, and the two of them progressed with the cart past the few students who had risen from their beds. Hey, it was Saturday-- early birds were few and far between, unless you counted the younger ones who got up early for cartoons.
Eventually they reached the boys' room, which was declared as such by a blue plastic sign. The prawn pushed the cart past the door and, certain it wouldn't budge, approached the door. With one hand she pushed the door effortlessly open.
"Any-un in here?" she demanded, not crossing the threshold.
"Yeah, gimme a sec!" a hoarse voice demanded.
"Here to clean, hurry utt," the prawn advised the unseen student, grimacing at Alice. The kid finished their business, came bustling out, and beelined for the door.
"Chief no way, you're the janitor too?!" the boy exclaimed, all gappy-toothed and grinning. His hair was in desparate need of combing.
"Gross, dude, wash 'er hands," the prawn said, her voice thinly amused despite the reprimand. She extended a foot, as if to toe him towards the sink.
"Fine, fine, fine," the kid went to the sink.
"Any-un else in here?"
"No, Chief."
It was the shortest hand-washing job ever, but at least there was soap and water. Jack allowed the kid past, who cheerfully held up hi still-dripping hands as he went.
"A'ight," Jack grunted, pulling out the sign that they could wedge in the doorframe, to keep kids out while they cleaned. The sign was passed to Alice, "I'll get cart. You do sign, 'lease?"
The prawn adjusted the basket in her arms, huffing softly. Though she didn't look the part, the prawn could often be found at farmers' markets. Yes, despite her distinct lack of the down-home, flannel-centered appearance, the prawn loved them-- clean, organic veggies at a cheap price, right from the source. She was currently walking home with her boon, which was in a handwoven basket. (Zinnia had insisted that it would be forty dollars well-spent-- and though Jack deigned to admit it, the basket was good for carrying copious amounts of veggies.)
Now, the prawn was a firm believer in minding your own business-- or, as some students referred to it "staying in her own lane". Staying in your lane meant avoiding any weird sh** you might see on your way home from the farmer's market, i.e. fights, druggies, a homeless guy on the stoop of a building, or any combination of those things.
Of course, there were exceptions-- someone starting trouble with a mutant, for one. And secondly, if someone was in grave danger and no one else was there to help. Literally, no one. The prawn hoped for neither of these things because, frankly, she wanted to get home and try this vegetable stirfry recipe she'd found-- this one used bell peppers!
The world had other plans. As she crossed the mouth of an alley, she heard the dull thud of a trash can, a clattering bottle. Stay in your lane, Jack. The prawn looked. If only she hadn't looked. The prawn had seen enough dead bodies to recognize a person when she saw one.
"Sh**," the prawn hissed, stalking into the alley. She should at least check for vitals, maybe call an ambulance. Something was seriously f***ed up about this guy, like he was melting. The prawn surveyed the gooey fellow. Probably mutant. Would he even have vitals?
The prawn's expression deadpanned as the girl tried to work the mental gymnastics of getting out of trouble. Jack began typing as she sputtered protests-- she didn't break curfew, she was in a maze, she was still on the grounds, had no intention of leaving, bla bla bla. Crossly, Jack deigned to begin typing a response, but there she was, explaining the rules to a quintessential blonde stereotype. She wasn't paid enough for this. The prawn pointedly clicked the button that recited what she wrote.
<<Breaking curfew means leaving the residential area, and you are outside of the residential area, not to mention the building itself. You need to face the same consequences as everyone else.>>
The prawn pointed to the girl, to herself, and to the building. They were going to go to the security office, she was getting written-up, and that was the end of the discussion.
Or so Jack had hoped. The girl went from crafting excuses to pleading. The prawn continued with her flat, disinterested expression. God, sometimes bouncing at the club was so much easier. She could've just hauled a girl like her out, no questions asked. If the girl wasn't endangering herself or others, however, she wasn't allowed to lay a hand on her. Xavier's rules. There were steps to calming a situation before physical force.
The prawn rolled her eyes, and shook her head. She didn't even know what "moo-moos" were, and it was the girl's own damn fault for sneaking out, and in the outfit she wanted to go out in, no less! Hadn't she even heard of "changing clothes off campus".
"Don't care," prawn grunted, nodding her head towards the building, "Gotta write you utt. Tine to go."
Jack's experience of the world was relatively insular-- she scarcely used her computer, was not connected to any social media, and spent any chunk of free time with Zinnia or wood-working. So, sufficeth to say, she was not aware of Adapteds. Prior to this, anyways.
"Too 'ad dat turning hyu-nan hurts as nuch as it did to turn nyu-tant," the prawn remarked, mostly to herself, "Dat'd 'e cool to see."
Not only were there others, but the range of their aura varied. Good to know. At least she'd know about the source for spontaneous body-pain and shrinking in the future.
The prawn saluted the other woman from her seating position.
"Nice to neet you," she echoed. She'd hangout while regaining her bearings. Her head still reeled a bit, and venturing back into her aura a second time had only encouraged the sensation to return.
"Sink I heard uzz you," the prawn said, as an after thought, "Srun a student. An-der." She held up her hands, covering her face so that only her eyes showed, pantomiming the face-covering worn by the student, "An-der? You know her?" She meant Amber. It was the girl's fault for having two unpronounceable consonants.
A what? Though the woman explained her abilities, in plain English, Jack looked dumbfounded. An aura that what now? Her brow twitched into a furrow, her mouthparts moving wordlessly as she attempted to process what the woman was saying.
"You nean to say..." Jack reiterated, "Dat iss I stayed around you long e-nuss... I... night look hyu-nan?"
That's what her power was, wasn't it? Looking like some rainbow-buggy motherf**ker. The opposite of her mutation was looking normal. Jack hoisted herself back up to her feet, with a minor struggle, and edged closer to the woman. Maybe... it wasn't a matter of being "in the woman's aura", but being "too far into it"? Or maybe she really was dehydrated and cramping.
Jack extended her hand, crossing the invisible barrier. As soon as she did, pain surged up her arm, the carapace beginning to slowly diminish before her eyes. It crackled like a tree uprooting itself as it fell. It was too much. Jack pulled her hand back, muttering a swear as she held her hand.
"Dat is..." Jack mused, "Wow. Sun-sing." She shook her hand, "Dat's incredi'le."
She rolled the water bottle back towards the woman, three-quarters of it consumed, as she replaced her surgical mask, sinking back into a seating position at a safe distance. Jack was curious to see what she'd look like as a human, but to endure the pain of reverting and then re-transforming... unthinkable. It was unthinkable.
"I'n Jack," she introduced herself, "Jacquelyn Dyer. On security."
The lady left briefly, allowing the prawn the opportunity to retrieve an ice cube from her glass and slip it under the surgical mask. The prawn was happily crunching down on an ice cube when the redhead returned, announcing that she had to leave, as she'd pissed the manager off.
"He shoulda sanked you sore 're-zenting a sight," the prawn murmured, raising her glass slightly to the redhead, "Nay'e I'll see ya 'round Xa'ier's."
