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.
He had to be more careful in the future. Reckless vehicle acquisitions just weren't his style.
He kept silent through the summary of their agreement. The guy was putting off heat like a furnace. He was angry. He let pink hair deal with him. He let pink hair plead his case. He really didn't like how they pulled off to whisper sweet nothings, no doubt about broken bones and repercussions. Concussions? Repercussion concussions. Possibly. He wasn't sure what they were saying. He waited until they returned.
He was thankful he was free. He was glad he had worked this out. The repayment would suck. The mission was a bomb. He had made an enemy. He had revealed himself to a "good guy". Even if he had lied about his name, that put some power in pink hairs hands. He didn't like that. The mission failure wouldn't look good and he didn't like that either. It was bad for business.
A simple apology was not going to cut it here. When they came back he kept it simple. "I've agreed to everything he said. I'll make it up to you. I never wanted to crash into you. I regret it. Im sorry. New clothes and repairs. What he said." That was all.
Legitimate business. Right. Extreme denial. It sent red flags up. He'd gotten cocky but that wasn't going to phase him. Unfortunately, speaking to them at the moment seemed impossible unless the cellphone was really a cellphone.
What would be useful to this man?
"I understand, sir." He had come off presumptuous and He wanted to apologize for that. Such apologies would be most professional done through actions rather than words. This is what happens when you put a person in a situation without all relevant data. They make mistakes. "We're a legitimate company that works in data management as well as research and development. Cerberus, inc. sent me to give this to you."
He had not been given permission to pull out the phone. He pulled out the phone. It was a metallic shade of gray black. Surprisingly, it did not turn into a spider. Instead, it rang. Elliott looked at Ambrose. "You wanted to speak with Cerberus." He said simply, and offered Jaager the phone.
He idly hoped the man chose to hang up, just so he could see what happened. Operating in the dark was starting to bug him. He had come off looking unprofessional and gotten cocky. It had shown. He was better than that. If he were truly being set up to take some sort of position here, he should have been a part of that. The whole thing was poorly handled. The sisters were better than that. He was better than that. And he was coming off looking like some middleman unimportant to the conversation, when really, he felt like he should be anything but.
You know what. He made the decision. He hung the phone up himself.
"Before you talk to them, you should know that I really despise the unprofessional attitude they showed here today putting me on the spot like this without giving me every detail. They're worth listening too, for sure. Their leader has a real eye for the future and a knack for sound business predictions. They have someone who is excellent at learning things and making decisions. She has drive, that one. The last one is a real people person. She handles business contacts and contracts. The fact they are cocky and have a weird sense of humor can be endearing, but I sense your patience is running thin, and wanted to apologize for that. You are a businessman and this has been handled poorly. Your time is valuable. I'm just going to take the lead and tell you what I think. I think Cerberus is a valuable source of information and can help your company. I think that I can show this, and better, I can answer your questions. Because this whole thing feels like a botched job interview, and I think we could be useful to you. Especially me. Their decision to handle things this way when they could have arranged things better just bugs me. If I'd been arranging this, the last thing I would ever have done would be come to your place of business, put you on guard, and confuse you." It's simply bad for business. "It just feels like Chaos."
He didn't want to be the employee who asked no questions and did everything by what people said. He wanted initiative. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be more than a dumb delivery guy, because he was. Not a squire. Maybe a knight.
No talky talk. Okay. He could dig it. Whatever it was, if anything, was personal. He got it. They could move on. "Okay," he said, and meant it. He wasn't going to keep asking. He wasn't a psychiatrist. Meditation might help him deal, it might not. If he wanted to talk, he could, but Elliott wasn't going to force him to sit on a couch and tell him about his mother, or what this ink blot looked like, and how that meant he wanted to have sex with his mother... Or whatever Freud had been getting at. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, dammit. And sometimes, silence is good.
"Let's sit down."
He found them both a good spot and sat down in the shade. He sat in a meditative stance, legs folded together, hands resting on them. He relaxed and focused on what he was going to say.
"in martial arts, awareness is important. You need to have an inner calm that allows you to focus. Martial artists train their minds to achieve that calm focus that lets them see a punch coming, and decide what they do in order to prevent it from hitting their face. Since I only know about meditation through martial arts, you'll have to excuse the lack of spiritualism. If you want that, I have a book by me about magical healing meditation mysticism that may or may not have a rude sticker on it now thanks to some mansion student. Any questions so far?"
An internship application? Well yeah, that was the code phrase, but-- he kept his face very still for the moment, while Mr. Ambrose and him mentally went over the past ten seconds. If the sisters wanted him to be an intern with this place, yeah, he could do that. There was probably good money there, and new business contacts were always good for business. Mr. Ambrose's confusion was also the perfect cue to deliver what he assumed was the real package. He found himself smiling a crooked zipper smile.
"Oh, it is, Sir." He drawled. "I'm going to reach into my pocket in a moment to pull out a cellphone. My hunch says it is probably going to contain valuable information on it from my business partners. My thought is that they wish to do business with you and desired an excellent cover story. They likely assumed you would use something like an internship when I walked off the street, as walking in like this is probably the sort of thing that might seem odd. Aren't deliveries usually handled by middlemen, handed to middlemen? My thought is that you aren't a middleman. Otherwise, why would you be involved in handing out internships, and why would you act so odd about the delivery, in-general?"
He paused long enough to get some sort of visual confirmation. A look. A nod. A word. Anything. He knew the things he had said would elicit some sort of reaction. He wanted to make absolutely certain he had permission to continue before he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket, because some types take things pulled from pockets as a threat, especially when they're caught off-guard.
"Deliveries are my game," he explained. "I'm good at my job. I can be discrete, and I know about the looks of things. They obviously want to make a good impression with you and wanted to look professional by making this interview legit. This cellphone I have in my pocket. May I?" He really wanted to whip it out. He gestured to his breast pocket, where it stayed. "I haven't looked at it. I never look at my deliveries unless instructed to. Privacy for my employer is very important to me." He nodded to himself, at the thought. "It's probably going to turn into a spider or something. Don't be shocked when it does. They like putting people off guard."
Security breach was a good phrase, but not quite true. In truth, Megara had wanted to use her powers to infiltrate Jaager to dig up more information on the man, the myth, the company, but she had been foiled. Foiled. Mechanical spiders made of metal scraps and the best real world technology she could fit on their tiny mentally animated metal bodies were great, but there were no match for Jaager worldwide building security. Panu would have been pleased, had he known, though it was unlikely he would have played a part in the waylaying of her plan.
Tiny metal spiders made it easily past the entrance defenses through way of clinging to those entering the premises. From there, it got hairy.
She had wanted to go through grates. Panu was not in charge of the grates. He would not have sensed the artifices on any computer networks, as they were on Megara's own personal psychic wifi, but he would have seen them on cameras if they had stepped out in view after jumping off the hitched ride. Their goal wasn't to waltz down halls, however, but to go through vents. And while Panu might have seen them if they had entered the vents in front of a camera, he DEFINITELY would have noticed once the motion detection and laser grid caught them in the act. She had called the intelligence-gathering mission off. If Cybele had told her that she had seen that coming, Megara would only have replied with disdain.
The precognitions that led their eyes to focus on Jaager and his company (as well as the memories attached to any items she managed to attain connected to those therein) was cheating, as far as her two sisters were concerned. Kineta hated them especially. She would have done a full frontal assault. They don't let Kineta make the plans.
The precognition was simple. Ambrose was a man. No. He was a dragon. A dragon man, but he was still Ambrose! It went on to show buildings potentially on fire and uncertainty about a new world order and rebirth and even more uncertainty. It could have been dreams of fire or dreams of a new world or dreams of a new world engulfed in fire (or dreams of a new world, being engulfed in fire). Really, the fire and dreams seemed the only certainty, other than the man at the center of it. They had no idea it was anything to do with Ragnarok, just that it was a vision from a "visionary". But the sisters wanted in.
Visions of the future are mysterious and confusing. What might be may change and the thought of measuring what may and might might change it, but one thing is certain. Good money is to be made in the business of supporting new world orders. Just look at the history of America if you want a single example. You won't have to look hard.
Money was why they had expressed interest in Jaager. But not blackmailing. Information business. And that business requires putting the right foot forward to earn trust. They had chosen Elliott's. He knew a whopping zero percent of the background leading up to this job.
It was highly unlikely Ambrose had heard of the Cerberus sisters. After all, that WOULD have been a security breach. The appointment on the calendar had been for CERBERUS, inc., but while they went by the Cerberus sisters, that wasn't their real last name. Why would your last name be Spot?
The envelope felt light in Elliott's hands. Whatever was in it had to be important.
"Yeah, I'm the messenger." He said politely. He added "Sir" a moment later.
His sneakers were not dress shoes and did not match the garb. He was suddenly conscious of that fact. For some reason he felt that this man was not some middling middle-aged middle manager man, and that he should mind his manners.
He had not been asked his name. He had been the name of the person who sent him. It would be bad manners to tell someone who doesn't care about your name that very thing, so he kept his answer succinct. The sisters had instructed him on this. They had told him to answer all questions honestly whilst maintaining anonymity for them and their dealings as best he could. He was to call them by a certain name and say a certain catch phrase. Cybele had insisted. He did so now. "I was sent by Cerberus, inc. I am here about an internship."
He passed Jaager the envelope. Somewhere, Cybele was probably cackling at her foresight.
The envelope contained official Jaager worldwide paperwork about an internship, all filled out without Elliott's knowledge, even though he had signed it. After the paperwork in the folder, there were letters of recommendation written in code language, detailing Elliott's excellent and trustworthy service for Cerberus, inc. His exceedingly dutiful work as a delivery boy and gofer. His time spent interning. The wide range of business contacts he has access to and developed during his time with the company. Art collectors, jewelers, dealers. Museums. Bankers. Etc. Other shining words of praise. Listings of his exploits. That was basically it. Light envelope. Very official. The rest was on the "cellphone" he was supposed to hand Ambrose after he had looked over the very official paperwork, when the time was right.
(( OOC: the cellphone has way more interesting stuff for once Jaager is done being befuddled by a very routine internship application. Feel free to decline on the basis of not knowing this Cerberus and having never done dealings with them before. That sets things up nicely.))
Up. Up. Up. Up. And still, he looked up. The headquarters of Jaager worldwide were much like many other towering headquarters towers in New York, save for one thing he immediately saw. They were much taller. Hell, they even loomed over Trump tower. Elliott had a feeling the company's CEO felt pretty good about himself. He noted one other thing as he entered the building. It had excellent security. There were two armed guards with earpieces by the entrance, and at least one visible security camera. Where there was one, there were sure to be others. He didn't make a show of looking for the others. Instead, he walked in with purpose, like he belonged.
He he took a moment to speak with the secretary at the front desk, and gave her his information. There was a name and a phrase. He had a mission directive. It was a delivery for someone named Mr. Ambrose. He hadn't looked up who that was but it probably was some middle level NPC in an office halfway up the skyscraper. You always need a middleman. The Cerberus sisters were always good to count on for having their ducks in a row and having things planned out. Cybele, especially. That woman was scary with her precision on things. It was almost like she could see the future... But that was ridiculous. Then again, he would never trust Megara around his cellphone, and Kineta was scary strong and had lightning punches, so it was possible. They were keen criminal minds. This was their assignment. It was surely important.
He had no idea what was in the envelope. Information and intentions, no doubt. With a place as sweet as this skyscraper, the owner was not hurting for money. The fact the sisters were interested in him sent signals to Elliott that he might be crooked somehow, or that at least someone in the operation was. This Ambrose guy, maybe, buuuuut... He'd see where it lead him. He had dressed discrete. He could be discrete. He was green with red eyes and an odd number of fingers on each hand, but hey! He could be discrete as hell. Gray rental suits and cheap ties, notwithstanding.
The secretary took the details he gave her down, and made a brief call. He waited, looking around and wanting to whistle uncomfortably, but he did not. Discretion, people. He had it. She finished talking to whoever it was (a Mr. Jagger, maybe? Or another more important secretary, more likely), and turned her focus back to him. A minute later, he started on his way.
The path to the elevator had seemed straightforward, but after that, things got labyrinthine in detail. Sterile white hallways and turn after turn. He had asked for a post it note. She had not obliged. If you can't remember the details, you deserve to get lost. It was good he had plenty of experience in memorizing directions quickly. Fifteen minutes later, he reached a sterile exterior office. A tiger woman and security gave him pause. He spoke politely and summarized his point of business. He was being expected. She flexed her claws as she directed him to enter an office. He had the feeling he would not want to disappoint her or disobey. He followed her instructions to the letter. This seemed to please her, or at least render her less severe.
"Yeah?" Elliott aimed a sideways glance the wolf mans way. A party, huh. That seemed believable, except... For some reason, Elliott didn't feel like an uptight place like the mansion would let kids stay up late creating a noisy distraction for other students. Maybe Tyson could hear better, and what normally would not be a noisy distraction for some was for him. That could very well be. That didn't seem so odd to consider. There was also the possibility that Tyson could have been lying. Having told many, many, many, many (many) lies in his lifetime, Elliott was familiar with what a liar sounded like. And acted like. Behaved. It was great he was getting better about conversations, but--
"You know, if it was me and I was having problems adjusting to something new that was a lot more primal than I was used to, I might have nightmares or something. But then, having better senses than the average bear might keep me up also. I don't know. I've never been a mutant like that so things could be different, but." He arched a hairless eyebrow ridge at Tyson and stopped speaking. He felt like maybe he had hit a nail on its head.
If Tyson didn't want to talk about it with him, that was fine. He would have to talk about whatever it was eventually. It was possible he hadn't been lying and the kids really had partied. Elliott wasn't some sort of human lie detector. Those don't exist. Maybe mutant ones do, which is awesome, but not humans. And he certainly was fallible. If he just wanted to meditate and move on, okay. Elliott just wanted him to know he understood if something difficult was being dealt with. Also, Elliott had enough paranoia to expect a lie or a misdirection when he smelled one. In his line of work, if you don't have an eye for those sorts of details, you can wind up dead (yadda yadda). The whole paranoid, people might be lying, gotta keep secrets and never trust a soul shtick felt played out. Played out, but true.
I've got a character who could use another good thread! He doesn't speak any interesting languages, which is a pity because he never learned the language of his home planet, and if he had, we would have had a really interesting time!! Note: just kidding. He doesn't come from the planet Vulcan or anything, just earth.
Elliott has been known to pickpocket, as well as run packages for criminals. He also just started spending time at the mansion, and decided there was good money in rescuing people from muggers (don't ask). If you've got any ideas, I'd like to hear them. Elliott is pretty malleable right now. The only thing he really hates is the police. Maybe our thread can involve the police? J/k/maybe.
The walk out of the mansion didn't take much time. A couple of students passed them in the halls on the way. One was blue and had fairy wings. The other one was chasing her on a ball of air. They were both chasing dj roomba, the dj roomba. The little robot vacuumed as hard as it could ahead of the hounds on its heels.
To reiterate, it was a beautiful day outside. Whether that was due to mutant intervention, or due to average weather patterns, the fact remained. It would have been pretty cool, to glance out at the sky beyond the lawns, towards the forest between the other mansions in the area, and to see black storm clouds entirely different from the sunny skies above. To casually notice an Asian mutant staring upwards, focusing his own personal rain cloud away from home. None of that was visible to Elliott, however. Maybe it was the case. Maybe not. Feel free to exercise your own imagination whenever you can, he might have said. But he didn't. He just made small talk.
"So, Tyson." Elliott said. " You seem to have a better handle on talking. It sounds like you're getting the hang of that side of your mutation. Have you been sleeping alright, though? You seem... Tired." The weariness in the wolf mans voice could have been anything, but... Imaginations could run wild and give instincts just as often as they gave wild ideas.
He walked them towards a nice spot of grass by the shade of a towering northern red oak.
She seemed a little reluctant towards the idea of meditation. She didn't jump at it. It seemed like she was less enthused and more being polite. Then she gave an excuse about bears and decapitation.
"I actually knew that." Elliott replied calmly. "Bears aren't weak creatures. Something tells me Tyson could handle it, though. Maybe I'll introduce you some time."
Really, whether he introduced the two of them was up to both parties. Tyson seemed the sort to like fitting in and making friends. He didn't see what it could hurt. And if she did give them trouble, he could handle a polar bear. He being himself, 'me', Elliott. It'd be rude to put that entirely in a wolfs hands. Wolves don't even have hands.
She considered his comment about mutations.
Elliott laughed at her suggestion. "That's a fine thought, but I think it isn't that simple. See, I don't think I'm a mutant. My origins are a bit more Neil Degrasse Tyson's Cosmos than Darwin and the origin of species." He pointed up at the faint trace of moon slice in the sky. "Maybe whatever planet I'm from had bug men, but this--" a tongue slid a good five inches out from his palm and waggled at her. " doesn't seem very buggy to me." Hand tongue waved. "Plus the whole alien pod baby thingy has me guessing I'm not human, no offense."
"Hey Tyson! Yeah, sorry about that." He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn't checked I. As soon as he could have. That was awkward. Bad manners . "I've come by a couple of times, but you've been out. Is today a good day for meditation practice? I was thinking the mansion grounds would be a relaxing place today. The weather is good."
He had looked into the teaching side of things. He had never really been a teacher. Loners rarely teach, or so he had figured. He had kept to himself. But he'd picked up a book on teaching, and one on meditation. He had the meditation book under his arm. He figured after their lesson, he could give it to him. With his claws, Tyson probably wouldn't be able to give it back in the same condition he'd been given... But Elliott hadn't spent any money on the book anyways. Tyson could probably figure it out. Maybe Elliott could just scan a few pages and give him stapled handouts. The mansion had a library. They could probably do that. Stapled handouts would be easier to flip through than a book.
The book wasn't perfect. There was more to the meditation he had been taught. This book focused on things from a mystical standpoint... That was weird. Some people believed meditation could speed a body's recovery or do many other things. Sure. But he'd just been taught about basic no spiritual stuff. So whatever.
A gust of wind rushed by behind him, and the book suddenly wasn't in his hand. A split second later, it was back again. Mutants. Kids. They could pull pranks like nobody else. He was pretty sure there was an obscene sticker on the books cover now. He audilbly sighed.
