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.
If Memo were inclined to remember things any longer that he did, he would have worried about what the kid was talking about for longer than he did. Which was rather comparable to a stereotyped goldfish. Or maybe a guppy. Their brains were smaller, right? So they'd have less brain space and therefore less memory space, since they didn't store their memories as widely spread as he seemed to these days.
Eh, mutation changes were confusing enough to people who could keep track of minor details like what and when and how. Memo was more inclined to focus on what he was doing right now. Which was...
Leaning against a wall by himself in a part of time he didn't recognize one bit, at the apparent place he had been heading? At least according to his phone. He poked at the screen. It was broken? That was a pain. Literally; he just sliced his finger. Okay. He was at.... a school. For gifted- OH this was that mutant place. Huh. Why was he -
there was a kid dragging himself towards the main entrance of the school. A rather hurt looking kid, who seemed a little bit familiar.
Memo abruptly remembered the fight, a curving band on his right palm gleaming white under the dark fingerless gloves that let him run without accidentally, oh, spurting blood, but which also let him use his phone. And cut his fingertips on it (a dozen slices opened in that skin as he thought about it).
But the fight. The kid surrounded by a bunch of bruisers. Why was he back here and the kid up there - where'd the kid go? Memo jogged up the path, exhaustion and pain and cut fingertips all forgotten as he tried to figure out where the kid had gone. Inside? The door was open.
Kid was on the ground. Some old guy was coming out. Memo came to a halt, scratching his scalp. Er. "Uh, hi! I came across this kid getting mobbed in an alley. I heard somewhere'r'other that this place has healers around, so I brought him here. Can you help him?"
Memo grinned as the nurse set everything up in his phone. People who accepted his forgetfulness and helped him work around it were so great. He took the phone back and snuck a glance at the name she'd put in. Juliette. Now he could look at it whenever he forgot, and eventually it would get into the back of his memory well enough that he would actually remember it without issue.
Ooooh more good questions about his mutation. "All at once, kind of. If I trigger it by hitting this marking. It's not an instant of remembering everything fresh so much as... pausing while I go through the list in my head, I guess. I can usually remember where everything is for a little bit afterwards without a problem. Y'know, until I forget that I remember."
Assistant! He was introduced as her assistant! That made Memo grin, flashing a gloved thumbs-up at the kids as he closed the door behind himself and moved to the corner behind Juliette. He'd actually remembered to wear gloves for work, and today his hands were covered in thin grey fabric decorated with yellow dinosaurs.
From his casual background spot, Memo glanced over the mixture of students, vaguely reminded of his half-forgotten high school days. Tons of apparent non-mutants, that hadn't changed. There hadn't been an undeniable visible mutant in most of his classes though, not that he remembered. His visibility had come after he'd graduated, and really very recently even if it usually felt like he'd looked as he did now forever. The pictures of him as a long-haired kid his mother still had stashed away just felt like someone had photoshopped his markings away.
He also had the casual advantage of being mistaken for a heavily tattooed human - and the immortality to survive an act of anti-mutant violence.
Memo's near-eternal casual happiness faded a bit at the whispers and glances. Did kids really not realize how obvious their every action was from up here? Like, seriously. He could see everything, and if he knew who any of these kids were, or would remember why, he would have taken notes on all of them so they could have a little re-education. The girl actually willing to answer Juliette, the one with blue skin and hair that reminded him of a lighter, longer version of his (and a tail), didn't seem to be too shaken, though, so since he was the assistant and not the one in charge he kept his mouth shut and just nodded reassuringly at her. At least, he hoped it was reassuringly.
Woohoo, everyone was excited! Excited was good, excited was great. And lists, he could make lists. He just had to poke himself in the forehead - did she want the list now? Or later? She might have to remind him to do it later, but then she wouldn't be late for work or anything, and if he ended up bleeding everywhere he could at least do it somewhere easy to clean up.
"Do you want me to go through everything now, or do you want to call me when you have time and we can do it then?" If all else fails, ask! "One of my reliable memories, fortunately, is a sort of catalogue." He gestured to, but didn't quite touch, the marking running from his forehead down the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry, not everything is injury. Most are other things, really."
Ohhh phone numbers that would be useful, especially if he were to be reminded about getting her the list later. He fished his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it (fingerprint scanners were great, no passwords to remember), and passed it over. "Add yourself in and send yourself a text," he said cheerily.
When Juliette's first bunch of reminders came through, Memo's phone was sitting in the pocket of his jacket on its hook on the back of his door at home.
He was at work, at least until he realized he didn't have his phone and wrote on his hand to run home on his next break to get it. He nearly forgot, but halfway through that short break he realized he hadn't set his usual end-of-break alarm and went hunting for his phone... at which point he noticed the note on his hand and sprinted home.
It was covered in text messages, with the most recent maybe five minutes ago. From Juliette? He was supposed to be -
OH. The full memory of walking in the park with blood and froyo crashed between Memo and the current world, and though by the end he remembered where he was supposed to go and why, it had taken a few minutes.
He was going to be late! Memo kicked off his work boots, shoved his feet into his runners, ditched his vest in favour of the jacket that had held his phone, and was running before his door finished closing (unlocked, but then he'd also left his keys in his vest, so.... no harm no foul?)
He ran flat out the entire way, phone calling out directions as he sprinted past the scattered morning pedestrians. He checked his messages whenever he had to stop for a crosswalk light, reminding himself of why and therefore forgetting how tired, and honestly made pretty good time.
He still careened down the school hallway a few minutes late, hair super skewed (or at least as much as the almost-kinked fluff would ever show), but hey, he'd made it!
...now, which room was it- there she was!
Memo strolled into the room as if he hadn't just run flat out for however long (since, as far as his body was concerned, he hadn't) and totally didn't think about what was happening with his actual paid job. Y'know, the one he'd ditched without warning.
"Well, where I'm from winter is mostly wet. It's called the Wet Coast for a reason," he said lightly, "Summer's pretty awesome too, and more people think so. Tons of things to do and places that are worth just existing in for a while. Hot springs that haven't been built up into public resorts. Enough wild berries on an hour long trail to make pie."
Aw, he was gettin' all nostalgic and stuff.
And then he had to literally stop and stare at the nurse because "THAT IS THE COOLEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD OF." And also painful, but he'd forget that soon enough, right? He totally missed that she was, well, asking him to mutilate himself in front of a bunch of kids and make a huge mess. "Do you want me to make a list of what I currently have stored that might work? Then you can remember what you want to use and just go for it."
Yes, his greatest concern with the whole thing was that he wouldn't remember what marking or memory to trigger.
"If my forgetfulness means someone else can remember lots, then I'll count it well spent," Memo said grandly, completing the playful mock heroism with a sweeping bow before ambling after the woman. Who's name..... he had completely forgotten, had he ever known it. Ah well. It wasn't like asking for it again would help, since he'd just forget it again most likely.
Oooh conversation. He did like conversation. "Canada, actually. Northwestern Canada, land of wild huckleberries on every mountain." Hah, he'd remembered what kind of froyo he'd had! Huckleberries angle bracket three. "But my mom and I moved down here when my dad died when I was a kid, so by now I've spent more time in the states. Dual citizen, and the last prime minister didn't get to revoke half of it!" Odd splinter of a memory. Whatever had been attached to it was very much forgotten, but somehow this fragment had survived something or other.
Plans? Hah what were plans he'd just forget them anyway. "Oh, I mostly make things up as I go along. I mean, I'd just forgot my plans anyway, probably. I don't forget everything, but y'know."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully, by chance more than intention just missing one of the stripes on his chin with his fingertip.
He'd been trying to think of something, hadn't he? Er. Um. ... Teensy bit awkward, forgetting something (nothing) in front of someone he'd barely met, even if he'd already bled all over her without need or cause.
It was a good thing Memo had thought to set up navigation through his phone, because after a while he forgot where he was going. And also why he was dragging a not-very-conscious kid he didn't know. Clearly it had been important, though, so he kept lurching along and did his best to keep the kid's weight balanced. No need to fall over himself or anything. He'd probably land on his phone and break it and then how would he get to wherever he was going?
The walk dragged on, but finally Memo heard that wonderful sound: his phone declaring that their "destination is on the left."
Memo lifted his arms in victory, but there was rather a lot of weight on the one.
Oh, unconscious kid! Memo caught him again before he could slip very far, and hauled him the last few steps to the gate. Wow, how far had he dragged this kid? How had he dragged him however far that was? He must be exhausted!
And then his muscles clicked into that memory, and even if it wasn't the exhaustion of dragging the shifter kid's butt across the city it was still exhaustion, and Memo sagged against the gate post. Maybe he should just take a nap...
Memo dug his feet into the ground to balance the kid's weight, nearly slipping even in his running shoes. Had it rained recently? It felt like the soles were wet.
Oh, maybe it was blood. Y'know, again. It seemed to happen a lot.
...
Not the time to think about that. Memo focused on the kid he was trying to get off the ground before the vague twinge of memory grew into OH LOOK I'M BLEEDING AGAIN LOL OOPS like it had wiiiiittthhhhh um. At least one person. Involving soft pretzels? No. Something tart. Huckleberries! But not whole huckleberries.
He was getting distracted. Sure, he'd wanted to be distracted, but that was too distracted. The wrong distracted.
...
Was
Was the kid throwing up on him
Yes
Yes he was
Awwwwww man, Memo couldn't forget things out of his clothes! He really, really wished he could, but noooooo he could just forget about himself. Dramatic sigh emoticon. "Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." What was he supposed to say to that? Random social polite reassurances? Memo was not thrilled, although he wasn't exactly all that bothered by it. He was probably just going to forget to clean them and then he'd gross himself out later.
WAIT THEY HAD TO GO PLACES, places he couldn't remember for reasons he couldn't remem-
injured kid, mutant shelter place, that jazz. He remembered the what! Now how about the where? The word 'mansion' seemed important. Should they ask random people on the streeeeet his phone was in his pocket somewhere, right? Hah, yes! He could feel it poking into his butt. Back pockets big enough to hold things were amazeballs. Missed out on those so much as a kid. Anyway.
"Hold on a sec," he said to the kid, leaving him the one arm for support or clinging or whatever ended up happening, and fished out his phone with the other. ... the screen hadn't been broken before this, had it? Eh, he couldn't remember. Whatever, it still unlocked and mostly responded to his stabby thumb. Internet, internet.. there. Search! mutant mansion, enter. While they waited...
There was really quite a lot of vomit on his shoes. Memo carefully shook his feet cleaner, even casually rubbing a damp spot on one of the downed muggers-or-whatever's pants. The shirt probably would have done a better job of drying but it looked too loose to be useful. "Worse things have probably happened. Actually, I think dramatically worse things have happened to my face, possibly in the last week. I dunno, I'm not the one to ask. Hah, that's what I'm talking about, little phone!"
He had a bunch of results all about the same place, Xavier's something school something, sounded vaguely familiar, had to be the right place. He poked at the screen with his thumb, slicing the pad a few times but noticing the cuts so little that they healed about as fast as he opened them, and got his phone to start verbal navigation cues.
"Travel north on Saundership Road West for one kilometre." Metres were so much better than miles, boo America for that.
He was still standing and they weren't and he'd only died once probably! Maybe twice. It was always kind of extra hazy, except when it was notable enough to be impossible to forget and then he seemed to get stuck in a loop of dying and not dying, which was really very horrible and he very much did not like it -
Memo poked the most mobile seeming of the downed bully idiots with a running shoe toe to satisfy himself that he had some time to chill, and then turned to the kid he miiiiight have forgotten about for a bit.
Kid didn't look good. At all. A beat up face he probably couldn't just forget about. That meant that medical attention was required. Too bad what-was-her-name wasn't around. She'd been something medical-ish, right? Froyo lady.
He was getting distracted, that was bad, kid needed help. And something about police? Huh? Sure he could call the cops? Where was his phoneeee..... no wait that was something about no cops? Er. Oh. As a foreign born dual citizen and person of mostly-not-European mixed race, Memo had had a share of accusations of illegal immigration and undocumentedness. Not cool things. People should just be allowed to live wherever worked for them. America had worked better than Canada for his mom, so he was here. Simple as that.
But! If the kid were undocumented then he couldn't really go to the hospital either, never mind afford it. Heck, Memo was a citizen and he couldn't really afford to go to the hospital. Even if they'd been able to do anything permanent about any of his injuries. He'd just forget that it had healed or that it ever existed regardless of what they did.
If he couldn't go to the police or to the hospital, but he needed medical attention...
Er, not exactly a scenario Memo was personally familiar with. WAIT "I know a mutant-y place!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers with the rush of the memory. "Never been there before, never seem to remember when I have time, but that's totally me so whatever. Lots of mutants though, so one of them ought to be able to heal other people, right? Totally makes sense. Super logical. Not sure how far away it is, but come on, I'll help you up and you can lean on me and we'll get closer to there than here before these guys get closer to waking up."
Somewhere in his rambly spiel of rambling, Memo ducked down, grabbed the kid by the arm, and attempted to haul him to his feet. Fortunately for them both, Memo had already forgotten about his recent exertion and murder, and the running before that, so he was in as good a condition as if none of it had ever happened.
Police were coming, but they weren't here yet. And since the kid had turned into something (monkey? snake? tortoise? No, it was no use. That memory was long gone) he probably didn't have healing powers and -
Memo winced in sympathy as the kid's face played catch with an oversized fist. And then slapped his hand with the end of his acquired stick. It had some good weight to it. Good thing he hauled tile and hardwood all day at work.
"Didn't anyone-" crack to the back of the head of the guy who'd punched the kid, maybe he should have tried paying attention to his surroundings, "-ever teach you-"
That was one of the other remaining guys. One who had been paying more attention. Punching him in the gut.
%^&* but that hurt
Doubled over, he saw the first police car pull up at the end of the alley, blocking it off. He grinned, and straightened up. Punched in the gut? Nah, he'd been distracted. Out of sight out of mind might be the saying, but sometimes life was more out of mind out of sight.
The whole not-staying injured thing seemed to be bothering the punch happy guys too, and one of them even stood still while Memo charged him and lay about his head with the stick. Take that, you child-muggers!
Memo had a very nice view of the building tops and sky-without-enough-rain, with a soundtrack of not-especially-human noises. He couldn't find the strength to turn his head anymore, though, so he didn't get to find out what was going on just yet. He also couldn't really breathe anymore, and when he did think he was going to get some air into his lungs all that moved was blood. Kind of intentional, super unpleasant.
Hurry up and diieee oh hey he couldn't see the sky anymore. Progress.
While Memo's vision and awareness dimmed, sirens rose in the distance and grew louder. Likely forgotten in the background, having gurgled his last, Memo lay in the grime. His skin was streaked with white rather than black now, and here and there markings faded from existence to make room to use the extensive, detailed memory of what his body was supposed to be: not broken and bloodied, and with properly substantive lungs.
The mutant airhead sat up and rolled his shoulders, looking around at everything and trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Oh. There was blood on his chin, still wet, and HIS EARBUDS WERE BUSTED COME ON!
He sprang to his feet and whistled sharply at the standing muggers or whatever. "Hey a******s, you gotta do better than kill me," he growled, stepping over a stray - hey, that would work well in his hands - stick thing and slinging it up in front of him as he approached the remaining whatever-idiots, "if you want to go around breaking my earbuds." The bloodied, crumpled mini speaker dangled from his neck, still held up by its partner.
Applying himself - and remembering what he had learned, and paying tuition. Both were easier said than done, in his case. He wasn't salty about it, though. There were far more important things in his life, and he got by all right.
"I've slept in worse, and the marks go away as soon as I forget about them," he said easily. "I also only remember my keys because I can't get my door to stay closed without locking it, which requires keys, and forget my lunch more than half of the time. I can trip over it and still end up forgetting it, especially if I trip over it before I put on my boots."
Leaving the end of his spoon in his mouth to savour the last streaks of yoghurt, Memo meandered over to the nearest garbage bin to drop off his empty cup.
