ARRIVAL LOG 005

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of August 23 (through to August 30th)
WHAT: The fifth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #005

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs. You realize there are others next to you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, the movement of dark streets and neon windows passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips. The vehicle stops. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle: beyond it, a chamber only dimly lit by strips of light along the floor. The nurse moves to stand at the back of the vehicle, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. She doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded. The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind. Under your feet, you can feel the thrum of heavy bass vibrating through the floor. You see nearby that there is another bus, another load of passengers being helped out, lined up much like you are. Once you're all in place, the guards move down the line, pulling dark hoods over each passenger's head. Your arm is lifted, placed on the shoulder of the passenger in front of you in line. "Hold on," says one of the guards. "Stay quiet. Keep moving until I say stop." There is no will in you to fight the orders. How far you walk is hard to determine. Counting steps is difficult, and any concept of time passing stretches between the sound of footfalls and breathing - soon overshadowed by the music. Growing louder, closer, the heavy bassline begins to reverberate through the air around you, amplified by the acoustics of the place. Melody and vocals become audible, the chatter of a crowd. Finally, you stop, and the hoods are pulled off, following down the line as the guards walk back. You turn to look after them, but they quickly disappear into the darkness of the tunnel behind you. The door in front of you swings open, the full weight of the music washing out. A tall woman with sharp, geometric patterns of ink tattooed across her skin smiles at you with sharp teeth, glowing luminescent in the UV lighting above her. "First timers?" she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Don't worry, those costumes are great. Come on, come in." As you move to comply, she takes each of your hands, stamping a twisting design on the back, shining bright in the UV light. "Welcome," she says, as she ushers you out of the lobby and into the noise and crowd beyond. "To the Insomniacs' Ball." ◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> THE INSOMNIACS' BALL

The message from El comes the same as previous: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it. I'm not saying bus #5 got past me, but our favorite mysterious human traffickers have gone seriously sneaky this time around. And I'm not saying I can't help you get to where you need to be, but I can't. This one needs legwork, because you're going to have to land invites to the Insomniacs' Ball. The Insomniacs' Ball is an open secret. A New Amsterdam urban myth, disbelieved by many and desired for by even more. A week long party held every year as the working schedule changes, as the city struggles between the oppressive heat and the shifting of sleep cycles. Whether you'd prefer to be asleep at night or day, the ball doesn't care - a rolling, 24/7 event that continues until it disappears, as quickly as it arrived. Its location is a secret. Existence frowned upon, possibly even shut down by the authorities - dancing until you fall down is hardly advisable while water rationing is in place. Yet every year the rumors spin again, the whispers, clues and tastes and photos shared on social media which vanish before anyone can really be sure what they saw. Whoever puts the ball together is as good at keeping their head down as Morningstar - and most likely greases more wheels, rather than trying to be a wrench in the machine. Either way, all El can do is point you to the same paths anyone else hungry for an invite is taking. THE PUZZLE Emerging on social media like proverbial white rabbits, clues in the form of bizarre symbols, phrases or riddles have appeared, hidden in images or tucked in VR simulations. Solving them isn't for the impatient. Some take more work than others, a knowledge of numbers or pattern recognition, or ancient cultural references. The answers come as new clues, pointing to locations in the city, to other VR simulations, to figures waiting in cafes or particular enemies in your favorite VR video game. A treasure hunt for the modern age, as each step is completed the participants are whittled down, but for anyone who reaches the end, the prize of an invite to one of the most mysterious pieces of New Amsterdam life is worth all of the work to get there. THE DARE The challenges start small. Stand up and sing in a crowded restaurant. Take a selfie at the UNA's front door. Eat a live scorpion. Soon it escalates, taking even the most jaded of adrenaline junkies on a rollercoaster of illegal and death-defying stunts. Joyriding a notorious gangster's hoverbike. Climbing a construction beam between two of the tallest buildings in the city. Standing in central square and declaring yourself to be a Morningstar operative. The risks climb higher and higher, and for some the stakes are too much. Others hold their nerve, eyes set firmly on the goal, the victory of holding an invite in their hands. THE BOON And then there are those who make no effort at all. Passed to them by the hands of lady luck, their invites arrive in their pockets, slid under their doorframes or hidden under a glass at work. Bartenders open up crates of stock and find a wedge of them tucked in amongst the packaging; bike couriers arrive at delivery destinations only to find a parcel waiting there for them. Whether targeted or purely a matter of chance, many attendants at the Insomniacs' Ball will have had the opportunity simply fall in their lap - and some may not recognize what they've received at all. However you've managed to get your hands on an invite, the directions on the back are the same - leading you deep down into the city's underground, past some of the darker corners and into some even darker ones. A rusted, disused door to an abandoned maintenance area wouldn't look like the place, but the intricate geometric design painted silvery and barely visible across the surface matches the invite you hold, and you know you've found the entrance to wonderland. Behind the door, lies a twisting network of tunnels and rooms built into natural caves, ultimately abandoned by the city when its insides proved too difficult to navigate. Now, for a short time, it's home to a carnival of revelry. Strobing neon lights illuminate snatches and glimpses of the crowd, glowing in pools of UV: a dense mass of people from all over the city, young and old, music and dancing flowing from chamber to chamber, clashing and mixing between. Extravagant, outrageous costumes mingle with simple streetwear, or with no-wear at all. People hand out masks, drinks, substances which it may not be advisable to consume. Sealed bottles of water seem to appear from nowhere, passed among the people, their source and seeming escape from the rationing in the city far above going unquestioned. Smaller chambers offer some respite for those who need to take a minute, catch their breath, or want a quiet corner to talk with a new friend. Other chambers contain more hedonistic displays, with most participants always willing to accept another into their number. No one seems to be in any rush - there's roughly a week to soak in all the delights, and you can even come and go as you please, the UV pattern now stamped on your hand allowing access back through the various doors, if you can find your way back to one. But you're here for a different purpose, and whether it took you hours or days to find your way here, you know that the party will end eventually - and anything more unusual which may be hiding inside will be revealed. ◉ The Insomniacs' Ball and the related methods of gaining an invite will last for one week, from August 23-30. New characters can be retrieved at any time during this, or can find their own way out and be discovered on the streets - just please be advised that they will not be able to survive in New Amsterdam without first spending time in the Morningstar safehouse and having their ID set up. ◉ We will not be dictating set pieces of the ARG puzzle or challenges - these are left to player discretion as to what your character would have realistically managed to solve or complete! ◉ The invite themselves are business card sized pieces of metal with an intricate geometric patterns etched on one side, and an address on the other. The address leads to a quick series of clues and locations which will take characters to the door as described. ◉ The same geometric design will be present throughout the ball, worn by some of the guests and doorpeople, and even carved into the walls of some of the caves. ◉ While in the ball, there will be rumors and whispers circulating about the owner of the ball being in attendance, and that particularly impressive guests may earn some special reward - or just guarantee an invite again next year.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

Access to the safehouse is a hatch hidden behind stacks of empty storage shelves in the back of an abandoned supermarket in an outer district of the city. The immediate area is similarly abandoned, empty stores, flanked by several blocks of dive bars and clubs which cater to more niche tastes. A place where people can come and go unseen, or, if seen, not spoken of. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense – she'll be open for in depth questions later, but will advise everyone to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. ◉ The safe house is a large open space, filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. ◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries. ◉ While there were previously also NPC occupants of the safehouse, natives to New Amsterdam, these people have now been moved on to somewhere safer. A few of their belongings remain, discarded or accidentally abandoned. ◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. ◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their being dropped off by the guards before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them. ◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet. ◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until FOUR DAYS AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL AT THE SAFEHOUSE. These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until they have been there for four days. At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, or if they'd like to join Morningstar, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below. Please check out our December calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC this month will be a check-in only. AC will be posted on December 20 and close on December 27. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[ofobedience]

[It surprises him almost, the brief bright burst of relief felt in the wake of something so small, but perhaps amidst the utter chaos in his head, any scrap of the familiar is a life raft in a storm. It's something with which to conceal himself, something with which to keep the world out. And on a more practical level, the sun's bright rays are a little hard to adjust to when one is accustomed only to dark spaces and electric lights.]

Sunglasses would be a start. As you may have discerned, I'm not in much of a position to offer any kind of payment.

[No hand is extended, and so whilst the complications of the empathy bond are still nothing more than vagaries to him, he nonetheless reacts in kind. Takes a moment to sweep his gaze over Fitz' countenance instead.]

Giovanni.

[A pause just the length of a heartbeat, and then--]

The first wave. How long ago was that, exactly?

[retravel]

No compensation necessary, Giovanni.

[ Fitz says what he believes wherever possible and offers mundane kindnesses to all. Does he hope they'll pay it forward? Yes, absolutely. But does he expect it? Never. He knows better than that now.

Apart from the scruffiness of the beard, Fitz is well kept. Darker under the eyes, from his non-stop schedule, but uninjured for the moment, apart from a scar on his right hand, recently healed over from a slash. ]

Just over two months ago, [ he holds tips his hand back and forth, illustrating the approximate nature of the dates. It's give or take a week. ] though I suppose I should say we're the first Morningstar found. Could've been earlier groups. [ delivered evenly, with a twist and flourish of his hand as he finds the right phrase. ] Unluckier ones.

[ofobedience]

[Mundane kindness-- it's not something he knows anything about, nor any form of kindness for that matter and as such he eyes the other refugee with a puzzled kind of concentration, trying to figure him out. It doesn't last long though, because just as he has no experience with kindness (nor handling money, besides), his experience with other people is also painfully limited.

Down there, in the Below, there had only been other things like himself, built out of trauma and violence, and at the dark centre of it all Her six-fingered hands, controlling all the strings. Even on those occasions when he ventured into the Underground his contact with people had been limited to the completion of tasks, the gaining of things (information, or worse) for Her.

And so he lets it slide. Accepts it.]

As you like, then.

[And whilst two months sounds far longer than he would wish to spend in this situation, whilst fear of the unknown grips him tight, he does know how to be patient. How to wait things out, how to play the long game. He's been doing it all his life.]

Unluckier ones. I dread to think.

[Because despite the countless horrors he's endured, they're the kind of horrors he's come to understand. This current situation ranks among one of the more frightening things that's happened to him purely due to it's difference, its inexplicability.]

[retravel]

[ The look Giovanni levels at him is cataloged, despite not being understood. People often hazard confused glances his way, but he typically deserves them for all his timey wimey gibberish and scientific jargon.

A hum of acknowledgment, then. The mystery of it confounds him, though he, too, has seen worse sights than this. Their displacement still marks one of the greatest challenge all of SHIELD — the line between the weird and the wider world — has encountered up to this point. Separated by time and space, struggling against an unknown adversary that has them outplanned, if not outnumbered and outgunned, too.

It makes him afraid, deep in his marrow, but he carries on, anyway. What else is there to do? ]

Well, we're not dead yet, though I'd give that an hour or two.

[ Black humour in this trying time.

[ suddenly, ] Did anybody — did you make it out of the ball alright? It must have been, ah, chaotic.

[ofobedience]

[He laughs then, soft and low, because the fact is he's considered it, the possibility that he could die now, in a way that's relatively painless and swift compared to the ever quickening slippage of his mind towards a final nothingness that would leave him no more than an empty puppet, or the total obliteration he would have needed to put an end to himself were his regenerative capacities still fully functional. Last night's little dog fight with Heine at the party has shown him that they aren't what they used to be-- the small wounds he'd sustained, they'd healed up quick enough in normal human terms, but for him? It had been sluggish and wrong, taking hours where seconds should have sufficed.

It could all end now, softly, quietly. Finally. But that, in itself, seems wrong to him.

Besides, alongside the loss of some of the Spine's abilities, there's something else, too. There are still glaring holes in his memory, but he's lost nothing else since arriving here. Not yet.]

Still plenty of time, then.

[He says, his tone divulging a wry amusement.

As for the question, when it comes--]

I believe I'm currently experiencing the after-effects of various substances I wouldn't have chosen to partake in, but other than that, as you say...I'm not dead yet.

[Over-friendly partygoers telling him he just has to 'take some of this' had turned from generous offer to unwanted compulsion, thanks to their kidnapper's tampering. The fact that the drugs had impacted him at all is just further evidence that the Spine isn't functioning as it should.]

[retravel]

[ The corners of his eyes crinkle, appreciative of someone with a shared, bleak sensibility. As if the world would be so kind as to end it quick, in a flash, when there's always worse waiting on the other side of every door.

Fitz finishes unpacking supplies and shifts his focus to Giovanni. Tension returns to his features, a crease of his brow and lines around the mouth, at the thought of Giovanni — or any of the new arrivals — being forced to partake in the ball and its offerings. ]

That's total shite. [ which is Fitz for "I'm sorry that happened to you," probably. ] Is there anything else I can do — or answer for you?

[ofobedience]

Quite.

[Whilst that isn't the kind of terminology he would have used, terribly formal genetically-engineered killing machine that he is, he certainly agrees. How anyone could find the experience of intoxication enjoyable is beyond him and today? It's his first experience of lasting physical consequences of one's actions and it's safe to say that he isn't enjoying it.

The barbed tangle of pain up behind his eyes, the roiling nausea-- they're just a few more things he manages to keep outwardly concealed.]

I've heard we're expected to find gainful employment.

[It may come out as a statement, but whatever it is, he sounds dubious.]

[retravel]

[ A muted reaction from Giovanni, then. Perhaps that's reassuring. Except Agent Carter had been calm, too, right up until throttled him and threw up in the alley outside the caverns. ]

That you are. [ slung back in an arch tone. ] Unfortunately, the revolution cannot support the masses, what with being an underground rebellion against the wealthy, corrupt and powerful.

[ a brief hesitation, biting the inside of his cheek. ]

There are less stable options, however, if you're so inclined.

[ Fitz watches for a reaction, keen to gage it before saying more. "Less stable" meaning shadier. ]

[ofobedience]

[He's had a lifetime's worth of practice at concealing his his emotions, of perfecting the appearance of perfect poise in the face of all-consuming chaos. That, and he's still engaged with a deeper dissociation from the full extent of what's happening to him, pushing it down and holding it back in an effort to keep himself from breaking apart.

And so all he gives is this-- small reactions, a semblance of surprising togetherness. It's what he does (though he'd been somewhat less proficient at it last night, whilst in the grip of numerous drugs.

He focuses on this, on the now, on this moment. For as long as he's able to.]

And what would these less stable options entail?

[What he wants is to abdicate control to give himself over to something much larger, bigger than himself, to submit to the cruel freedom that comes with subjugation. It's what he knows. All he's ever known. But for now, at least, it doesn't appear to be an option here.]

[retravel]

[ Difficult to judge if Giovanni's response forewarns judgment or interest. For a moment, Fitz balances on the edge of the truth, scraping one hand across his jaw.

Ultimately, he reckons he can bounce back from seeming a bit dodgy, in the worst case scenario. Having already confessed to joining Morningstar, his position remains defensible. Any worthy operative ought to have a grasp of the underground, y'know, even if they aren't as involved as Leopold Fitz. He schools his features into neutrality. ]

There's a lively underground scene. Gangs, warring crime families. [ a rolling gesture before he settles on the heavy hitter, earnings-wise. ] Illegal sporting events. [ he ticks off the examples on one hand. ] Fighting rings, races, and robot dogfights are the most popular, in my experience. Very lucrative.

[ofobedience]

Robot dog fights.

[And there's a bright crack of laughter at that, sudden and quick because its funny to him in a way that it would not be to most.]

That I shall have to see.

[The rest though-- it sounds more familiar to him, because whilst he may have hailed from the deepest blackest part of his city, a facility of barely-whispered legend, a place filled with flickering electric lights and the sharp stink of blood that could never be wiped clean, he has spent some time in the Underground. That mid-layer, it's a veritable den of iniquity and vice, where mob bosses and street gangs reign supreme, and as such it at least sounds like a world through which he knows - more or less - how to move.]

And fight rings, you say. Now there's a possibility.

[Which possibly sounds absurd coming from someone blade thin and fine-boned, but you know what they say about appearances.]

[retravel]

[ Oh. Another opportunity, primed and ready, the same as the hulking Russian agent offering him assistance and Matches "Jay" Malone asking him for guidance in a dodgy bar. Giovanni lacks the intimidating bulk of both of the other men, but he displays a calm that the former possesses in his best moments — and Fitz is the scruffy scientist, shorter than average, lean but not muscled, with a significant body count. Perception, in all things, is limited.

He feigns a period of further consideration, fingers pressed to his mouth. And finally, measured — ]

You know...if you've an interest in them, I have a standing invite. [ his hand fans out, away from his face, as if to say "why not." ] Wouldn't be opposed to bringing along a first-timer — as a favour to my fellow displaced.

[ a favour, distinct from the free offering of the sunglasses. ]

[ofobedience]

[A favour, he says, and admittedly there's something more easily grasped in that then the previous offer of simply being given something with nothing expected in return. A favour denotes the possibility of a favour being asked in kind, and for all he knows, if Fitz has underworld connections he may be on some commission for bringing in new meat.

Whatever the case, Giovanni's expression is merely speculative this time. Watchful, his red gaze trained on the other man's face.

And here they are, the mounting concern he'd experienced over the prospect of attempting something he's never before had to do - he's always been a tool in Her hands, what he does is the meaning of his existence, not a job but a purpose - infinitesimally dimming. It may not exactly be a standard occupation, but that's why it appeals. It offers him something closer to what he knows.]

The invite would be appreciated, if you can spare the time. One less thing to have to concern myself with.

[retravel]

[ Brilliant. His mouth quirks again, back to the slight, not-quite-a-smile, pleased that his calculated risk might pay off. What's his reputation in the name of cultivating a new lead?

They need eyes on the inside every scene. And information, not credits, is his preferred currency. ]

I'll give you a shout, [ gesturing between them ] when you can roam free, I mean.

[ He swings his rucksack over one shoulder. ]

Typically get a heads up a few days out for the bots, but the fights are more regular. [ a pointed look. ] Smart dress for the latter, if you want to make a good impression.

[ The arch of his brows suggests he would like Giovanni to make a good impression, thanks. ]

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni arches a singular brow in kind, his look dryly amused, vaguely incredulous.]

If I'm able to get my hands on something smart, that suit I mentioned perhaps, I guarantee I'll be wearing it.

[He glances back down at the cot he's claimed as his own, at the worn and threadbare clothes strewn across it. Clicks his tongue, just once.]

Something better than this, at any rate.

[retravel]

There are secondhand stores, if you can abide them.

[ That's where Fitz stocked up, at first, before he started making bank with Volt tech and the Hi-Jacks, on the side. ]

Not too much equality here in twenty-five eleven.

[ so there are less pricey options, etc. ]

[ofobedience]

Then I shall see what I can manage.

[It's daunting, all of it. Would be daunting no doubt even if he were someone accustomed to fending for himself in all the small ways that most 'normal' people take for granted-- he may know a multitude of different ways to kill someone, may know how to use any number of weapons, how to improvise with whatever's to hand, but earning money, purchasing clothes, all the small day to day insignificant stuff that most others wouldn't even think about. It's beyond him.

There's that cold gripping fear in him again, shaking through his skull and along the Spine to end with a hollow knocking against his ribs. He wants to lie down close his eyes not get up again but that's not an option. Not here, where people can see.

so he just shrugs, smiles his blade of a smile.]

What fun.

[retravel]

[ That's good enough for now, certainly. Fitz is trying to help individuals succeed in New Amsterdam (and if their success wins him credits or informants, well, all the better). Giovanni's key asset to him is clear: A level head, capable of feeling (or feigning) calm in the face of horrors.

His smile is slighter, but there all the same. ]

Grand.

[ he offers Giovanni a wee two-fingered salute. ]

I'll be in touch — and drop the sunglasses here, if I don't catch you later this evening.

[ofobedience]

[And Giovanni nods, just once, in confirmation. It's a small thing, the offer of both glasses and the assistance required to introduce him to a way of making a living of sorts in this place, but they're things he can anchor himself against for the moment. Things to hold on to and focus on in place of all the other dark and crushing uncertainties that threaten to consume him.]

I shall look forward to it. Adieu for now, then.

[And he'll turn away, towards the battered clothes laid out on his bed.]