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

[retravel]

[ With an elbow resting on the bar and his right hand curved around a whiskey glass — his first purchase of the night (god, does he need it after navigating the dance floor) — Fitz holds himself with the buzzing energy of someone waiting. Watching for something, lingering in the hope of spying someone from afar. In all honesty, Fitz lacks direction at the party, a situation firmly outside his repertoire, even after years in the field.

Being told what to do (half-asked, in fairness) is better. His brows shoot upward, but there's a brightness in his eyes, like he finds the boldness charming, even though he won't say it outright. A little tip of his head follows, feigning consideration of her request. ]

Could do a round. [ one corner of his mouth hooks upward. ] For your name.

[mechanisch]

[ In fairness, it’s only partly a question; the inflection in her voice means it could be a potential demand as well, and Gaby tips her head to one side as she glances up (always up, terribly at a disadvantage even in these ridiculous heels she’s wearing) to watch the expressions that play across his face before his ultimate acquiescence.

She smiles herself, something pleased and close-lipped, and his single condition is met with an acknowledging nod. She can manage that much for a drink, especially a drink she won’t have to pay for herself, and he doesn’t seem all that unhappy to have been approached to begin with. ]

I’m Gaby. [ And then, because maybe she should know who’s being so generous: ] And you are?

[retravel]

[ All 5’8” of Leo Fitz can appreciate Gaby’s refreshingly dainty height, particularly when most of his friends tower over him. Sasquatches and Amazons, the lot of them.

A flicker of his eyes, otherwise focused on her, and he pings the nearest bartender using the implant, snagging a place in the queue. Looking downward at Gaby bathes his jaw and collarbone in the red light from his jacket. ]

Leo. [ That’s how the Hi-Jacks refer to him, so he’s been using that across the ball — though most of their fellow displaced call him Fitz (apart from the irritating few who prefer Leopold). It’s a half-baked separation of church and state, but it helps him switch modes. ]

What can I get you, Gaby? [ in an amused lilt, ] And should I make it a double?

[ not gonna assume but he suspects someone ballsy enough to ask outright can handle their liquor, eh. ]

[mechanisch]

[ Ah, yes, the feeling of being constantly towered over is one that Gaby knows all too well, and while the difference between the two of them now is much less severe — well, he's buying her a drink, so she won't complain about perpetuating her role in making someone else feel tall for a change.

And she's always studying others from a unique angle, her gaze subconsciously drawn to the features emphasized by the crimson light cast over the bottom portion of his face. ]

Leo, [ She echoes the name partly to better commit it to her memory and partly to sound out the syllables, her lips pursing with a slightly tempered smile. ] I'll take a vodka, straight-up. Chilled if they have it, with ice if they don't.

[ The only downside to her size is the technicality of how much liquor she can enjoy without getting properly smashed, but it's certainly never stopped her before. ]

[retravel]

[ A beat. ]

Done. [ the slightest rise of his shoulders, shifting the light. ] Chilled.

[ Fitz has become wicked quick with the implant, after being in New Amsterdam for two months. He lifts his hand, raising two fingers in a wee salute so the bartender knows that was him. ]

So, how'd I get your attention?

[ more curious than flirtatious. ]

[mechanisch]

[ The implant itself, and how it works exactly, is a constant source of fascination for Gaby partly because it's difficult for her to fathom the intricacies of the technology required to essentially link up with the human brain, to make nearly every action possible with barely a hint of it playing across someone's features.

She still prefers the option of being able to see every working piece laid out in front of her, to be able to hold it in her hands; something so small yet so powerful borders on the intimidating. ]

Your profile is... distinctive. [ The accents on his jacket are what had drawn her gaze first, but they're not what had caused it to linger. She shrugs one of her own shoulders. ]

You're not waiting for someone else?

[retravel]

[ Oh, he'll give her that. Her comment earns a short laugh, and he doesn't doubt she means the glow. It's ostentatious in a way that Fitz never is, otherwise. Feeds into his more outgoing persona, a mechanic for the Hi-Jacks and attender of gawdy, thrumming affairs. ]

Someone already found me. [ Gaby, or he could mean Agent Carter, having escorted her to the safehouse and done his duty for the day. ] It's a custom-build. Not my usual style — but I know some clever sorts, and they won me over.

[ the other flashes of red on the dancefloor, weaving in and out of the crows, lingering at the bars. ]

[mechanisch]

[ It's difficult to discern what he means by that answer, but she doesn't press for further details if he's not going to venture them right away; she doesn't want to run the risk of shutting down the conversation before it's even had a chance to really begin.

Instead, she drops a hand to her hip and follows his gaze out to the others sporting those similarly toned lights, voicing a soft hum of acknowledgment. ]

I think it suits. [ Even though it may not be his usual style. Then again, the dress she's wearing, dark and form-fitting, and the dark shade lining her eyes, isn't hers either, but it's definitely a continuation of that boldness, that energy that had gotten her here to begin with and led her here, too. ] It does make it hard to lose you in a crowd.

[retravel]

[ His mouth twitches, a flicker of something genuine, pleased by the compliment. Then he regards her again, trying to place her face and guess at what she's after here.

Their drinks arrive, slid across to them by a bartender with only seconds to spare. ]

Definitely wouldn't want to get lost tonight. [ her because he found someone interesting right here — or the party itself doesn't appeal to him. Fits grabs his glass (whisky) and takes a generous swig. ]

[ arching a brow. ] How are you finding it?

[mechanisch]

What, this?

[ She gestures to their surroundings with the hand that isn't holding her drink at present, the surface of the glass already sweating against her fingertips given that it's been served to her the right way. She considers its contents for a moment and then sips from it, the chilled liquor going down smooth past her lips. ]

Or all of it?

[ Given the shorter state of her hair, it might be obvious that she's set apart from the rest of the people here — or maybe he's referring to something else, something harder to discern but still apparent from anything he might have managed to observe about her in the short time they've been talking. ]

It's... an adjustment. [ A statement that could be made about either setting, whether the party or the city as a whole; she's encountered more advancements here than she knows how to entirely process at times. She nods toward the drink in his hand and then lifts her own. ] At least one thing hasn't changed.

[retravel]

[ He had meant the party but her follow-up means it clicks that she's one of the displaced. Ah. And a newer arrival, at that. He wonders if she recognises him in turn, not only by sight (as a Morningstar volunteer and frequenter of the safehouse) but by name. @leo.fitz has been rather prolific on the private network, as of late. He decides to play the odds and confirm any suspicions, if she has them. ]

If that's the one universal constant, [ his smile widens. ] I'll take it. [ Though perhaps he should say multiversal constant. ]

This isn't my scene, [ offered casually as he leans forward, lowering his voice. His gaze flickers out to the party and back to Gaby, meeting her eyes. ] but I reckon there's something worth knowing here, just beneath the surface.

[ His jaw tightens, a shade of tension there. This ball holds secrets relevant to their predicament, and Fitz intends to dig deep enough to unearth them. ]

[mechanisch]

[ His name had sparked some form of recognition, but there'd been no telling right away how accurate her instincts were, if she'd judged the situation correctly. To her mild relief, she has, and the small smile she offers above the rim of her glass is an indication of that. ]

Nice to have at least one certainty. [ Especially in the midst of so much upheaval; she hasn't fully allowed herself to feel as overwhelmed by it lately, but the emotions are still there, the wariness. She's still searching for her own answers, more in the vein of an explanation as to why she's even here to begin with, and coming tonight had been as much about trying to learn more as it had been to get out of where she's been cooped up.

Her eyes spark with awareness, understanding. ] But there usually is. Something. Or... perhaps someone.

[ In other words: she hadn't counted on this meeting happening, but sometimes it's nice to be surprised. ]

good to wrap up!

[retravel]

[ And so it is the same as always: She's another of their own that wants answers, but isn't sure how to get them. The same as him — as the lot of them — only Gaby carries herself with a coolness that impresses despite her status as someone newer, so he tries to memorise her face, the name already filed away and secure. Perhaps Bobbi or Daisy know something of her. ]

Or someone. [ echoed with a warmth that surprises him. She's certainly a curiosity. ] Cheers to that, Gaby.

[ Fitz lifts his glass towards her. For once, he means the gesture. ]