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

[evite]

[ oh, illya. so stoic, so stodgy, so absolutely unwilling to let loose in the name of a good time. she was fully planning on ordering a drink, but her attentions have now firmly been redirected elsewhere. ]

You'd know what that looks like, wouldn't you, comrade? [ she offers a wink, so plainfully playful. ] Have a drink with me.

[ hey, look, manners. not "buy me a drink", but "have one with me". small improvements! ]

[kgbs]

[ she winks and he rolls his eyes but there's little heat behind the gesture. it's just an ingrained reaction to people being playful with him. if they expect him to be playful back, they obviously do not know him at all. ]

Yes, fine. [ he supposes one drink will not hurt him and as long as he watches himself, he will not end up intoxicated. ] It is better than some of the offers I've had tonight.

[evite]

[ she doesn't expect him to play back, at least not in the same way. his barbs are witticisms, snappy comebacks, verbal arguments that build a heat in the low of her belly. this is playful, soft; there's almost a fondness to the way that daisy shifts a little closer, her hand lifting to rest against his lower back, fingertips tapping out a gentle melody along the fabric of his shirt. ]

If you have something better in mind, I'm all ears, you know. [ in theory, she could be referring to the drink menu in her other hand... but... ] Tell the nice lady what you want.

[ the bartender looks a little peeved to be called a "nice lady", but doesn't walk away. ]

[kgbs]

[ she moves closer to him, almost tucked against his side and presses a hand to his back. it's...not terrible but it's not a familiar sort of feeling either. never one for physical affection, he'd more or less been alone for so long in all facets of his life that something like this almost surprises him.

and that means he can't help but be wary, suspicious because certainly this means she wants something. he keeps it off his face but his guard rises automatically. ]

Nice lady. [ he repeats the words, the barest hint of amusement in his voice before he glances at the bartender. ] Just whiskey.

[ did you think he'd be the typical russian and go for vodka? surprise. ]

Comrade. Nice lady. You are not good with names, are you? [ look at that, he was hilarious. ] As for having something better in mind...

[ he trails off, shrugs a shoulder. ] I do not think I can compete with a party like this.

[evite]

[ at the accusation, daisy only shrugs. she doesn't know the bartender's name, and "nice lady" is better than "hey you" or "the help". ]

I'm a lot better with things I can put my hands on, [ quipped back as the bartender in question slides two glasses in their general direction. whiskey on the rocks, boring as ever, but somehow not surprising. ] Coding, tech; doesn't matter what you call it as long as it works.

[ she lifts her glass in his direction, a quiet cheers. ]

Nobody said it was a competition.

[kgbs]

Hmm.

[ he lifts his glass in response and nods before glancing around. ]

My idea of a good time is nothing like this. [ he waves to the crowd at large. ] It's quieter and there are considerably less people involved.

[ sometimes there was only him. ]

Not things many people care for. [ but he knew what he liked and made no excuses for that. call him boring if you must. ] But I like what I like and do not care what anyone thinks of me.

[evite]

Well, yeah, but that's because you're a crotchety old man. [ a fairly matter-of-fact statement, but one said without malice or accusation. she doesn't begrudge him the crankiness; it's probably well earned. ] Parties can be fun, though, if you let yourself have any fun.

[ alcohol helps. ]

Let me guess, you haven't danced with anyone yet tonight either? Just slouched around the walls and glowered at people who asked?

[kgbs]

Old. [ he scoffs at that descriptor and rolls his eyes. he was not that old. perhaps he was older than some here but he wasn't going to be getting his hip replaced anytime soon. ]

Why would I dance? [ does he know how? somewhat. does he want to dance? not really. ] Why would I dance with someone I don't know?

[ stranger danger. ]

I do not see that as fun.

[evite]

Yes, old. And tall, and cranky, and [ a sip of her drink, head tilting to the side as if to get a better look at him ] — bad at dancing, probably.

[ why wouldn't you want to dance? it's a rave. that's literally the whole point. ]

Either that, or you're afraid you might like it too much.

[kgbs]

You seem to think you have me all figured out? [ so close yet so far away. ]

Do you want to dance? Is that what you're trying to say in too many words?

[evite]

Yes. [ of course she wants to dance. with him, even. but: ] I want a drink first, though.

[ hence coming to the bar, flagging down the "nice lady", and having said drink. there's an order to things, illya, you'd do well to pay attention to that. ]

If you think I talk too much, Illya, you could always shut me up.

[ said ever-so-casually, mouth opening against the lip of her glass. ]

[kgbs]

I could.

[ but he doesn't make a move where she's got a glass against her lips. he watches her quietly, carefully but does little more than that. ]

You used my name again. [ he can't help but notice. ] It sounds like you want me to shut you up.

[evite]

Yes, I did. [ he always sounds so surprised. ] Am I not supposed to? You keep complaining that I'm not very good with them.

[ she's led him to the assumption — said the very thing that would lead to it, in the tone of voice that leaves no question about her intentions. could he shut her up, in that way? of course he could. and would she complain? of course not. but it isn't the only thing she wants, or even really the main thing on her mind at the moment, so daisy offers a shrug as she settles her drink against the bartop, her body shifting to face him. ]

I like your name, and I obviously don't have any complaints about your methods in getting a little peace and quiet — but I already told you I want to dance. So, Illya, do you want to dance with me or not?

[kgbs]

[ illya doesn't often find himself on his back foot but she can put him there with just a few words. she's mercurial in ways he is not used to and when he thinks he might have a line on understanding, she changes the game.

dancing had not been on his mind when he'd come here tonight. dancing was never on his mind. but, he still feels like this is almost a challenge so he tips the rest of his drink back and puts the glass on the counter before meeting her gaze with one of his own. ]

Let's go.

[evite]

[ in the back of her mind, she wonders. he didn't exactly answer the question of whether he wanted to or not, but he rose to the challenge all the same either way. does it matter? she's not sure, but she takes his hand anyway. ]

Lead the way, tiger.

[ though he's not really much of a tiger, is he? more of a giraffe. a very tall and very argumentative alligator, maybe. things to consider. ]

Though I should warn you I never learned the polka.

[ kidding!!! ]

[kgbs]

[ illya slants her a glance at that and rolls his eyes. ]

I did not either. So, it's a good thing that will not be a dance we do. [ honestly, he doesn't know what sort of dance is going to happen. he knows a few just from his training but he's also aware that there are many others out there.

and he is not going to be one to gyrate and writhe around like some idiot. ]

Tiger. [ he shakes his head. ] I am not going to growl at you.

[evite]

What, are Communists opposed to tigers or something? Is that why they're all endangered?

[ are there communist tiger hunting parties that go in droves shooting to kill? could that be why they're on the face of so many endangered species posters? has daisy watched way too many late night nature documentaries? questions with no answers... ]

You will absolutely growl at me. You do it all the damn time. [ case in point: "you're so bad at names, daisy johnson, wah wah wah." ] Are you going to tell me what dance we'll do, at least? Because I'm kinda doubtful you're a master of the old bump and grind.

[ poor illya. ]

[kgbs]

[ why are you way you are, daisy? why did illya actually not mind it? what forces wer at work here? ]

I am not even going to answer your first question because I do not understand it.

[ communists and tigers were not a connection that should ever be made. you were so confusing. ]

I don't even know what a bump and grind is. Just -- come closer. [ he knew how to waltz and he could get by with other dances so he'd fake it till he made it. ] Before I growl at you again.