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

[strove]

[That would require Clarke to be less rude and overly forthright about how she does things. It's not even that she intends for people to follow her, but there is the expectation that just comes with being Clarke. That he follows is something she takes for granted. Perhaps it's unfair.

No, it's definitely unfair, but she isn't aware of these things most of the time.

(To be fair, Clarke usually performs this way because of dire circumstances back home.)]

I was planning on it. [A beat, a she turns, satisfied with where they've ended up.] I am, even. I'm Clarke. I'd offer you my hand, but I don't know how much you've experienced, and that might be unpleasant right now.

[verflair]

[ Fair or not, X'rhun follows, coming to a stop when she turns to face him. It's far quieter here, and even with the bass and the general din (barely) muffled by the hat he's wearing, he is so very grateful to give his poor ears a rest.

Apparently he has no idea what she's talking about, if the curious tilt of his head - a strangely feline motion - is any indication. ]

X'rhun. [ shi-rune ] What do you mean, "that might be unpleasant"?

[strove]

Every one of us has been changed. I don't just mean the haircut. [As if on cue, she runs her hand through strands of blonde hair. They've been trimmed and shaped recently, but it's much shorter than she'd like it to be. Uncomfortably short, even.

Her hand drops after a moment.]

Whether it's an experiment or something else to bring us here—I don't know. But it means that we're all ... seemingly connected. Contact just makes us all the more aware.

[She'd go on and explain it, but she lets that sit. It's a lot to swallow.]

[verflair]

[ His eyes track the movement of her hand, to her short locks, and he realizes that he is not the first to have ended up here in such a state. He listens intently to the rest of her explanation, knowing that what she tells him is not even the half of it, but he appreciates her giving him a moment to turn it all over in his head.

It is a lot – but pieces of it have the ring of the familiar about them. An alien place, strange circumstances, and a myriad of strangers all suffering the same. ]

Go on. How are we connected, then? And how does contact affect that?

[strove]

So far, we've found two common points. The first is that when we touch one another, we feel what the other is feeling. Our chests light up soon after. The second is that we get a new power. [There's more to it. The suppression. The feeling of disconnect from who they were before. Clarke's met enough people who have lost what and who they were, only to find it replaced by something else entirely.

Or nothing at all.

That seems to be it for most. She can't even begin to grasp the changes, the shift in identity. She understands it. Tries to sympathize with it. But Clarke knows she comes from a world and life that had different markers. Those couldn't be stripped away by interdimensional travel.]

I should add that there is a third similarity, though it's situational. Some people have lost powers. Even those who claim to be gods. It says a lot that I don't list it higher, because it doesn't apply to me.

[verflair]

[ Well, if nothing else, he is most certainly grateful that she didn’t grab him around the wrist and drag him off. She seems to be well-grounded and no-nonsense, but if what she says is true, he’d rather not go delving into her emotions all the same.

As for the rest, however… it takes him a moment to process, because that is not something he thought he would ever have to face in the long-term. He’s been without his magic temporarily, and it was the worst situation imaginable. ]

… It does apply to me. Do you know what would happen, were I to try and use my magic? My usual magic, that is, not whatever this nebulous “new power” is that I’ve apparently been gifted.

[ Not that he knows what that is either. ]

[strove]

Pain. [No reason to conceal it. Her answer comes swiftly. Clarke hasn't seen it for herself. Most people who are experiencing a change don't want anyone to see them go through that, and she understands the reasoning behind it. It's an identity thing, and they're thrown into a situation where they've been violated on countless levels.]

Most of them can tell it has to do with what's in their chest. [She draws her hand up to her breast to indicate as such.]

But there's nothing there. Not that can be seen by anyone's eyes. Someone made sure of that.

[Clarke has heard there are devices that can suppress powers, but that isn't the case here.]

[verflair]

[ X’rhun’s eyes widen a touch. He wasn’t expecting so… raw an answer. It was one thing to have his magic blocked, a great emptiness that responded when he reached for his spells, but for the very magic he holds so dear to his heart to cause him pain? The idea is… distressing. It warrants a little investigation on his part, but she has the right of it – not in the presence of a stranger. ]

Twelve preserve. Just what kind of situation have we landed in?

[ A rhetorical question, since he moves on quickly. ]

Is there any way to know what this… new power is? Or how to use it? And, do we know for what purpose we have been given these abilities?

[strove]

["What purpose." It's a question that Clarke's asked herself. When her people were brought into Mount Weather, it was easy for her to discern their intentions. Now, she has a hard time claiming it's for any particular reason. They aren't weapons and they aren't controlled. If they were, these drop offs wouldn't happen.

Though ...

There's a moment where she looks back, eyes seeming to trace their previous footsteps back out to where things are much louder and chaotic.]

Times of stress. Chaos. That seems to be the trend. [From what she can guess. They haven't surveyed thoroughly on that one. It feels like an afterthought, a matter of what they can use that power for to benefit themselves, rather than how it comes to be.]

Until now, I never thought they wanted to activate it. But here, at a place like this? You can guess that would cause that problem for some people.

[verflair]

[ He follows her gaze with is own, ears swiveling in that direction beneath his hat. Yes, that din would stress anyone out – even X’rhun hadn’t been immune, but even-keeled as he is, he’d been able to recover somewhat quickly. ]

A crowded dancefloor is certainly the last place anyone would want an unknown power going off.

[ A frown. Hopefully no one was gifted with anything too explosive. ]

If it is not too forward of me, what can you do?

[strove]

[Unfortunately, it's not the first time that Clarke's been asked—and it won't be the last. She's not about to tell anyone, though, because the power hits too close to home. She has a sense that it's that way for a lot of people.

She shakes her head.]

Sorry, I don't like to share it with anyone. [To go from being someone who isn't seen for her "command" of death to what she is now is overwhelming for her, like a near-constant reminder that she can't escape who she happens to be. It was hard enough to tell Markus about how she was back home. About all the lives she's taken.

About how her very mindset toward a problem involves finding the most necessary of all evils and pursuing it.

Compared to Markus—who's earned her trust, many times over even—this man is a stranger.]

That means you can keep yours a secret, too. I will say that mine ... suits me. Too well. It's not really a first conversation kind of power.

[verflair]

[ X’rhun is not offended in the least, and neither will he press the issue. Clarke has been nothing but helpful to him, and he’ll not sully that by sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. All things in their own time, after all, even if that time is never. ]

I perfectly understand. I thought I would ask, but I see now ‘tis not my place to know. My apologies for prying.

Once I figure out what I can do, I will let you know – or not, depending on what it is. [ He punctuates this with a smile, a small joke, though he certainly means no offense. ]

[strove]

All I ask is that if what you have will help us get to the truth of what happened to us, at least strike out on your own. [That's what others had done. It's what Clarke would do, if the circumstances were more favorable. They aren't: stealing away someone's life doesn't do much in negotiations.

At least, in terms of knowledge.]

Which ... speaking of—do you have any other questions? Otherwise, we should probably get you out of here. [Her gaze flickers in the direction they came from.] Unless you'd prefer to stay here.

[verflair]

But of course. You have my word.

[ “To champion the weak, with heart and steel,” that was the oath X’rhun swore when he first took up his sword and mage’s vestments. He may be without his blade here, but his heart still beats. If he can find a way to help, he will. ]

I’ve no desire to stay here longer than we have already, but I have but one more question. Where is here? In the broadest possible sense, I mean.

[strove]

Earth. The city of New Amsterdam. The year is 2511, which—as far as I know—is far in the future for anyone who does come from a similarly named planet. [She says this quickly, smoothly, though she smiles afterward, shaking her head. There's a lot Clarke covered, but not the most basic of basic information.]

I got a little ahead of myself there, huh?

[verflair]

[ “Earth” rings familiar, and only serves to confuse him further. Not El Nysa. Not even Hydaelyn, though he knew that might be a vain hope. Just what in the seven hells is going on?

He grins as well, hat sliding a bit awkwardly as he tilts his head to one side. ]

Just a bit, but I would say that “you don’t want to shake my hand” is just as important as where we are. Now, if you know the way out, then I would be glad to take my leave of this place.

[strove]

Most likely. I'll call us a car once we get outside. [It'll be easier that way, to drive him closer to the safehouse and then walk the rest of the way. Trying public transit at this time would be disorienting and risky.

As it is, she motions for him, and begins to lead him out. It'll be difficult to not get lost, but Clarke intends to stop at "checkpoints" along the way. She's not terribly tall and without her long blonde hair, she doesn't stand out as much.

Just the same, they will eventually get out and call that car and return to the safehouse. Or arrive for the first time, as it may be.]