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

[reneger]

( kate leans in a little and jason slouches over that much more, until lips almost brush against the curve behind her ear but not quite. close enough that she can feel him against her without actual skin contact. )

I don't dance. But for you? Maybe I'll make an exception.

[fledges]

[Oh, hello. Good thing he is definitely absolutely not dating Loki. Kate hooks her fingers into one of the chains on his pants, giving it a playful little tug.]

An exception, for me? You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Malone.

[reneger]

( definitely absolutely not dating loki, thank you very much. this is just playing, isn't it? flirting aggressively but not pushing limits. an arm wraps around her but it's not holding her back, holding her still. kate's as free to move with him than she'd be if he wasn't there. maybe moreso, because he's definitely. blocking off others flitting around the dance floor around them. )

A friend of Hafid's a friend of mine.

[fledges]

[Kate's certainly not taking it seriously, as amused as she seems. She follows him easily, fingers still tangled in that silly chain of his.]

Oh, so Hafid's the special one. Maybe you're not as charming as I thought.

[reneger]

( he knows how to dance. no one lives in the wayne manor for any length of time and doesn't "basic" manners from alfred. of course, in a place like this? no one wants dancing like that. so jason follows the beat instead, pulls kate into it but lets her lead, too. )

You think I'd hang 'round someone so much if they weren't special? Come on, Kate. Who do you think I am?

[fledges]

[One of the Gotham boys is actually dancing. She never thought she'd see the day, but she's clearly delighted as she moves closer.]

I think you're trouble, Mr. Malone.

[reneger]

( this is the scene jason grew up in: surrounded by loud noises, ruffians, assholes just waiting to pick fights and push limits. it's his scene, and he's pretty damn happy to be in the middle of it. helps, with all the other nonsense. )

Everyone's trouble, Bishop. You just gotta pick your poison.

[fledges]

[She laughs at that, reaching up to wipe away a bit of the concealer hiding a bruise on his cheek. It's quick, but it's enough contact for him to feel a little rush of happiness from her. She's absolutely having fun, sketchy scene or not.]

And what's your preference?

[reneger]

( wow, rude. it's applied on pretty thick--jason knows how to put shit like this on without any issue, sure. used a primer and everything, but the skin color comes off when she presses her finger against it, enough to smudge layers under and show a bit of the gross green and purple shade under it. jason takes a moment, tongue in cheek, to think of a good way to answer that. )

Kinds that get me nicknames like trouble.

[fledges]

[Tsk tsk, Jason. Getting into trouble all the time. Kate wipes the makeup off on his shirt.]

Aw, see? I knew you were a sweetheart underneath all that bluster.

[reneger]

You're the only one in the world who thinks that.

( he won't correct her. won't tell her the shit he's pulled, will pull again. later, he'll fuck this one over too. do something tremendously stupid to break up their friendship, show her he's an asshole and she shouldn't hang around him. but not yet. )

[fledges]

[There it is again. Not for the first time, Kate wonders how much of his "I'm a terrible person" schtick he believes and how much of it is just a defense mechanism. She tilts her head, eyebrows raised, and tugs him a little closer.]

Do you believe that's true, or do you just wish it were?

[reneger]

( they're close enough that she can catch the moment he scrunches his nose up, lips twisting into an unpleasant, ugly grimace for barely a moment, before it fades back. something more--neutral. not the snarky grins, but. )

Nah, 's true. Ask anyone.

[fledges]

[Cute. Kate reaches up to tap his nose softly.]

My opinion's the only one that matters anyway, and you know it.

[reneger]

It's the only one that matters to you.

( lower. he respects it, really. but it doesn't fucking fix dick's opinion on him, or bruce's. jason pretends like he doesn't give a shit, but he does. below the tipsy haze, she'll be able to catch bits of depression. not just anger, but sadness, too. but her touch only lasts a moment, jason wouldn't allow it longer than that. )

[fledges]

[Oh, Jason.]

Hey.

[This isn't a great place to have a heart to heart, but that doesn't mean Kate isn't going to try, anyway.]

I know I was joking around, but you know you don't have to let anyone else define you, don't you?

[reneger]

( who are you is the question he hears instead. he does define himself, god, has for fucking forever. jason todd is his own man, his own person, the only person who can truly decide who he will be. )

No. No one else defines me. ( a step back, and he's done with the dance. jason's expression pinches tight, ) I know exactly who I am.

( a thug. the lockpick kid, a street rat. gotham born and raised. more rabid than any other robin bruce has taken under his wing, although possibly not as severe as damian himself. son of a dealer slash henchman and a druggie. )

And I'll let you in on a little secret. ( leaning in even though the distance between their bodies has. definitely grown. ) I'm my father's son.

( now he turns to leave, moves his weight over on heels and tries to disappear into the crowd. )

[fledges]

[She knows she's made some sort of misstep as soon as his expression shifts, although she's not entirely sure why. For a split second, all she can do is blink at him, struggling to parse it. Does he mean Bruce, or does he mean his biological father? Before she can decide, he's moving away, and Kate grabs for that chain on his pants again, this time a desperate attempt to get him to stop rather than playful flirting. She doesn't want to risk skin to skin contact right now, but she doesn't want to risk letting him get away, either. This crowd is easy to disappear in.]

Hey, hey, wait. Please don't leave.

[reneger]

( he could yank against her. either knock her off balance, break the chain, both--would he even regret it? jason doesn't fucking know, god. would it be worth it? definitely. to stop this conversation, to keep it from going down this path any further. but he doesn't. instead he turns into her, takes a deep breath in. lets it out sharp through his nose. )

I know who I am. ( he repeats, firm. doesn't need this bullshit added to his list of things he'd snapped at people over. ) And I'm fine with it. I'm fine. It's fucking--that asshole who has problems.

( dick. he means dick. )

And damn near everyone else. But I'm fine. You don't have to bother holding on.

[fledges]

[Kate lets go of the chain, resting her hand against his chest, instead. She's not entirely sure he's fine, but this isn't the best place to contest that.]

Who are you talking about?

[reneger]

Dick Grayson.

( extra emphasis on the dick part of that, thank you very much. )

[fledges]

Oh.

[She sighs, standing up on her tiptoes instinctively, which doesn't really do much to solve their height difference.]

What problems does he have?

[reneger]

He hates me, obviously.

( it doesn't help, but jason notices. slouches over a little more even if he's making the sourest fucking face on the planet. acting like a child-- )

Hates who I am.

[fledges]

How do you know that? Is that what he said?

[reneger]

Yeah. ( wait. ) No.

But he's fucking full of himself.