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

[daemonized]

Which part?

[Ardyn's own face is unchanging, painted with that same little grin he grants just about everyone upon a first meeting. It's an easy thing to fall into -- he's relied on it time and time again -- and better still to remain hard to read, when he's in circumstances unknown. When he's very much at a disadvantage when it comes to missing power and a dearth of information.

Best to gather it now.]

You mean the bit about being kidnapped and experimented on? Or the fact that us sorry newcomers are sequestered into this safehouse with little to keep us entertained? One is nearly as bad as the other.

[secondnature]

All of it. [Though being bored is something that Keith has managed. There's still a part of him that feels like he has to justify why he's managed it. Being on the space whale, going through the Quantum Abyss—it had been very hard on him. While it helped him and his mother come together and understand one another, he would take family bonding without the suffering and flashes of potential futures (and horrible bits from their pasts).

Oh, and all the monsters trying to eat them.

That sucked, too.

Not that being in a safehouse is anything like that. It's boring in a different way. To get through it, all they can do is find a routine and do their best.]

It's important to not forget. [Keith is too earnest and also missing why he wouldn't ... talk about it openly ... Sorry, Ardyn.]

[daemonized]

[He arches a brow in the other’s direction, amused that boredom and inter-dimensional kidnapping sound like they’re both the same degree of wrong.]

To answer your question, yes, I do find the rest inconvenient, too. But I’m man who lives in the present— [Not true, he’s a man who’s hooked to the past and wants to watch everything in the future writhe.] —and therefore my worries are presently thus: keeping myself entertained, and wondering what I’m to do once I’m immediately released. Where to wander off to, what the city has to offer.

[A hum of amusement.] Any suggestions?

[secondnature]

[What Keith likes and what anyone else likes are two different things. But he's had this question often enough that he knows that his answers aren't adequate. The question itself isn't one from recent people who've shown up—it's never them—but from people who get into his cab on the regular.

And they do.

From the airport.

And he's learned that his grunts and dismissive answers don't cut it.

(He's not even trying to be rude, he just isn't from here.)

But he knows how to look for stuff, so—]

Uh. What do you want? Er—or like. I guess. There's nowhere to make your hair grow.

[Before he asks.]

[daemonized]

[How funny. That this one takes his throwaway comment about his hair so seriously, like it's the actual thing Ardyn is concerned about, the state of his appearance. Oh, but the misdirection is so deliciously amusing that he continues down that line of conversation, diverging from the path with a reckless spirit and uncaring nature.]

Are you sure? Even in a city like this, with technologies so apparently advanced? Oh, how medical science disappoints.

[Sorry, Keith.]

[secondnature]

I—[he begins, but cuts himself off. Realistically, would it be impossible to make hair grow? Keith just assumed that there wasn't a way, and that all of them would be left without it. Keith isn't shallow in the least, but even he misses what he managed to grow over a long period of time.

And now he's without it.

He frowns, considering.]

I mean, maybe someone's worked it out? Healing is easier. I—uh, to tell you the truth, I never checked.

[It is very easy to mess with Keith.]

[daemonized]

[Keith no...

He can see the gears moving in the young man's head in the moments of consideration that pass. Moments that he should realistically use to ask legitimate questions, not necessarily revolving around the quickness of hair growth, and how medical science has advanced regarding this subject.

But Ardyn, ever supercilious, ever frustrating, just continues on. The frown he plasters across his face is so very disappointed.]

Oh, this will be utterly gutting for me. I feel absolutely raw without my hair, so very naked. You should've seen it before, dear boy, what a thing of glory it was! How am I supposed to function now, with my self-esteem rent in two, and my self-consciousness doubled?

[secondnature]

I'm sorry I can't help. [The sincerity behind these words is so earnest that it's obvious that Keith has played right into Ardyn's hands. It's not even that he's naive, but the sympathetic part of Keith that's just ridiculously bad at people ... feels bad here, too.]

I had a lot of hair, too. Before. I know a little how it feels. Maybe not as much.

[But—

Incoming hero speech.]

You're still you. No matter what's happened to us, or the fact that you're here—no one can take that away. Your hair will come back. Just try not to give up before then.

i'm sorry for ardyn

[daemonized]

[Oh no, a hero speech. Don't you know he's a final boss, it's not very effective...

But his grin widens by visible degrees, finding something awkwardly funny in how the other tries to employ empathy by way of 'I had a lot of hair, too.' It takes a fair amount of willpower to bite back the laugh that threatens to spill over, only managing it because Ardyn doesn't want to give up the farce just yet.]

Not only my hair, dear boy, but my clothes, too! Look at the state of them now-

[A gesture to himself, to indicate a mostly threadbare and mismatched outfit.]

-and how terribly ragged they are. And to think that our kidnappers have my scarf and hat held hostage, too, wherever they may be. Do you think they've a whole closet of our personal effects, kept wholly to themselves? Stolen from us?

i'm so happy

[secondnature]

I don't think they have anything that belongs to us. [While Keith can be ridiculously literal, it's something that he's trying to get better about. Anyone who knows this about him would be ashamed of this conversation. He's entirely too straightforward, believing that Ardyn really needs comfort in this arena.

He's just relieved that they've finally touched on a place where he can begin to give it. Their belongings. His knife isn't on him—he knows better than to bring one into this safehouse—but he keeps it close.]

Something I had on me before turned up here on its own. Close to me. It's happened to other people, too. It might take time, but your clothes will come back to you.

[daemonized]

[Literal, maybe, and Ardyn reads it as a mode of naïveté existing in the other young man. And though he wonders how long he can keep the other under the impression that he wishes dearly for the return of his hair and his original clothes (though, honestly, the latter wouldn't really be so bad), Ardyn will simultaneously not turn down actual helpful information for the sake of a overwrought joke.]

'Turned up here' how, exactly? [The quirk of a brow.] What am I to expect?

[secondnature]

It showed up after I slept one night. It was something important to me. [Keith's hand comes to his chest, indicating the very spot where bright blue light tends to shine when two people touch. He holds it there for a long moment before lowering it.]

I think it came through my ... chest. Hole.

[He says it slowly ... for the record ... because he realizes that a Hunk way of saying it serves best here.]

[daemonized]

Your chest hole.

[He draws out the syllables, as if confirming Keith’s own verbiage. It gets the point across, even if it is an inelegant way of phrasing it, and conjures up even more questions. Ardyn raises a hand, thumbing at his own chest.]

Seems like they forgot to give me one of those.

[He has no hole in his chest?]

[secondnature]

[For a brief second there, Keith looks impatient and agitated. But then he realizes that not everyone has a way of finding out what happens when they touch off the bat. No one would assume that glowing would have anything to do with getting belongings back. It's strange enough that it does.]

... Do you know how you glow yet?