meadowlarklogs | ARRIVAL LOG 005

ARRIVAL LOG 005

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ plenty of easy prey around the parts, if it came to that.

in any case, what the other guy says makes ... a bit of sense, really. it would be easier with two people. even then, heine hesitates a moment, the whites of his eyes vivid in the dark as he carefully scans cain's expression.

the answer comes a moment later, in the form of the shirt thrown his way. ]

[Though his reflexes are shot by the drugs, Cain manages to catch the shirt with a quick hand before it covers his face. He yanks it down, then over head -- it hangs off his upper torso, meant for a larger man and covered in gaudy blue rhinestones. Still better than hospital scrubs.]

Nice. Who's next?

[Cain flashes a vivid white smirk and stalks closer to his newfound criminal accomplice.]

Maybe we can get some pants.

If we get any pants I call first dibs.

[ the jacket is black and tattered, too long and baggy for his thin frame but at least it helps to cover up the bright white scrubs that all but screams out some sort of weird prison convict, and Heine steps over the unconscious body, putting distance between Cain and himself even as he heads off into another part of the cavern. Accomplice or not, he doesn't trust any bitches in this place. ]

[It doesn't bother Cain. There's not trust between them, just the shared act of targeting defenseless strangers and robbing them of the clothes off their backs. Maybe they'll get punished for it. He's too tired and agitated about the situation to care.

Into the next room, he spots another target -- a younger man, slumped over in one dark corner, drunk off his ass. Cain juts his chin in that direction. As he does, the man stirs, still appearing out of it. Cain watches him shout something obscene to a passing stranger, which goes blatantly ignored. The man then falls back into an inebriated stupor.]

Not asleep. Still wanna risk our luck, or find someone else?

[ if they end up getting caught and punished for it, then so be it. they just have to take care not to get caught, right? seems an easy enough thing to do, with these myriad of caves and corners shrouded in darkness, surrounded by the heady mass of people.

Heine follows the jerk of his head, eyeing the man shout something before falling backwards against the wall, his chin against his chest and legs splayed out in front of him. He's not as big as the other guy, and even though he seems to be not completely unconscious, it would be easy enough to knock him out if he tried to kick up a fuss about it. ]

Gonna chicken out? Predictable.

[ the tone is dismissive and challenging at the same time, a laconic drawl almost drowned out in the distant beat of music, and Heine gives him a quick, sidelong glance, searching out his expression. ]

[Cain's eyes roll, an ache beginning to form in his body as the drugs wear down. This gives him something more concrete to focus on: a task at hand, beyond the strangeness of where they are and every other unanswered question. Fatigue and agitation make it so he doesn't feel like snapping back, even though he can think of several colorful things to say to that.]

Shut the fuck up.

[He's not chickening out. He's just being smart. A fight's liable to attract more attention than divesting unconscious people. But a target is still a target, so he stalks forward and approaches the man.] Hey. Mind if we borrow this? [Cain pulls on the jacket covering the man's shoulders, a rude yank, before he starts tugging it all the way off.] This asshole over here is really cold.

[Points at Heine, intentionally throwing him under the bus. So far so good, as the man only blinks at them in a drunken fugue.]

[ kudos to the guy for not lashing out violently, which is a good sign on its own, but heine nevertheless doesn't much appreciate cain throwing him under the bus like that so he shoots him a dirty look. ]

Not cool. [ muttering under his breath, heine steps in a little closer now that the situation has been more or less established. The drunk (or drugged, or both, it's hard to say) continues to eye them suspiciously like he can't quite make up his mind on whether to yell at them or not, so heine will just do the easiest thing possible.

knock him out with a sharp hit to the side of his head. ]

[Like you've never thrown someone under the bus before, Heine. Pot calling the kettle.]

Hey--!

[It's an aborted exclamation as he watches Heine incapacitate their target with one quick strike. Efficient and practiced, not some rookie trying to look badass, he notices. It doesn't stop Cain from spinning a brief, paranoid look across the room to make sure no one saw Heine assault someone. (Never mind the robbing; it's a separate crime. No true harm done.)

Cain stares down at the collapsed body, slumped dead weight, arms a judgmental fold over his chest.]

Wow. You're not subtle, are you.

[ don't worry, it's dark enough in this particular corner that nobody would have really noticed anything, and Heine crouches down besides Cain so he can get his hands under the now unconscious man's armpits and haul him to his feet. They're roughly about the same height, and he glances down, critically. ]

I didn't kill him, if that's what you're worried about.

[ silently cocking a non existent eyebrow, heine jerks his head towards the guy in his arms. ]

Get his shoes too while you're at it.

[Murder hadn't even entered Cain's mind when he started the evening out in a drug-addled, confused, kidnapped state. What the fuck. He may be an asshole without concern for personal boundaries, he may like to kick shit in and take names, but he's never killed another human being.

Colterons were alien, Colterons attacked them first - it was easy to justify.]

Yeah, you better not fuckin' kill him, you psycho.

[Anyway, he kneels to peel off the trendy sneakers on the guy's feet. Then he throws them at Heine.]

All yours.

[ murder isn't as much of a foreign concept to heine as it would be for the other - it's not pleasant by any means, he doesn't necessarily go out of his way to kill anyone, but - it's something that's just been so consistently present in his life that heine would no longer bat his lashes at it.

it's simply something that happens by necessity, that's all.

waiting patiently for cain to peel the shoes off the guy before putting him back down on the floor, heine grunts, not quite managing to raise an arm fast enough to catch the sneakers and they end up hitting him solidly in the middle before dropping to the floor.

with a quietly muttered asshole, he bends down to pick them up. the collar bolted to the back of his neck catches the flashes of light in the distance, not quite covered by the collar of the jacket he has on; it's old, the scratches deep shadows on the dull gleaming metal, the raised ugly scar tissues lining the skin around it stark, bared for open inspection.

heine continues to grumble quietly to himself as he puts the shoes on, lacing them tight around his ankles, before glancing back up at the other. ]

Want anything else?

[Maybe retcon my last tag to "Cain only kills in an adrenaline-fueled panic when he's trying to escape with his life and still hasn't processed it," but who knows.

He does see that glint of metal, although it isn't a long enough look to wholly be sure what he's looking at. Whatever it is, Cain cringes - the sight gives him a crawling, uncomfortable feeling in the center of his belly. He's not squeamish, but not even Earth's augmentations bought by the rich have ever looked quite that... messy. Maybe somebody botched the job.

Waiting in silence, still kneeling, Cain's chin jerks up as that question is posed.]

Yeah. Shoes for me, too. Maybe some boots.

[Those pale neon sneakers would look horrible on him. He's not as femme as Heine.]

The hell happened to your neck?

[ look, it's not quite his aesthetic but at least they're better than.... whatever the hell they had on before this. heine is picky but this isn't a situation that calls for pickiness .... he just wants to get out of these white clothes that all but scream out some kind of mental institution.

probably some pants too, then that would be enough. heine nods, not even bothering to reply to cain in any normal form of communication, and stands up to dust himself off. moving on...

except the question brings him up short. heine twitches, a flinch that isn't quite masked fully, a jerk of his head, and he brings up a hand reflexively to his neck; his palm pressing against the collar, briefly covering it from view. shit, he forgot about that. he usually kept it hidden from view with bandages, and it hadn't exactly occurred to him that it's displayed so out in the open like that. ]

...

[ his shoulders hunch, just a little. ]

Don't have time to answer stupid questions like that.

Come on, we gotta get you some shoes, princess.

[Well, that reaction goes noted, even though his attention is derailed by the following rudeness. Cain's eyes roll in his head - a flair for dramatic, as he's often prone.]

Damn, you're bossy. Chill for two seconds, I just thought of something else I wanted.

[He flashes a white grin from where the unconscious man is slumped. Then he reaches over, and... begins to unbuckle the stranger's jeans at the belt with one hand, the other pulling on the waistband to check the sizing.]

I think these'll fit me. Watch my back, I don't wanna get caught looking like a creep.

[Yeah, he's going to start divesting the man of his pants with impatient tugs.]

[ wow, what a ho... it's time for heine to roll his eyes, though he obligingly steps back a pace (Cain did, after all, word it as a command of sorts, as such), glancing around their vicinity for anyone who would notice what they're up to. thankfully, most are too preoccupied. ]

Like you weren't a creep before?

[ this poor... drunk guy.... He's gonna wake up basically naked and have no idea why. ]

[Wow. Don't call him out for being high on drugs and groping several people earlier, he decidedly does not want to remember any of that.]

And whose bright idea was this, anyway? Oh yeah, yours.

[A creep and a psycho, match made in heaven. Cain manages to strip the pants off and shake them out, standing, and then ducks closer to the corner of the room.]

Stay there.

[A real command this time, not realizing its effect, he uses Heine as a barrier while he... shucks down his own pants, facing the wall. So if Heine looks down he'll only get an eyeful of his ass, since Cain doesn't really have shame. He's used to nudity around other men by now.]

[ heine was high on drugs and he didn't grope anyone... but enough slutshaming. ]

You invited yourself to this party, don't bitch.

[ trust someone like him to turn around and blame someone else after walking into the situation himself... don't he know a lot of people like that?

Heine lets out an irritated sigh of breath and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but stays his ground, some unknown force compelling him to remain where he was.

wait... ]

Dude, are you getting changed here?

Why not? Have to do it somewhere, and this is quick.

[He wants his bare ass exposed for as little time as possible, personally. Cain kicks off the scrubs, then pulls on one leg of the jeans after the other, fastening the buckle at his waist. Much better, if somewhat looser around the thighs and calves than he'd like.]

Don't you want some pants?

Edited 2019-01-04 04:22 (UTC)

[ with a slight sound of disgust, heine turns his head away with a jerk, frowning as he squints out to the dips and turns of the cavern before him, until he is sure that Cain is done getting himself into the stolen goods. ]

Yeah, if we're lucky.

[ heine is .... so skinny. the jacket he's got on now is basically hanging off him.

they don't even know each other's names still, at this point, but they've already mugged like two people. Crazy. ]

Done looking pretty? Let's go that way.

[Does no one feed this kid?]

Done not looking like a runaway nutjob, yeah. [He glances his companion over as they walk, a cursory look as they spend more time together mugging strangers.] Maybe we should target a chick. You're not gonna fit into most guys' pants here.

[Just a guess. Anyway, before Heine can answer, a disposable cup comes flying out of nowhere - full of alcohol and splashing its contents everywhere - directly at Heine's head.]

What the -

[ he lives off his angst and black coffee

they're walking, so it's easier to mask the hunching of shoulders this time - heine turns his face away slightly, his mouth settling into a hard, flat line as he frowns at what the other says. he's been lucky enough so far.... probably, knowing how crowded this place gets and as addled with drugs as he'd been, but still the thought alone is enough to make his palms sweaty.

before he could open his mouth to answer, though, they are interrupted by a sudden commotion - and a sticky cupful of alcohol being splashed directly against the side of his head. usually, in his normal body, it would have been easy enough to dodge away from the trajectory of the flying liquid. as is, his body isn't what it used to be, his muscles acting belated, sluggish in the wake of it all, and heine takes a step back a second later, cursing, dripping alcohol. ]

[He's forced to sidestep some of the spray that splashes off the side of Heine's head, wearing a grimace, wiping a few sticky droplets off his chin. That was... fucking hilarious. Cain's laughing before he can stop himself - tired and drained and disoriented as he is, he has to appreciate a completely random event like this.]

Holy shit! They got you good.

[The crowd continues milling around them, so it's impossible to tell where the alcoholic projectile came from. The cup rolls on the ground and is crushed by a passerby.]

Here, use this. [He's still holding the scrub pants he just took off, so he tosses them at Heine. At least he's being helpful.]

[ heine wipes at his face with the back of a hand but it's already too late, and it stings faintly, burning as the alcohol drips down into his eyes and he ends up squinting angrily through half slitted eyes at the crowd around them, and at Cain laughing his head off.... wow, what an asshole.

though to be honest, if the situation were reversed, he would be laughing just like he is, so.... karma's a bitch. ]

Watch it, [ hissing, as a guy walks past them, bumping his shoulder against heine's in passing, and he takes a step away and closer to cain. it's some kind of gross mix of some herbal liqueur and vodka or something, strong and almost pungent, sickening sweet in the lingering aftertaste. he shakes his head much like a dog would after getting wet, not caring if that motion gets... more alcohol flung at the other guy. ]

Ugh.... This sucks. [ the scrub pants are at least.... clean, somewhat. and a better alternative than just letting it drip all over the place and smelling like some garbage bin that an alcoholic junkie threw up in, and heine reluctantly plucks it from the other's hand, wiping his face with it. ]

Hey, don't shake it on me!

[Asshole. Cain's speckled with damp droplets of alcohol, shielding his eyes. He's not drenched as Heine is, but that doesn't matter, because on the next inhale all he smells is that bitter, vaporous scent of hard liquor. Doesn't mind it in a glass, down his throat - does mind when it assaults his nose like he's taken a whiff of something dead and rotting.]

You fucking reek. C'mere. [A hand grabs Heine's arm over the jacket, hauling him toward the nearest bathroom and shoving him inside.] Wash your face off before I have to do it for you.

[At least he's taking care of Heine... kind of...]

[ heine doesn't bother replying to the insult flung at him but he grins quickly, knifesharp and sardonic and fully aware of exactly what he's doing ... he's a shitty bitch ... before cain roughly hauls him towards the bathroom near them. he stumbles a little over the uneven ground, the shit-eating grin, in a flash, turning down in the corners as he clutch at a wall for support. ]

Fuck off, I can wash by myself.

[ but ugh.... seriously, the alcohol has run everywhere, down his neck and soaking the hospital shirt under the jacket, even, and Heine grumbles to himself as he turns around to reach for the faucet of the sink in there. the water splutters weakly before starting to flow. he takes the oversized jacket off, half-turning so he can throw it back in the other's face. hold that, will ya? ]

ARRIVAL LOG 005

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this is such a trashy tag....

i'm dying. why heine

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