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

[ofobedience]

[Red, and fever-bright as he looks up into the stranger's face with a guarded kind of intensity, right up until the moment he says somewhere quiet. Because wouldn't that be something, the waves of sound rolling over him and thudding like a drum in his chest, his body vibrating to the deep bass beat and it isn't something he knows. Only furthers his disorientation.

Somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the confusing sensory overload. That's something he can get behind.

He lets his grip turn loose then slip away to nothing, hand falling limp at his side again as he nods. Just once.]

Somewhere quiet, then.

[Suspicion not erased, just suspended.]

And what, exactly, does registration entail?

[reneger]

An ID tagged to your implant. ( raising a free hand up to his own head, jason gestures towards where his own (recentish) scar rests among hair that's still trying to regrow after getting buzzed down. this guy'll probably get it. probably. he's reacting even if it's slow, that has to come from somewhere. )

You give 'em your name, they give you history that suits this place. Helps you blend in. Without it? You can't get fucking anywhere in this city. Doors won't let you in, you'll get picked up by the police, and who the fuck knows what'll happen to you from there.

( as far as jason knows no one has gotten out of the safehouse after getting picked up and gotten picked up by another organization. it'd be something to test; what police would do with someone who didn't have an ID registered, where they'd end up. but he wouldn't ask an unknown newbie to potentially fuck themselves over like that. )

'less you wanna go the harder way.

[ofobedience]

[Implant. And he does get it swiftly enough, at least a good enough understanding to guess at what he means. It's the one thing about all this, perhaps, that doesn't cause him too much distress or panic because if it's one thing he knows it's invasive medical procedures, it's body modifications. He's been through plenty of that. At least he didn't feel it.

He laughs again though, that hollow hot laugh of his that doesn't really seem to denote amusement, as though he's trying on the trappings of human expressions and not quite getting them right.]

Blend in. [There's the brief flash of his teeth then, too sharp, too pointed to accurately be called human.] Now there's a tall order.

[He can maintain it for short periods whilst haunting the Underground like some forgotten ghost, but should anyone spend any length of time in his company he knows they'd feel it, see it-- he isn't like them. His thoughts turn briefly to Heine, how he's survived for years in the world beyond the Below, but he isn't like Heine, either. Never has been (always wanted to be).

He swipes a hand up and over his brow, beads of sweat beginning to form, the narcotics in him leaving him overheated and close to breathless.]

What's the harder way?

[reneger]

The harder way. ( he repeats, laughs and shoves his hand against this guy's shoulder. they've gotten far enough away, he doesn't need to keep leading this guy down. he's not going out of here yet and the newbie is starting to get it. that's enough. )

The harder way is we don't get you back to our home base, you don't get an ID registered to your implant, and you try and fend for yourself out in the city without it. No support network. Nothing.

( without the support of morningstar survival is near impossible. jason wanted to try it. hadn't, because he had bigger things to concern himself over. alternative universe family, shit he needed to take care of--things that weighed more than his own personal preference for mischief and trouble. and now he's stuck with it: their help, their ID, their neural network.

but he'll give him the options. go with help, or go without any. there's nothing in between in a place like this. )

[ofobedience]

[A hand against his shoulder and almost he stumbles because his legs feel heavy and strange and his head is a tangled mire all the lights and sounds and the feeling in him like the world is bending in ways it shouldn't. The drugs in him, they make this difficult.

He laughs though, again. A bitter sound edged with hysteria because the harder way, as it transpires, is too hard for him. Trying to make it on his own with nothing and no one fills him with fear so intense he feels it as a physical ache, a pain in his ribs and eye teeth and up inside his head because he can't do it. Has always known this, that he isn't meant for the outside world and yet it seems he's in it.

He feels as though he's going to throw up. Doesn't. Just reaches out a hand to steady himself, probably grasping a handful of the stranger's clothes.]

So it's a rock and a hard place, then. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. What fun.

[It's clear from his tone, despite the hard line of the smile that follows, that he means quite the opposite.]

Hell would have been preferable. Hahah.

[reneger]

Yeah, well. ( there's a joke he'd normally deliver, a been there, done that. a reference to his own death, to the time his body spend six feet under before jason managed to claw his way back out of his grave and stumble back into life. but he doesn't voice it. bites back his own snark and instead takes another step forward,

shoves giovanni's fingers out of his clothes, because as much as he is here to help, he isn't here to hold up a stranger. ) Hell ain't in the itinerary, so you're gonna have to deal with being here instead.

( it is. somewhere in the future, they'll all keel over. but jason doesn't need to voice that, does he? it's obvious enough without the words to back it up. the smile--it's. familiar. matches the one jason wears on his lips, generally. snarking and smirking because it's the only thing one can do, isn't it. make yourself bigger, louder, so no one knows how much shit really bothers you. he lets this kid have his moment, too.

he may be an ass, but he isn't a big enough ass to take that away. )

So you'll have to pick something less dramatic. With a network, or without.

[ofobedience]

[Well, there's a modicum of common ground that slides by unnoticed then-- it's not as though Giovanni doesn't know how it feels to die, all bodily functions ceasing for one bright beautiful moment before the hiss and fizz of regeneration kicks in and his broken brain mends itself even as it finds new ways to fall apart. And being buried-- now there's something, because he's been buried all his life.

But it goes unvoiced and unmentioned and so there's only cold disengagement as the stranger pulls his clothes free from Giovanni's overheated grip, an action Giovanni barely seems to notice because he feels as though he's been pushed outside of himself, as though his body is something distant from him, only vaguely functioning as it should.

Maybe he ought to kill this man. Maybe he ought to kill all of them, the bodies that sway and move and push and perhaps then he'll be let out of here because he would have proven himself to Her to whoever may be watching that he can do it yes he can, maybe that's what this is all about and there's a certain peace to be found in the deep red of violence now, a certainty one can taste on one's tongue.

He thinks it, for a moment, and perhaps there's the glimmer of it in the unnatural red of his eyes as they find the other man's face, but he can't hold on to it. Not when he feels so heavy and slow and uncoordinated.

He wants to laugh again. Bites it back, swallows it down.]

It doesn't seem to me as though choice has much to do with it.

[It never does, not really.]

No matter. Perhaps getting away from all this-- [He waves a hand, vaguely.] -- will, momentarily, suffice.