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

[blyat]

[Multiversally misplaced. A concept that seems to roll easily off Loki's tongue, like a remark on a rainstorm or the heat of an afternoon. To Cain, it spins dizzily in his mind. He suspected the moment he was hauled off the bus that he was on Earth, but this is not Earth as he's learned: monochromatic, clean, ordered, regulations ruling all. This cavern is an example of that difference, but maybe it's his lack of experience with Earth getting in the way. He can't know.]

So you, too.

[A thought betrays him: maybe it's not so bad. Better than treason, likely execution, death.]

What are we supposed to do now? [Cain looks out at the crowd.] They got any free drinks here?

[Since he literally only has the clothes on his back. No money to pay.]

[selfimage]

[ better than a lot of things, and better than a lot of places, including Asgard. Loki watches him with mild interest, getting a read on his movements, the way his eyes flicker here and there, but he already knows what it's like to feel like you don't quite belong in a specific universe. (and Loki came with experience.) his arrival had come with a bigger bang, but he assumes each one is still painfully disorienting. ]

There's a place I'm supposed to take you. [ he says like he's running an errand. ] With less partying and less alcohol. t[ here's a dramatic gesture, a wave of a dark nailed hand. ] Though I suppose if you're somehow feeling up to it after being displaced, drugged and ... well, whatever they were doing to us, that I can buy you a drink, myself.

Once you make it to that place, you're holed up until the details are sorted out. It can be quite claustrophobic, after a while.

[blyat]

[It's not made to sound appealing. Cain's head spins, most of his weight deposited on the cool cavern wall -- after a moment, he turns to press the tender point of his temple against the stone. Then he lifts back up, straightening.]

Fuck this. [Sworn under breath in the tongue of another language, although their implants translates Russian instantaneously.] A drink's exactly what I need right now.

[Through the haze of frustration, whiskey's siren song is powerful. He takes advantage of that pull and leans in closer to Loki, to those glittery eyes.]

You gonna get me one?

[selfimage]

[ Loki's strangely calm about the whole thing, like this happens every day. it's only been a few weeks of this song and dance, but he's been in far stranger, more dangerous situations and managed to wiggle his way out of it with only a few battle-scar inducing traumas.

with a lazy half turn, he tilts his head as Cain straightens. it's the first time he hadn't swept someone off to the safehouse in an overwhelming, fast-talking swoop, handing them off to be dealt with by someone else. admittedly, he wasn't too good at taking care of people.

the edge of his personal space is being invaded, but he only lifts a dark brow. ]

My generosity is famously short-lived. I'd take advantage of it while you can.

[ which means yes, in short. with a sly smile he pushes away from the stone wall and waves for Cain to follow him. ]

[blyat]

[Whatever that means, he's encouraged by the thought of a free drink, and it's no thought to follow after. Loki carves a path through the crowd with effortless grace. He has to stick close to keep up, eyes on the back of that dark head for threat of losing him in the throng.

To keep his voice from slipping into the chaos of noise around them, lost, he speaks directly over Loki's shoulder as they reach the nearest bar.]

Yeah? How should I do that, ask for two drinks? [He's smirking, if only because banter feels better than keeping his mind in the mental state of where he is. Wondering what to do now. Desperately aching for someone who isn't here.] Or is that too much.

[The bartop is the smooth silver of an iron ingot, a circle at the center of the cavern, and he's never seen anything like it. He can see his reflection in it -- he looks wild and unfamiliar to himself.]

Can't know your limits unless I take advantage.

[selfimage]

[ they stand, because no one sits at an industrial-crafted bar in the center of a crowded cavern of club-goers. Cain stays close, enough to lingering busily just outside the range of Loki's bubble. it means he can keep an easy eye on him for the time being—while Loki's sense of responsibility is minimal, he's not unaware of the implications. Cain running on an unregistered, blank neural implant would cause some attention, and possibly some issue for both Loki and Morningstar. ]

Think of it less as and advantage and more of a form of debt. Two drinks means you owe me a favor, and most would advise against it.

[ with the sparkly make-up and the clubbing get-up may suggest one thing, Loki definitely orders them both hard liquor with ice and nothing else to tame it. enjoy your whiskey, friend.

the compostable cup gets nudged in Cain's direction, Loki leaning both elbows on the bar. ]

[blyat]

Sounds ominous.

[Not expecting the compostable cup, a see-through material half-full of amber liquid and small clinking ice cubes. It's what he wanted, what he asked for -- and miles better than the shit he bartered or stole out of rations in space, Cain realizes upon first sip.

He doesn't care that those eyes are fixed on him, examining. Curiosity wins well over intimidation.]

So how am I supposed to make my own money here? Not gonna rely on someone else's charity.

[selfimage]

[ it's a party, and if there are weird looks, it comes with a sort of expectation. Loki looks like he's partially used to this sort of thing, and he is, it comes with being an Asgardian god. ]

You'd best save the questions for later. I'm not really the welcoming committee, just something akin to the messenger—or delivery ... person, I suppose.

[ leaning on the bar, Loki rests his chin in his palm, looking out over half the dance floor with bright eyes half-lidded under dark lashes. ]

You'll get the whole spiel, don't worry. [ the other dark nailed hand waves. ] There's a career path for everyone.

[blyat]

[A career path. The idea alone drills under his skin, imagining he'll get shoved into the same pigeon-hole as the rest, likely in the realm of tedious manual labor. What else is he good for? They aren't in space.

No questions. After a drink, he can look for a way out of this place - and earn that spiel. This guy is finicky, but Cain's not really in the mood to push, given how he's feeling physically.]

Fine. What do you do?

[selfimage]

If you're so curious ...

[ well that's a question. he tilts his head over at Cain and offers him a charming, sly, conniving smile, like he knows just how he comes off. ]

That depends on who you ask. By day I'm a low-level corporate lackey, as irritating as that is with someone of my skillset—[ he taps the dark nail of the other finger against the rim of the compostable cup. ]—and by night I'm a no-good, downright dirty thief.

You've got ambitions if you're already thinking about making a living.

[blyat]

[Ambition to Loki, survival to Cain. Maybe it once was that - something else, motivation and dreams of far landscapes - but it died on him as soon as he got thrown into the hole of prison. Ever since, he's only focused on digging his way out.]

Sounds like you should quit the day job. Don't really fit the lackey gig.

[At least, that's the impression earned here. Cain leans most of his weight into the bar and sips whiskey, ice a pleasant cold on fingers through the cup.]

Thief, huh? That more your skillset? Didn't know being a criminal was a career option.

[He's suspects more. Loki gives information in bits and fragments, as it seems to suit, and it leaves him endlessly parched in the drought of curiosity.]

[selfimage]

[ survival was something else to him, and it boiled down to trickery and deceit. he wasn't unaware of what his status in Asgard had been for the last few millennia, and even up until recently. he did what he had to—which included, mostly, what he wanted. ]

Come now, I'm not just one thing. [ he likes to keep his options open. the Pulsar office job wasn't needed for the salary, but for the resources. it was a slow-moving chess piece that he was steadily pushing in the direction that he wanted it to go. some things went fast, others needed to be calculated more slowly. ] Some things need to be a little more challenging. This isn't my first inter-dimensional romp, but it's surprisingly more pleasant.

[ those outer-rim mayfly dimensions had been nightmares—literally. ]

[blyat]

[Well, he doesn't know Loki, and he wonders what he'll look like in the glaring light of day after a period of sleep. If the impression of him will hold past the puzzling disorientation and ambiguity of this moment. Past the opaque banter.

Something hooks, and sticks, in what Loki says to him then.]

You've done this before? [Swimming up in his awareness, that mention of the multiverse. How absurd and alien it sounds to him, far beyond his own comprehension.] So why can't you just get out of here?

[Arguable pleasantness aside, if Loki isn't lying his ass off - his gaze is a dark intensity, fingers clenched hard and white-knuckled around his cup - just how many fucking alternate universes exist? And what is this stranger capable of doing?]

[selfimage]

[ out of everyone to collect the new displacees, Loki knows that he's probably not the best. he does it anyway, because sometimes his own cavalier attitude to the higher order of the universe is welcome in some ways, or elicits a reaction in others.

Loki turns against the bar, leaning his hip on the edge. he lifts a dark nailed finger and taps the center of Cain's chest as if he had absolutely no respect for personal space. it's brief before he draws back, hand to his side. ]

I'm being blocked. [ and, in all honesty, even with the loss of autonomy, he'd rather stay away from Asgard for the moment. ] There's something akin to a portal in the center of our chests. It allows things in, lets them out—in my case, my sorcery is blocked. You needn't tell me how convenient that is, it's already a sore spot.

[ it sounds wild, and he doesn't expect people to believe him, but he's not going to go out of his way to play the prove yourself game, either. ]

[blyat]

[He doesn't flinch away from the tap at his chest, even though he feels his whole body tense like a live wire, from fingertips to the angle of his head. His eyes drop to the place Loki indicates, then he raises his palm to flatten it over the spot. Nothing evident, except for the stutter of his own heartbeat deep down underneath bone.

Blocked. Powers. Nothing Cain has or knows, but he won't spit his denial outright, because even he recognizes the situation he's in is abnormal. He doesn't really get what Loki means by sorcery -- magic doesn't exist. What the Colterons can do, it looks like magic, but that's only because they don't understand it. That's all science.]

A portal. In our chests. [His hand closes into a tight fist over the scrubs.] What the fuck?

[Bewildered,] I don't have anything like that. Your... whatever, magic stuff. Can't we take the portal out? [He really doesn't want a hole like that in his body. It feels invasive and wrong.]

[selfimage]

[ one turn the dial—one fall through the multiverse, and everything changes. he's noticed that mortals still retain their skepticism, even when some of the inner workings of reality have been uncovered. this would be another day for Loki, woven together by inter-dimensional espionage and reality re-working. ]

It's blocked. [ he almost sounds pained to have to say it again. (he fought so hard to get it back, to be able to use it again, all to have it put under dimensional lock-and-key.) ] I would've done far more than that if I could. And no—you're stuck with it for now. I'd mind your space, those of us that get within it will be privy to first row seats of your emotions. Other things come out of it, too, specific things from our worlds. Usually small. It manifests abilities in those that have it—which we all seem to.

[ Loki holds the drink to his lips and pauses. ]

It's a tool. An unfortunate one, but one nonetheless.

[blyat]

You realize how fucking crazy all that sounds to me.

[Or, hopes he does. Not that Cain has the preemptive ability to cast a shade of doubt on what's said, considering where he is provides the concrete evidence of altered dimension. This isn't space. This isn't a planet he's ever seen.]

So, we get a new superpower? [Lip curling in an expression of distaste - and terror, diluted by another gulp of alcohol - Cain sets the finished cup on the bar.

Loki only said one, but he's burning for a second. It's like every word is driving him further to drink.] Yours can't be better than inter-dimensional magic travel bullshit.

[selfimage]

You're here, aren't you?

[ as if that somehow explains the existential oddity of whole situation. moving flawlessly from one topic to the next as he tips the rim of his drink back to down the rest of it in a neat gulp. ]

And no, but my inter-dimensional magic travel bullshit was part of who I am, rather than an extension of an ability. What it was replaced with is ... well—okay. [ eh. ] Acceptable, I suppose. [ he looks into his cup and frowns. ] There are those who've never manifested anything before, so, different is on the agenda. What about you? Come from a place with superheroes and magic unicorns, maybe a dragon or two?

[ he's beckoning the bartender over. ]

[blyat]

[Fair point.

Cain snorts, imagining those fantastical elements taking up any aspect of his world.] Nope. Never had anything like a power before.

[Just his own two fists and plenty of aggression to channel into them. Hence some of his hesitation in the topic. It's a large stone to swallow.]

None of that shit, just - outer space, I guess. On a ship. I don't know how to explain it... I was fighting a war against an alien race. [Dark eyes travel, following the bartender as he arrives to assist. He's reminded of a dream, describing a dream.] Very far from here.

[selfimage]

[ different worlds yield different results, always. they were a dangerous mish-mash in a brave new world where they were now meant to live their lives. until what? well, Loki couldn't fathom, not yet, anyway. despite all of that, he takes everything in an easy stride.

the bartender hands Loki a drink and the exchange happens without any physical currency. ]

I'd like to hear about it sometime. [ there's nothing like a good story. ] We're quite the variety of individuals, and we all have differing backgrounds and tales to tell.

Outer space and aliens sounds about right.

[blyat]

[He notices that, gaze trailing the transaction - or lack of it. On a tab? Or Loki's known, and needs no payment. An alternative method of funding doesn't even cross his mind, in the moment.

A roll of shoulder, relaxed, belies the nerves drilling under his skin. He feels stuck on-edge.] Sure.

Thanks for the drink, sweetheart. [The smirk's like glass, not as durable as the usual steel.] I'm gonna go check the rest of this place out. See you around?

[selfimage]

[ Loki doesn't fault him for the tension—honestly, who isn't tense after being drained completely of autonomy? for someone who's driving goal is freedom, it feels more than uncomfortable. it's rage-inducing, unforgivable, and turns the low-burning embers inside of him to flames.

he holds it well, but he knows how to bide his time. ]

Toodles. [ sweatheart, really? does he look that sweet to you??? ] Just remember that you're most likely still guided by suggestion, and you've a blank neural implant to alert anyone who should be so savvy to check.

Don't linger long, 'less you possibly expose us all.

[ he says it like expose us all isn't a big thing or anything, but he's still letting him go. he's curious to see what Cain does on his own. ]

[blyat]

[He looks something, and that something earns Cain's familiar term of endearment.]

Don't have any fun, talk to nobody, bail soon. Easy enough.

[Cain waves broadly in farewell, then proceeds to do the opposite of everything Loki's advised.]

[selfimage]

[ he's not sure what he expected. ]