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]

And what is it you do, or did, Giovanni Rammsteiner? I promise I'll not tell.

[Lips sealed and all that. He's interested, he pries and wheedles, he wants more information so he can feel the shape of it in his mind.]

Quid pro quo, of course. I'm willing to share just as much as you.

[ofobedience]

What I do. Now you see, that isn't quite the right question.

[Because yes he serves a function just as any well-honed tool should, but it's more a case of what he is, what he was meant for. But he doesn't say that. Only looks up at the other man with his startling red eyes and his head slightly tilted, lupinesque]

Perhaps you ought to go first.

[daemonized]

[Parts of himself are wound up tight, not to be so easily shared. And yet, there is an apathetic side to Ardyn that cares not for what others learn of him; this is the second time he's been wrenched from one universe to another, and so much has already been so unduly unravelled -- and so much might still reset, given what he knows of timelines and the like -- that he doesn't mind going first. Tit for tat. Quid pro quo. Why the hell not?]

I was a Chancellor for the great Niflheim Empire. [Ardyn pulls a face, faux disgust coating his expression.] Yes, yes, I know. A politician, how awful. But such as it is, and not nearly as exciting nor as tumultuous as one might think such a title entails.

[He was. That's not untrue.]

[ofobedience]

A politician, is it?

[A Chancellor of the great Niflheim Empire, whatever that means. Alien words without meaning, though the truth is such a place could exist in his own world for all he knows-- anything outside of the city in which he was created, anything above the Underground for that matter, remains largely unknown to him.]

That's all a little beyond me, I'm afraid.

[He knows nothing of politicians, nothing outside of Mayor Neubauten and his unexpected connections to the Below, but that's hardly relevant here. And so he shrugs affably, smiles his serrated smile.]

I'm somewhat lower down the food chain, alas. [Though that, in itself, is debatable, in some regards. Or was.] Just a hound of war. A kind of soldier, if you will.

[daemonized]

[He suspects the weight of it means little to a stranger's ears. Honestly, it means so very little now if one resided in Eos, that dark and ruined world, swallowed up by an endless night. Such societal structures crumbled so quickly when something resembling the end of the world itself began its slow wringing of life out of a world.]

And what is an army without the dogs of war? Without the foot soldiers to paint the battlefield red?

[Well, he could be wrong, but he loves the theming too much to depart from it so quickly.]

And what kind of war did you fight?

[ofobedience]

Well. I rank a little more highly than a foot soldier, but perhaps not by much.

[Not by much, not enough, not for Her-- he's something of a failure after all isn't he, when of his batch of genetically engineered nightmares She'd only ever really needed one and that one had got away from her. The rest are dead and then there's him who She keeps around for Her own reasons, perhaps just to watch him fall apart. Who knows.

But these aren't things he talks about.]

As for the war...a long and insidious one. One still on-going, though about to enter its final act.

[He smiles that crooked smile of his, bitter-edged this time.]

Though it seems as though I won't be there to see how it all ends.

[What with being trapped here and all that. Though Heine is here too, and he has to wonder how that affects things. Whether Professor Einsturzen needs him for her long-laid plans to come to fruition.]

[daemonized]

['Long and insidious' the other says, and perhaps that's so. But Ardyn's own perception of time has gone all twisted up with an overly long existence. A war's length, running long by mankind's terms, is but an exhale of air to someone immortal; just as transient, and just as short-lived in the grand scheme of it all.

The last bit, though, almost makes his smile reach his eyes.]

And is that a disappointment? Most people would be happy to leave the ruinous nature of war, even if 'finding peace' means having been displaced from one world to another.

[A short laugh.]

But maybe you're the loyal sort? Feeling the pull of wartime obligation even as we speak?

[ofobedience]

There's only one way to find peace, and it certainly isn't in displacement.

[He says it, even as a sly-whispered voice reminds him that isn't necessarily true. Not when it's likely this could be the one chance he has at a good clean death with minimal pain. If the Spine is truly malfunctioning, if it has somehow been quieted down and silenced, if he can now be killed by something so simple as a bullet to the head, then he has a chance of it here. Of finding peace, at last.

Except that he doesn't want it, not like this. Because yes this stranger has hit upon a truth-- dogs are bred for loyalty, after all. He wants an ending, yes, but in the proper place, at the proper time.]

Something like that, yes.

[daemonized]

[His smile widens along the edges, something direly morbid in his eyes, in his look. Only one way to find peace? Ardyn would certainly agree with that; how much of himself simply revolves around the idea, that end goal, that light at the end of a dark and very long tunnel.

Yet at the same time, he would argue that there are multiple ways to go about achieving that goal. Others were more fortunate than him, not so bound by the shackles of fate and a stringent Prophecy that dictated otherwise. Surely this one, if he's reading in-between the lines correctly, could manage something in this strange new world.]

I would disagree. There are several ways of doing so, as long as you're creative about it. Considering our current situation, I imagine you wouldn't even have to try very hard after being unleashed upon the city itself.

[ofobedience]

That's all just a matter of semantics, isn't it? When the end result is the same.

[Even if he takes his point-- there are a multitude of ways in which he could go about it now, because if his regenerative abilities have been significantly reduced the ease of the thing is now dazzling. It could be over in the blink of an eye, something fast and almost without pain, but--

--but. Whilst that's an idea that undoubtedly has its appeal, it lacks a certain flare, a certain drama.

He's gone for so long expecting things to end in one particular way, has envisaged his ending so specifically, that now to have anything else feels like being cheated.

This is the wrong time, the wrong place. The wrong world for it.]

And it may now be an easy thing, but the timing is all off. There'd be no elegance to it.

[And his laugh is a cold, bright thing.]

[daemonized]

It almost sounds like you had a plan. An idea, a vision.

[How intriguing. How utterly familiar. Ardyn’s interest grows, forever eager to latch onto such a morbid topic when it hits so close to home.]

Will you share it with me? [He splays his fingers across his chest, indicating his own form.] Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

[As if exchanging stories about the weather, and nothing more.]

[ofobedience]

A vision. I suppose I do, or did.

[But he smiles his barbed-wire smile, folds his arms across his narrow chest as he looks up at the stranger standing before him, now.]

But one's vision is quite the personal thing, is it not? Particularly for a first conversation.

[His voice is wry, the joke of it coiled in with the curl of his lips--]

And you haven't so much as bought me a drink.

[daemonized]

Mm, perhaps. How bold of me, moving so quickly.

[Amusement doesn't die, in fact, is just spurred on with the next set of words-]

So then maybe a drink sometime? Once we're free from this cozy little safehouse? My treat.

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni's laughs then, a cutting sound. It isn't quite the response he'd been expecting, but now that he's received it...]

As you like it, then. Come and find me, once you have the means to make good on your offer.