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

[reneger]

( there are bits and pieces to cain that remind jason too much of himself. the need to fight. to punch and kick and hit. the distrust. how quick he went into using what he had (touching, too much touching) to his advantage. and this: coping with the shitty, crappy things by pulling out fists. he focuses eyes in on cain himself. looks him over, from shoulders down. as if the additional once over'll help with any decision he's trying to make. )

You wanna fight? I'll fight you. ( because he gets that too. the need to cope with shit somehow. ) But I'm not going easy, I've had a real shit few weeks and too many kids to take it easy on already.

( if he fights cain he's not going to hold back worth shit. and jason hasn't let loose in god knows how long. )

[blyat]

[Maybe it's a stupid decision: this guy is taller, corded with heavier muscle, and wearing blatant signs of physical combat. Cain knows he's at a severe disadvantage by sight alone. It doesn't dissuade him, doesn't pull him into regret after he's made his demand and heard Malone's terms. None of that really matters, because he wouldn't want someone to go easy on him right now.

What matters is he's said yes. And Cain's fought bigger guys before. The drugs are the true trapdoor under his feet; he's not sure what it'll be to fight like this.

A roll of a shoulder,] I'm not asking 'cause I want special treatment. [His voice is low, still gritty with disuse.] Where?

[Fighting at the fringes of the dance floor isn't exactly ideal.]

[reneger]

( he shouldn't be picking on newbies. shouldn't be wailing on them, and jason sure as hell has been. working hard on his self control to keep from doing stupid shit. but cain is asking for it, wants a fight. and it's probably better he go at it with someone who knows where to drop him off than some normie from this era.

so jason grins, toothy. wraps an arm around cain's shoulders and steers him deeper into the caverns. )

Got any limits, you might wanna voice them now. ( he's not angry. jason can hold back as long as he doesn't start getting emotional over it. there are people here who are. . different. can take a lot more damage than even jason and get back up onto their feet. inhuman, but. he doesn't know this dude. )

[blyat]

[The cave darkens along their passage, UV strobes replaced by solid-colored electric strings along the domed ceiling. A tunnel interrupted by the open mouths of more chambers, some small and some large, occupied by a wide variety of partygoers. Cain's attention isn't wholly on them. The weight of the arm over his shoulder is heavy - he can feel muscle through fabric, laid like iron. He lets him lead.]

No weapons. [It wouldn't be fair since he's personally unarmed. And while most things go on the colonies, the fighters' themselves had similar limits. He recites a few of them now.] Don't knock out teeth or break bones, unless you wanna pay to get 'em fixed.

[A smirk slashes across his lips. He feels giddy, but that may be a fault of the drug, another spinning peak. Or promised adrenaline.]

Loser owes the winner a drink or three.

[reneger]

Universal healthcare, here. It's even better than Canada's bullshit. ( so nobody needs to pay anything for broken bones or broken teeth. but jason won't break shit if he's asked not to. this time. if cain manages to piss him off, well--good luck to him.

they're far enough away that jason does release cain. takes two steps back and turns into him, raising a hand to gesture him in with two fingers. he's not in a rush. not particularly aggressive right now. may as well spend a moment wearing down cain. )

Hope you're ready to become my beer bitch. ( a playful grin grows across his lips, but it's. gentler than one may have anticipated. whereas cain wants to kick ass, jason's just playing along. here for the ride, to figure out just how fucking scrappy this high as shit loser is. )

[blyat]

[The invitation wipes away all stray thoughts. An improvement on the chaos of earlier, his mind tangled in an emotional web and restricted by drug-addled awareness - this, at least, he can focus on. This he can surrender to, wholly.

Matching that grin, Cain falls into a practiced stance, arms close to his body and feet solidly planted.]

Not a fuckin' chance.

[Easy to goad, natural, as effortless as the quick movement forward to drive his fist at his opponent. His upper body twists, back heel digging in to provide power behind the offensive. Cain has had formal military training over what he's taught himself to survive, so he knows he needs to be quick if he hopes to land even one hit on someone like Malone. And maybe, probably, he'll still lose. It doesn't really matter. The room feels oppressively dark, and all the while his pulse pounds loud in his ears.]

[reneger]

( jason recognizes the training. the stance. how surely cain holds himself: arms close, feet spread, weight balanced. he's not just scrappy, there's something else, there, too. something deeper. but there's a reason he didn't immediately start swinging fists, either:

centering himself gives jason plenty of time to notice the way he moves a foot back to put more power behind it, how he starts to position his arm for a swing and gives him time to dodge it--raising his own arm to try and block that punch by holding his forearm out in front of it. feet move at the same moment, one holding most of jason's weight while he shits to dip weight to hook an ankle behind cain's legs, attempting to shove his heel into the back of a knee and knock him forward, closer but also off balance. it's not an extremely sturdy move; it leaves jason open, arms occupied and one leg holding up the majority of his weight, but.

he's gauging cain's reaction time, too. )

[blyat]

[It's fast, skilled, quicker than most of the other fighters he ever got pit up against whether through his own goading or otherwise. Cain's knee nearly buckles when that heel hooks and jabs him forward, punch blocked by a forearm.

On the best day, his reaction time is pretty good - and has to be if he doesn't want to get sniped by a rogue Colteron ship - but now it suffers, body weak and exhausted for all it has suffered over the last weeks. The kick had taken him by surprise. He stumbles. Yet his strength is the ability to be adaptive, to use whatever opportunity he can, even if it's a little sloppy.

Cain uses their closeness to his advantage, hauling himself upright by grabbing the forearm Malone used to deflect his hit. Leaning too much weight into him, maybe, than is wise. He tries to drive his other fist into Malone's stomach given an opening.]

[reneger]

( he said he wasn't going to go easy on this kid but jason does anyway; gives him plenty of time to get himself back up as he stumbles, doesn't move his arm away when cain uses it to get himself back up. watches his reaction closely, dull blue eyes following when he stumbles and when cain does manage to find his balance again--

and when that fist goes for his gut, he takes it. there are numerous individuals who know just where to press and where jason's weakest. many with enough strength to knock him over with just a punch, but cain's high as shit, off balance, he's notably exhausted and not in great condition.

so jason tightens his stomach, lets it hit. lets out a breath as his fist digs in, and grins, wide and toothy. )

There's an underground fight ring here, y'know. Good for lining wallets, great for dicking around in. ( with a hand moving to grab onto the back of cain's hair, ) You should try it sometime.

( the intent is clear: grab onto cain by the back of his head, slam his face into the nearest cavern wall. jason has enough force behind it to knock him out, too, if cain isn't quick enough to catch it in time. )

[blyat]

[The muscle that connects his fist when his punch lands is like hitting a steel wall. Not the fleshy, unflexed bellies of untrained amateurs. He knows as soon as his knuckles throb in pain that he's made a horrible mistake, challenging someone like this, inches taller and several pounds heavier.

He wonders how many times he'd have to slam himself against Malone, clawing teeth and fingernails, bruises and bleeding marks, to even make a dent. To even draw a single line of blood. Maybe it'd be impossible, even on his clearest and strongest day. None of the fighters in the program were like this - why would they be? The Alliance took whatever they could get.

Cain hears the words, distantly, through the adrenaline that throbs in his ears. And that he's going to lose doesn't even matter, because it feels so good. Just to hit and be hit back. To be endangered, to feel hot survival rushing through his body.

His scalp stings when Malone grabs short hair and yanks him like a doll.]

Fuck--

[-- he sees it coming, can't stop it in this state. He only manages to turn his face and avoid a broken nose, neck aching from whiplash, but the impact knocks him out cold and his weight buckles.]

[reneger]

( fingers wrap into short black hair and slam cain's face into the wall. jason's almost ready to pull his hand back and go in for round two, hit him until cain does pass out but he's--already out. body slack in his hand. )

Might wanna be careful who you're asking to brawl with, baby.

( he can't hear, but jason snorts at his own joke anyway. takes a step closer and presses a hip into cain's to hold him upright for a moment before he's leaning down to wrap an arm around his waist, pressing cain's midsection against a shoulder and throwing him up and over them. grabs onto an arm to throw it around his neck and hold on with a fist, holding him in a fireman's carry with ease.

and fucking lugs the dead weight that cain has become out of the ball, all the way to the safehouse. you're welcome, loser. )