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]

[This guy seemingly expects he'll empty his heart right here, between them, under the bright glare of the kitchen light. In an alien place, in a strange time, after calling him cute. Cain feels the agitation scrape through him. Everything hurts, and he's exhausted - not just from the events of the cavern party, but all before. All he can't remember, and all he can, a seamless series of endless fighting and lying and hoping it'd end soon.

Cain crosses his arms, shoulders hunched.]

You're not upset? After all that's happened, what they put in us, whatever the fuck it is?

[The implant, the blue sheltered in their chests.]

I don't even know you! [Temper brings heat over his skin in the already warm room.] I said forget it.

[kometes]

Do not think I'm as livid as anyone else here?! [ His own voice raises as he slams a hand against the countertop, which is thankfully separating them from each other.

He has no idea how he came to that conclusion, but Achilles thinks it should be clear that he's asking him specifically about what he's upset about concerning whatever they did last night. His patience has worn thin, and what little of reason he had left has already been overextended. ]

Carry on like a coward, then. If you can't face me as the man who used your thighs, then get out of my sight!

[blyat]

[And Cain specifically does not want to answer any questions about what they did last night.

... Also, what.]

You wanna call me that again, asshole?! And who fucking says that to someone!

[Anger builds in him, a slowly rising tide. He can't seem to control it - the frustration of everything that's happened boiled over. He's bruised from fighting, sore from dancing and letting himself get used by this bastard, exhausted from the hangover of the drugs. More than that, he's lonely and it hurts that Abel's not here, left somewhere up in space to fend for himself. He did what he was so afraid he'd do, after all. It makes him feel worthless.

In a flicker of blue light at his chest, something happens. There's a blink at the peripheral of his vision - he doesn't see it, too focused on Achilles' face - but the plate on the countertop vanishes. A split second later, it reappears... above the ground. Then falls, big chunks shattering over the ground. He jerks backward, startled.]

[kometes]

[ He's about to say it again, a little eager to taunt the other man into a fight, which may be the only thing that could resolve something like this. The blue light emits again, which is a small detail that he notices before that plate disappears.

And he hears a crash against the floor. ]

What was that?

[blyat]

[His heart hasn't slowed, frantic beneath his skin, a constant drumming in the background of awareness. In the silence that follows, all he can do is look down at the smashed dish. The jagged pieces are spread across the floor; they'll have to clean it, so no one slices open a foot. His thoughts are too fragmented to consider a best response.]

I... I don't know.

[Dimly, a recent brief conversation surfaces in his mind. Cain's fingertips rub across his sternum.]

But I think it was me.

[kometes]

[ Cain seems startled and even a bit scared, making him seem younger than he actually is. Achilles isn't swayed easily, but he still finds himself sympathizing with the younger man. He's obviously out of his depth. ]

You think? [ He echoes, skeptical. He starts walking around the counter-space, taking interest in the incident since it applies to his own problems of not having powers.

His own foot is bandaged from an earlier accident, but he approaches with confidence and a lack of concern for the ceramic pieces scattered over the tiled floor. His eyes are on Cain, flicking from his face to his chest. He's no longer glowing. ]

Did you have powers, before?

[blyat]

Powers? No.

[He's heard that this is going to happen. It doesn't change the shock of reality, still staring at the shattered plate with incomprehension. He doesn't know what he did, and it occurred too quickly out of the frame of his vision - one moment it was there, the next it was in pieces across the floor.]

That shit's not real. [Or... it wasn't.] I'm not some superhero.

[Not with that attitude.]

What, you did?

[kometes]

[ It doesn't quite make sense that powerful beings would go through such lengths to pull someone not unique or special to another universe. The resources, if magic were used, would be too significant to waste on a regular mortal.

He isn't about to argue with Cain about the possibility of powers being real. He ignores everything he just said. ]

Try doing it again. Do you need to be provoked?

[blyat]

The hell?

[As it stands, Cain already feels provoked, so that won't be necessary. The difficult hurdle is he has no idea how to recreate what happened to the plate. Glaring, Cain's posture hasn't relaxed.]

I don't know how.

[Wow, he's useless.]

[kometes]

[ Cain... You really are useless.

Achilles has no reason to stick around if this guy won't cooperate. He doesn't even know his name, and he doesn't care to find out what it is. He makes a noise that sounds like it's a caught between a scoff and a snort. ]

Is that any reason to not bother trying to figure it out? If you have any powers, they've been wasted on you.

[blyat]

[At that, Cain flashes a look of anger at the other man, unable to keep it from rising into his expression and the edged blade of his voice.]

What the fuck do you know about me? Get off my back!

[He feels worn, nerves threadbare, so it's easy to act out of agitation.]

Whatever. Maybe this makes sense to you, but I've never had something like this. Some guy told me where to go to practice. I'm gonna do that.

[Safer than... the kitchen. And maybe he is a bit scared, not knowing what this means or what he's now capable of doing.]

[kometes]

What difference does it make whether you practice here or elsewhere?

[ Achilles wants to see this for himself, though he thinks that whatever he did is nothing special, he wants to be able to assess what he's capable of and see how that translates in himself. ]

Do I make you nervous or something?

[blyat]

You mean you piss me off.

[Cain isn't afraid. Fear doesn't factor into the complex web of what he's feeling, not with Achilles at the source. He's not even certain what or why he's responded this way.]

Why don't you try figuring out your own "power" instead of bugging me?

[kometes]

[ Achilles hasn't explored the network yet, so this is news to him. But it doesn't surprise him that much. His body has been invaded and they've obviously put something completely foreign inside his core. ]

My power? You mean to tell me they gave me one, too?

[ He snorts. ]

Then why don't I try it on you? Maybe then you can activate yours.

[ And now he's approaching him. ]

[blyat]

You don't even know how to do it.

[Neither does he, but whatever. He's not going to let Achilles back him into a corner, so he remains standing resolutely on the other side of the counter.]

It's what someone said, anyway. We're all supposed to have 'em.

[Don't you go on the internet? Cain, for one, is enjoying the access. The datapads they had up in space were far more limited, and you couldn't interface through your brain. As invasive as it feels, it's much more convenient.]

[kometes]

It has to do with what's inside our chests, right? [ That much is obvious, given his observations so far.

And since Cain isn't running away, Achilles will march right up to him, planting a hand flat on the counter edge at his side. ]

Whatever it is, touch seems to make it awaken. You remember that, don't you?

[ He reaches forward, trying to cup a hand against the curve of his neck. His hand is cold in comparison to the warmth of his skin. ]

[blyat]

[How could he forget it? Cain's expression collapses into caution as soon as he's approached, as soon as the other man steps within reaching distance. Anxiety escalates when that hand lifts and sets itself on his neck. It only settles for long enough to feel the cold of Achilles' skin leech in, long enough for his pulse to jolt up into his mouth in a grimace - he latches onto Achilles' wrist and tries to peel it off.

The blue glows between them, almost distracting. He remembers how it looked in the cave, with little else to illuminate their faces, all that bare skin in endless contact.]

You can't just do that whenever you want.

[Of course, his own hand is bare, so it's not an effective method of removal to avoid what he wants to avoid. Achilles will feel it all tangled together, inextricable: his panic, dread, anger and frustration - some lingering desire, and some very deep guilt - but mostly an overwhelming fatigue. It's a lot, at once, so maybe Achilles won't even piece through half of it.]

[kometes]

[ Achilles in turn is calm - the underlying frustration that motives him to do this in the first place is overpowered by his concentration. Having been trained for years by Chiron, he's learned to combat his own impulses with rational thought, knowing what to prioritize and when to act.

He's no genius like Sherlock Holmes, but he's perceptive when he needs to be. Right now, all he can deduce is that their situation and the state of their bodies are linked to the glowing core inside their chests. It has to be magic.

They're still touching as Cain pries his hand off, so he allows it. His eyes narrow as he tries to assess the wide range of emotions invading him, but decides against making the effort to discern between the feelings. That's not important. ]

What can you do to stop me? [ A bit taunting. ] Besides, I want to figure this out just as much as you or anyone else.

[ He pulls his hand away finally, having had enough. It's not activating the power, so there's no sense in prolonging contact. ]

[blyat]

[He can punch you in the face, asshole, and he's seriously considering it for that reply. Never mind he's gotten into - or accepted - too many fights in the last twenty-four hours of being here. It's how Cain operates, and he can't imagine a world where he doesn't engage physically in that way.]

So go figure it out yourself.

[With a (bratty) huff, Cain will attempt to exit stage left... and leave Achilles with clean up duty of the plate. Serves him right.]

[kometes]

[ He's noticed the bruises on Cain's body. He is actually impressed he managed to get himself into a fight between now and when they'd spent time together the night previous.

He would have liked a fight, to test himself now that he has no powers, but it would be in poor taste after how he handled his body before.

So instead, he reaches out to yank at his collar, trying to pull him back. ]

Clean this up before you go. [ He wouldn't care normally, but Chiron has instilled values in him which he will gladly impose on others. In addition to wanting to imitate his mentor -- ]

Someone could get hurt, you know. [ His own foot is bandaged.... He's got a personal investment in this, given how annoying it had been to clean up his wound. ]

[blyat]

[The collar pulls at his throat, reeling Cain back a step - he makes an unpleasant hrrk sound in the process - until he's stilled and caught. Prevented from leaving the kitchen with the intention of gaining distance from this guy in particular.

He doesn't like being told what to do. Even less coming from someone who is not a direct superior blackmailing him for his freedom. Cain bares his teeth in a glower.]

You clean it up.

[Indirectly, he blames him. Achilles may not know, but he has no doubt the emotion he felt prior to the shattered plate is what contributed - as Hafid said on the network earlier.]

Maybe if you left me alone, it wouldn't have happened.

[kometes]

[ He's so volatile, totally unlike how he was when Achilles had his hands all over him the night previous.

He should have expected this response, but he still bristles at the tone the other man uses. This guy is really stretching his patience to its very limit. ]

Don't go blaming others for your actions even if they are accidents. [ Achilles had spent much of his youth shifting blame whenever possible, until he ultimately learned that only he's responsible for what happens directly around him. Blurting out such words, though, he realizes that such a philosophy can't be taught through lecture.

His brow twitches. ]

I'll help you.

It's a responsibility we can share between us.

[blyat]

And don't fucking lecture me. You're not better than me.

[Volatile and edging for a fight, because it's all he knows how to do to get this anger out from beneath his skin, the confusion and anxiety chafing away at threadbare nerves. The last day and night have left him in shreds.

But, still, he seems to relent. Cain kneels with a grimace, still smarting from his fight against Malone, and picks up the largest shards from the floor first.]

[kometes]

[ Achilles snorts again, though this time he sounds amused rather than annoyed.

Yes, he is better than you, Cain. He keeps his mouth shut for now, though, bending to his knees so he can pick up the pieces of ceramic with him. His eyes drift from the other's face to the floor, noticing the state of his fingers and knuckles. He really did get into a fight after he left him, didn't he? ]

Are you hungry? [ He's being conversational for the purpose of filling the silence, and maybe if he feels up to it, he'll prepare them something since he knows how to use the microwave and oven now. ]

[blyat]

[Startled to be asked, Cain's chin jerks up, a blank look eclipsing the frustration on his face. For as volatile and aggressive he's turned over the course of the conversation, he doesn't get why this guy still bothers. He should have left the kitchen by now - or at least goaded him into an actual fight, as he's often keen to do.

Is he hungry? Not for most of the morning. But that brief flare in his chest had left him winded and exhausted, and at last seems to summon an appetite, however feebly small.]

Why, you gonna make something?

[Cain rises to dump the ceramic shards into the appropriate recycling bin.]