meadowlarklogs | ARRIVAL LOG 006

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ARRIVAL LOG 006

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of September 3 to night of September 4
WHAT: The sixth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #006

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 streets 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, and false, colored light, illuminating the streets in the distance will first alert your senses of being somewhere else, combined with warm air that's only cooled with the setting of the sun. The nurse moves to stand at the back, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. He 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. Once all the passengers are out, they climb back into the vehicle and close the doors. The engine powers up again, and then the bus is gone.

You're left alone in an alley, with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here.

Around the corner of the alley, the streets are lined with bright orange, yellow, and red ball-shaped lights cluttered together overhead. Despite seeming rather tangible in nature, the balls themselves are merely well-designed projections. These lights illuminate the streets filled with people – some of which seem indifferent to the festivities, while others move in dense clusters toward a city square filled with countless trucks and tables. They disperse as they arrive – to trucks, to stations to have faces painted, to admire the wide array of sweet confections available. Numerous bits of signage announce various additional activities – but anyone new won't be able to interact, won't know what information is there.

◉ 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.

> LANTERN FESTIVAL

The message from El – no, wait. It's Gaby this time. Otherwise, it's 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 on announcement duty this time. Bus #6, for anyone who's counting. The location? Well, the heart of the lantern festival. A short walk from the safehouse.

Like many of these festivities, the New Amsterdam Lantern Festival is an annual event, dating back decades as a means of celebrating the mish-mash of culture that influences New Amsterdam as it's seen today. Sponsored by Polarized – a known subsidiary of Pulsar – the lights go bright just as the sun begins to set late in the evening, spreading over the city, acting as a dense layer of luminescence for 24 hours. Even in the daytime hours, the lights remain, and the technology seems to make them seem just as bright – which acts as a sign that the lights themselves are not natural, projected outward by numerous devices set up throughout the city.

Most of the events are concentrated in a district square that was once known as the city's Chinatown. At the heart of this festival is a large gathering where numerous food trucks and restaurants come out to advertise their wares. Specializing in desserts and little else, these businesses flood the street every year in hopes of bolstering their business because they can't partake in the restaurant promotion throughout September. The festival concludes with a competition, with each chef revealing their unique lantern festival dessert. These are often rather impressive in nature: cake pops strung together like a dragon, ice creams that make people's mouths look like they're glowing, and large cakes, shaped and designed to celebrate New Amsterdam's arts and festival scene. Many of this year's offerings will both celebrate the year before and offer a somber reminder of the lives lost in the monster attack just months ago. Smaller, sample sizes of these desserts will be available for purchase, which also grants people access to one vote for their favorite dessert.

As the lantern festival comes to a close almost a full day later, the lights clear a path to the river, where countless people will be stretched out and looking skyward for this year's fireworks. Loud, symphonic music featuring some of New Amsterdam's most popular composers will play throughout the area, synced up with the bombastic explosions themselves.

Most of the six newcomers will have hopefully been gathered long before the fireworks go off – but anyone else is free to enjoy them and the festivities leading up to that final conclusion. The festivities vary in nature, from a place for someone to claim a lantern of their own with a wish, to using UV paint to legally cover the ground in unique symbols and lights, to joining competitions where people place chess and checkers for a wider audience. Each of these activities is monetized, so don't expect anything to be for free.

> A VISUAL DETOUR

There will be several new and persistent additions along the most likely path to the festival from the safehouse: small, man-made shrines that have appeared just hours before the dense layer of lights settled over the city. Depending upon their makeup, these shrines vary in structure, size, and design, but have several unique, persistent similarities between them.

Some of the shrines are fully formed, with candles lying underneath them, and cloth blankets acting as an overhang for the art within. At the heart of each of these shrines is an image of a person, with a large, upside down triangle projecting from their chest – blue and noticeable – with their arms spread wide. Some of these triangles project from the chest as if a piece of a 3D pop-up structure, while others are simply a part of the image itself, a flat, smooth surface. Beneath them, there will be a scene from a familiar event for anyone who's been here for a while: a car flying into a monster's mouth, a person healing someone else, bright blue eyes and fingertips, showing the artist's personal interpretation in motion. Any of the cloth is covered in geometric symbols, intersecting circles and triangles, many of them in specific and particular patterns.

Other shrines are two dimensional in nature – painted, to be more specific, on the walls themselves – both hidden bits of scenery meant to blend in with the surroundings, or large and spread out, splashing wide arrays of colors and symbols. Whoever set up many of these artistic displays had a special paint and familiarity with the lantern festival lighting, as it draws special attention to the blue light that pours out of the people featured, whether it comes from their eyes, mouths, or the traditional chests. Silver and gold geometric symbols stretch around these images, framing the scene portrayed.

These additions aren't only located near the safehouse, but that's where they're concentrated for now. Within days, they'll be elsewhere: on walls in oft-frequented public restrooms, behind popular nightclubs and bars, and just about anywhere else – popping up and coming down as people tire of their presence – or are simply bothered that they're there at all.

> 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 arrival at the safehouse 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 SEPTEMBER 7. 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 September 7 (January 14). 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 January calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month.

As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in December and January will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on January 20 and close on January 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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A. Chess - Festival]

[ The facts are easy to lay end to end in a mind hilariously overaccustomed to insane disasters and ready to acclimate to another before puzzling out its source. He's been dropped off in a foreign city. His hair, even as short as it is, is still longer than he's worn it in years, meaning an indeterminate amount of time has passed. He feels drugged, nauseated, but his body's apparently handling it a hell of a lot better than his compatriots dressed in equally blinding scrubs.

It takes him approximately five minutes after emerging from the alley -- choosing to take a little extra time hiding there to get his bearings -- to locate a man approximately his shape and size and lure him back towards that same alley to incapacitate him and steal his clothes. That's one problem taken care of.

But his new t-shirt advertising a band he doesn't know and slightly too-loose jeans don't help with his next problem: the full effects of that drug that have him confusedly but willingly following an invitation by a passing woman to check out the chess matches. Well. Looks like he's stuck in the line, inconspicuously dressed or not, and he's next up to play. With no money. ]

[B. Mugging - Festival]

[ His ploy to get clothing? More successful than expected. So much so, in fact, that the appeal of repeating it is a little too great to resist. Sure, it requires refinement and care in order for him to avoid getting stuck in a situation that involves even the slightest command from another person -- seriously, what the hell -- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, who would think twice about a man with a few tears at the bottom of his shirt, or look closely enough at his ears to notice where the makeshift ear plugs have been inserted? ]

Hey! Hey, sorry, I need your help -- it's my daughter. Quick, she's right over here...

[ Jake Muller is not, by specific trade, an overly deceptive person. He prefers to go in guns blazing, the honest old-fashioned way. That doesn't mean that desperate times don't call for desperate measures, and right now he's at a real fuckin' low point. Which is why after leading this poor Samaritan into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes and just around the corner, he's gesturing for them to move closer to get a better look around a dumpster... before producing a lengthy shard of glass, holding it to the back of their neck. ]

Hey. Hands flat against the wall, let's make this easy for both of us.

[C. Picnic - Festival]

[ Drugs in his system or not, nausea or not, Jake isn't stupid enough to not realize his own need for food. The pity, of course, is in not having any money with which to purchase said food.

Luckily, food stands and quick fingers mix well.

He's worked up to a considerable stash, mostly desserts but a savory bun or two as well, by the time he retreats to the river to enjoy it. Hard-earned spoils aren't easily shared, however, and he keeps his eye on any passersby that linger. ]

... hey, you need something?

[D. Drugs - Safehouse]

[ The safehouse isn't the worst he's seen.

Easy to navigate, everything in a sensible place, relatively clean... but after thirty minutes of rummaging around in the medical storage area, he has some questions. ]

Yo. You got any steroids or boosters on you? [ Namely this one. ]

[E. Alcohol - Safehouse]

[ Following his foray into the med storage? He's in the kitchen, head stuffed first in the fridge before he's rooting through the cupboards. Now he has a new question. ]

You seen any booze in this place or do I need to get my eyes checked? Hell of a day, a shot or twenty would really even the hell out of it.

[F. WILDCARD]

(hei's managed to find clothes of his own — the big man he managed to take down, whether before or after the interference of another trafficking victim, left little in the way of options once his friends scattered. so the oversized tank top that hangs off of scarred shoulders is all he's got and it'll do, even if it clashes with dirtied white slacks. for now.

his next challenge? figuring out where the hell to go and what to do with himself.

he doesn't gravitate toward the crowds, the food, or the shops that've managed to stay open to sell festival souvenirs, no, that'd be uncharacteristic and foolish of him as drugged as he is. an alley is far better suited to his needs and he's turning down the first one he can manage to dart into unseen, shrouded only in the light of the digital lanterns hanging high in the sky that pours between buildings and through the glass of windows. it throws fractals where he steps, eyes black in the dimness, ears pricking at a quiet commotion to the end.

a collection of dumpsters, recycling and garbage. a man threatening another with something sharp. hei figures this is his best chance, two ahead of him and thousands behind — does he continue on and keep his head down? speak up with his intent to avoid the situation? take them both out before they can get a word in edgewise?)

Hey. (voice soft, it may be lost on jake with those earplugs... which is really too bad, intent to "help" falling flat.) Knock him out; he's going to call the cops.

(because now he just looks like a shadowy liability — a concerned citizen, maybe, unconcerned expression difficult to make out in the dark —, standing near the wall of the alley not a dozen metres from the mugging.)

Implant, back of the neck.

[ Jake barely hears the man's flustered pleas which is the only signal he's given that maybe a synthetic cotton/polyester blend isn't the most soundproof material he could've chosen, and it's one that comes too late. Great, now he has to find something else--

But not before his hand moves seemingly without his own knowledge, large palm settling against the crown of that man's head and nearly enveloping it wholly before he's jerking him back and just as quickly slamming his face forward against the wall. The sound of a worrying crunch is even more audible, and certainly more so than the crumpling of the man's body against the ground below as he drops instantly. ]

... well.

Fuck my good hearing. Pretty sure I'm free to blame this possible homicide on you, pal. [ Pale blue eyes slant in Hei's direction, cold and appraising, quickly looking him over and catching on those familiar white pants -- scuffed with dirt or not, he recognizes them. ]

Don't give me any more orders. Do me another favor, though: hands against the wall, feet a foot apart.

(homicide? it sure sounded like it, watching the last of the man's synapses fire off in little twitches. his fingers are the last to quit, hei looking up from the body. he didn't suggest he kill him, but that's one way to shake the potential cop call, knowing the wireless connection the implant affords — learned through trial and error with several food stalls — is going as dead as its owner.

now he's the target, almost sighing out at the "favour" the man asks him for, attempting to resist with an ache in his chest that forces his legs into motion. hei wheels towards the wall, jaw tight around the curse he wants to spit but can't. that's an order too, a colourful one. so he's left speechless, stained fingers greeting the cold exterior of the multi-storey building obscuring them entirely from a view he'd surely have liked.

too bad.)

Who are you going to tell? No one's coming, since you did what I said. (in clear chinese, immediately translated by their own implants nestled beneath the months-old scars on the backs of their necks. this guy would've jetted out of the alley long before the cops came, anyway, he's well aware of that, but still — there's no leg either of them can stand on here. and his own are propped exactly a foot apart.)

I've got two pockets and both are full. It's all I've got on me.

Yeah?

[ A distracted question as he crouches down, two fingers idly pressing to the previously spasming man's neck to feel his pulse grow fainter and slowly elongate into nothing more than an eternal pause. Well, that answers that question. Jake feels he's earned a sigh, rubbing at his forehead as if it'll urge the rest of this drug from his system before he's straightening back up again. ]

You sure? Tell me the truth, now, since we're becoming such fast friends. Don't worry -- I'm still going to search you. Just wanna' make sure I know what I'm getting into.

Tell me what you've got before I start rooting around.

—and a paring knife. (his eyes close for just a moment, trying in vain to tolerate himself.) Ankle.

(he's been busy, which becomes more obvious the closer the guy gets. his clothes are flaking with dried blood and smell suspiciously like gunpowder despite the suspicious lack of firearms. that's explainable, though, the way everything else is.

glancing to the side, hei ignores the track marks running up his inner arm and tries to get an idea of what jake's busy with.)

Other than that, it's as I said. Both pockets are full. I'm carrying four cherry bombs, two in the right and two in the left.

Well, someone's been busy. Good to know I'm gonna' be saved a little bit of time here, even if all that together sounds like it'll last me one average day or ten busy minutes.

[ A free true statement, what a rarity. He cracks his back with a slow lean to the side, hand braced against the side of his neck before he's rolling it into the satisfying pop. Leisurely, one might say. Too leisurely. Then again, Hei has yet to flinch and even with the commands his movements have been reserved but purposeful. Not the way someone made squeamish by witnessing a(n accidental) murder would react. ]

Name? [ Both hands clap beneath Hei's armpits suddenly, starting downward in a rough pat-down that shows his distrust regardless of his order for him to be honest. Better to check for himself. ]

Jake Muller, RE6

B FOR BASIC

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C

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wildcard

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B!

PRE-ARREST IG

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d

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e;