ARRIVAL LOG 003

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of July 18
WHAT: The third arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #003

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 the gray interior of a vehicle, rows of paired seats ahead of you. There are others with 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 seats. A murmur of conversation up at the front of the vehicle, and a man in dark grey scrubs stands to look back over the rows of seats, his gaze catching yours but then passing, as if unconcerned. 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. Several guards stand at the front of the vehicle, moving down the aisle between seats, unbuckling each passenger and helping them to their feet. One comes for you, and your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. Doors at the back of the vehicle are opened, city sounds flooding in, echoing strangely. You aren't given any time to adjust. The guards carefully help each of you out. The nurses, all in the same dark gray scrubs, checking each of you over, quickly and methodically. With a nod, they and the guards climb back into the bus. One lingers for a moment, smiling at you, the expression smug and unpleasant. "Going to be great never to have to see your face again," he says. One of the others calls him to hurry up. He looks upwards, briefly, gives a mocking salute to something high behind you. Then he climbs into the bus, the doors closing behind him. The engine powers up again, and 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. There is noise, nearby. A dense wave of chatter and music, filtering largely unobstructed to you. You look up and see there is no sky, but a ceiling, some few feet above your head. The artificial lights there are visible, but dimmed, as if emulating the light of an exterior street at night. As you venture around the corner you find a long street filled with booths and stalls, a crowd milling between them all, a densely busy market scene. ◉ 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 MARKET

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, the urgency is apparent. There's another one. Hang on. Scratch that, there's another two. Anonymous buses dropping off a lot of people in white scrubs, Blue Sector, Birch Street. This time they did it right on top of the monthly mod market. Less likelihood of cops, more likelihood of them disappearing somewhere really unpleasant. And when I say a lot of people, I mean a lot. Get down there, quick. Birch Street is less of a street and more of a large tunnel, part of the complex warren of underground tunnels and buildings which reach downwards into the ground beneath New Amsterdam. Treated like just another part of the city, the streets are just as busy here as above ground, though the spaces are more clearly delineated between those for foot traffic and those for vehicles. Birch Street would be one for vehicles, but tonight it's been reserved for another event. The monthly mod market is a place for people from all over the city - all over the world - with an interest in body modification to come and view the latest achievements and ventures in mod development, as well as show off their own and socialize with other modders. The space is full of booths and stalls displaying a wide variety of cybernetics, genetic alterations, as well as the latest in kinetic tattooing and electronic piercings. Some of the vendors come from well known brands, while others are independents, much more willing to push the boundaries of legality to give you the fully kicked up mod you've always wanted - for a price, of course. Crowds gather around certain booths to watch mods being done, while vendors shout for an audience at others. Music wars and clashes, booming from different stalls across the street, while neon lights flash and strobe out of booths and a few open store fronts. It's a dense, noisy gathering of people, a unique slice of New Amsterdam's culture for an outsider to navigate. An easy space for anyone to get lost in, let alone someone stumbling new and confused into this world. Not all of this crowd are friendly, and many are likely to take advantage of a vulnerable individual - and with the uniformity of their white scrubs and shorn heads, the new arrivals are sure to catch attention.

> 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 - perhaps more than usual, considering the large amount of people filtering into the safehouse this night. ◉ 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 July 22. 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 July 22 (October 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 October calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC for new characters 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 October 20 and close on October 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

ii!

[retravel]

[ fitz missed illya on his earlier trip to the safehouse, escorting a woman here from the market before venturing out again to fulfill requests for items from the outside. when he returns in the evening, he swings his backpack off and on the empty cot beside illya. the relative tidiness of his beard and hair, plus the local attire that actually fits his smaller frame, all point to his status as a prior arrival or local.

he barely manages to unzip his bag before being accosted. ]

Fitz. [ an automatic reply. his brows lift as he glances upward at illya. tall and new, that one. then, dryly. ] Welcome to New Amsterdam.

Re: ii!

[kgbs]

New Amsterdam.

[ he repeats the words before he even looks up. once he does, his eyes settle on fitz. he does not have the polished look of a solo or a waverly but he does have hair (and that is a point he keeps coming back to, for some reason) and he looks relatively focused.

everything illya is not right now. ]

What country is that in?

[ figuring out where he is might give more indication of why he is here and what is intended of him. ]

[retravel]

[ yeah, fitz is a tad scruffy (particularly compared to most spies), but he maintains a measured demeanour. ]

They don't do proper countries anymore. [ said slowly, as he's well-aware of the gravitas associated with the unfamiliar geography. this is not the world they knew. ]

Land mass isn't what it used to be. [ shaking his head. ] The planet's segmented in megacities now. Just over a hundred, if I recall correctly.

[kgbs]

What?

[ illya blinks at him, running his words back over in his head because they make absolutely no sense at all. megacities. planets. no more proper countries. what does all that mean? ]

I do not understand. I -- what are you saying to me right now? I was just in Italy. Rome. And now I am...hallucinating severely, it seems?

[retravel]

[ oh no... he beefed it... ]

Has no one — [ told him anything? he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise and gestures at the cot beside him. ]

You should sit down. [ quickly. ] Did you just get here today?

[ redirecting the conversation should help him focus and not panic. ]

[kgbs]

A few hours ago.

[ though his tone does not lose the tight, controlled precision with which he usually speaks, his face has lost some of its color and his eyes have widened. considering that he does not usually react at all, that is a lot for him.

he, blessedly, takes fitz's advice and sits on the edge of a cot. ]

I have been trying to piece together the last few hours before I woke up in that van. I had not even considered something like you have just said.

[retravel]

It's not really something you consider.

[ a sympathetic sort of whinge. when jemma first was taken through space and time, he hadn't suspected that was the case until the evidence became overwhelming. he twists his hands, gesturing as he speaks. ]

Wherever you're from — [ which he suspects isn't Italy. ] — that's still out there. Safe. [ probably! ] But that's not where you are.

[kgbs]

Obviously.

[ there is so much about this place that is unfamiliar and strange. he has questions about things he has seen, about what certain items do but asking that admits a weakness that illya does not want to admit to. he does not want anyone to think him lagging behind because that is an easy way to get into trouble. ]

Is there a reason I am here? Why anyone is here or have I just been kidnapped for no other reason than because I was conveniently around for whoever took me?

[retravel]

We don't know what links all of us. [ we. he was taken, too. ] We're different ages, ethnicities, professions — all taken to the same city. You and the second group were released, but myself and others were rescued from a transport by Morningstar first.

[ he gestures around him, indicating the safehouse. ]

We've been here for just over a month.

[kgbs]

Morningstar. You are not the first person to use that name. What is Morningstar? Or who is Morningstar?

[ was it a person? an organization? were they behind his sudden arrival in a city that seems impossible? ]

Why did they cut my hair?

[ yes, he has to ask that. ]

[retravel]

[ oh my god he really doesn’t have the bedside manner for this. ]

They’re an underground rebel group. This is their safehouse, and they sent people like me out to find people like you.

[ a beat. he scrubs at his face, knowing the next answer is a harder one to swallow. ]

I imagine everyone’s hair was buzzed so our captors could operate without obstruction. We’ve all got neural implants — chips, I mean, in our brains.

[kgbs]

[ the words 'underground rebel group' actually catch his interest because that, at least, means something is being done and he has worked for agencies like that before whether honestly or not. he knows how to operate them.

it is the second part that illya takes umbrage with. ]

They have tampered with my head? There is something in there?

[ was it poor form to try and do surgery on himself because he wants to. ]

[retravel]

Yes. [ no point in lying. ] It's not an immediate threat to your safety.

[ immediate being the key word. inevitably, it'll become a threat. ]

What year was it, as you last recall?

[ fitz would prefer to explain the tech using reference points from his era, thanks. he once told an old-timey woman that texts were instant telegrams. ]

[kgbs]

[ oh fitz, hope you're prepared for this answer. ]

Nineteen sixty four.

[ so yes, good luck. ]

Why do you ask me that? It is the same year everywhere, is it not?

[retravel]

[ jesus christ. this is a full cap-on-ice situation, and he's the agent on deck. fitz bites the inside of his cheek and furrows his brows, working through potential explanations. illya's accent gives him an idea. ]

Well. Not quite. [ time is only our perception, he thinks, but knows better than to say aloud. ] Okay, just let me talk for a minute. One minute. [ he presses his hands together, earnest as anything. ] If you think back to growing up and looking at the stars as a young man, you'll remember believing that travelling there, up into space — that it's not possible, or it’s far off in the future. [ a snap of his fingers. ] But then the Soviet Union manages to send up a satellite. Not only that, but by 1961, you've got Gagarin up there. Space travel, sorted.

[ fitz slows down then, holding illya's gaze. ]

So, when I tell you that time travel is possible and that we've both done it, it might sound impossible but — remember that things have been impossible before, until ingenuity and resources changed that.

[ he loves... spacetime... ]

[kgbs]

[ for once, illya listens. he lets fitz talk though the look he sends the other man could only be considered severe. still, he listens. knowledge, he knows, will be both important and plentiful in the coming days so he tries to memorize every single syllable of what he hears even if what he is hearing is ridiculous.

but, then the thinks back on what he'd seen during the trip to this safehouse and he wonders. he wonders and, well, he doesn't know if believes but there is some truth in what fitz says, he knows. ]

I am no longer in nineteen sixty four is what you are saying? [ it is, illya knows, but he wants the confirmation before he goes further. ] What year is it then?

[ he blinks at even having to ask that question. ] And, if what you are saying is true, would there not be a machine to accomplish this? I remember nothing. How did I get here? Where is the rocket ship?

[retravel]

Twenty-five eleven.

[ utterly serious. ]

I can't say how yet. [ but he and others are working on it. fitz opens and closes his hand, searching for a rapidfire explanation. ] Probably through an inter — a wormhole. [ no need to theorise beyond that at this moment. ] We were kidnapped, and Morningstar was as surprised as we were to learn about the timeline discrepancies.

[kgbs]

Wormhole. [ he...he wasn't even going to ask because he wouldn't understand and he knows it. he's just going to leave the concept of wormholes alone. ] Twenty five eleven.

[ what he is saying is impossible. it is absolutely implausible. has he hit his head? is he taking a chance and teasing illya? what is going on? ]

So, this Morningstar, this was not their doing? [ if not them, who? ]

[retravel]

No, they helped us. [ quickly. ] The first group.

[ a beat. ]

I can show you some news articles and clips, if that would help.

[kgbs]

It would.

[ that was actually the best thing anyone could do because while he could listen to people tell him what was happening, actually seeing something solid and tangible would help. ]

I would like to see these, yes. This is...not easy to understand. [ nineteen sixty four and all. ]

[retravel]

[ fitz is careful to select a mundane article. best to ease illya into the future. using the neural implant (with a blink and flicker of his eyes), he brings up a holographic screen between them, featuring scrolling text. it’s a fluff listicle, dated 7/9/2511 and titled the THE TOP TEN BEST FOOD STALLS OPEN THIS JULY — If you’re looking for spice, get down to New Amsterdam’s riverside before the end of the month and try our tenth place treat... ]

Still with me, yeah?

[ his eyes dart again, searching through the feed of recent videos to select a neutral piece with a blink. he brings up today’s weather forecast, a video that pans over the city, marked by towering skyscrapers and the occasional hovercar jetting past. “Sunny skies today. With highs of eighty-five and lows of seventy, it’s a warm one! The dry heat will continue throughout the week...” ]

[kgbs]

[ illya's expression remains stony while he views the clips and articles that fitz shows him. his head, however, struggles to process this. it could, he knows, be a forgery, something these people use to lure new arrivals into their organization but he is just not getting a sense of deception from anyone.

which means he has to face the much more difficult answer: this is all real. his breath leaves him when he actually thinks that and he rubs a hand over his eyes. ]

This should be impossible. [ he blinks quickly several times. ] How is this possible?

[retravel]

[ fitz considers reaching out, but thinks better of it, blinking the screen off and shoving his hands in his pockets instead. he wouldn't want that from anyone except jemma. ]

Ingenuity, resources, advances in technology. [ the actual logistics of it all aren't worth the trouble. what matters most is — ] If there's a way here, there's a way back.

[kgbs]

[ that was...something. it wasn't perfect but it was something. illya frowns which was going to become his default expression at this juncture. ]

Is that something that you have been working on? A way out?

[retravel]

Yes.

[ said without hesitation. more than wanting to unravel the mysteries of this world or uncover the meaning of their mass kidnapping, fitz needs to find his way back to jemma.

a world without her isn't worth saving. ]

I'm pursuing inroads to the technology sector, corporate and underground. I have a background in this — [ he gestures vaguely. ] Engineering, spacetime theory.