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

[retravel]

[ his handshake is quick and professional. very fitz. ]

Illya it is. [ he holds up his hands in joking surrender. ] I'm heading back to my place tonight, but I'm taking requests for supplies to bring here after work tomorrow.

[kgbs]

And I suppose a weapon is out of the question? [ he can't see new arrivals being allowed anything that might endanger others, training or not. ]

[retravel]

Illegal inside and out, I'm afraid. [ and he won't make something concealable for just anyone. ]

[ then, lightly. ] Think more along the lines of finding a coat that's actually your size.

[ teasing, but he also doubts the morningstar hand-me-downs are equipped for several of the giant tree people among the new arrivals. ]

[kgbs]

[ yes, illya supposes that he cannot walk around in these scrubs for the rest of his life. ]

A hat. [ even when he had hair, he was prone to wearing hats. ] And boots, if there are any. I would rather not break my toes because someone decides to step on me.

[retravel]

[ accessories, too... wow. ]

You're a human tank.

[ deadpan. who the hell is stepping on you?? ]

But I'll have a look.

[kgbs]

I am not a tank.

[ were you calling him fat, fitz? ]

Thank you. I appreciate your assistance. I'll repay the favor in kind.

[retravel]

[ he zips his pack and throws it over his shoulder. ]

No, you're just solid muscle on stilts.

[ it's a compliment. or a complisult. a mildly backhanded acknowledgment of illya being stupidly jacked and tall. ]

'Course. Until then —

[ fitz holds up his hand for a high-five/bro-shake thing. ]

[kgbs]

[ oh god fitz, why? illya just stares at his hand for a second before holding his own up in a imitation of fitz's position because he has no idea. he has been sheltered and deprived of ridiculous nonsense like this.

so, he just stands there, a look of confusion and 'are you feeling okay?' concern on his face. ]

[retravel]

[ for a moment, they wait it out, doing this funhouse mirror routine before fitz goes for it. high-five initiated. one-sided, so not an absolute success, but it still counts.

and he's dead chuffed about it. ]

It's a high-five. We do that in the future. [ gesturing between them. they're a we. ] Seals a deal, sort of.

[kgbs]

High five. [ honestly illya thinks it sounds ridiculous but he is not going to argue about something so insignificant. ]

The future is a strange place.

[ incredibly so. ]