redstringtheories

Entry tags:

!tdm

TDM #9

➥ Arrival

Photo of a modern office building from the outside. There is a manicured lawn with several trees and bushes. To the left side of the photo, there is a waterbody with reeds around the fringes. There is a purple gradient filter over everything.
(cw: potential for severe disorientation/vertigo, claustrophobia, arachnophobia, body horror)

It happens in the blink of an eye. You may have been asleep. You may not have. You may have stepped through a door or turned a corner. You may have seen a flicker of something at the corner of your vision and turned to look. Or maybe you didn't.

It doesn't matter. What matters is that you find yourself somewhere entirely new and entirely unfamiliar. The arrival point is not always the same. (If you're lucky, it might be a canteen or an open office. If you're not, well... you aren't claustrophobic, are you? Or arachnophobic. These ducts do seem to be a bit cobwebby.) There is no one waiting for you but you don’t seem to be alone, either. Even in a janitor’s closet or the bathroom, you’ll find at least one person who seems to be just as out of place as you are.

If characters have arrived in a location devoid of NPCs, they may want to work together to figure out what is going on... or to avoid their 'kidnappers.' If you’ve arrived in the middle of the entry foyer or the gym, there may well be a few people who startle a bit at your arrival and try to approach (or discreetly leave the room... where are they going?). Will you cooperate or fight? Do you even understand what they're saying? You might need to find a translator, if you’re not immediately willing to follow a stranger.

After characters follow their new hosts (or are forcibly taken in) there will be a limited tour and the chance to settle in at the ADI-provided housing. (Do you enjoy living with strangers? Well. It's a new situation to navigate, anyway.)

➥ The Road We All Must Travel

Photo of someone in blue jeans and brown boots walking along a path in the Dogtown forest. The trees do not have foliage, the sky is blue, and there is one of the Babson boulders to the left that reads 'study.'
(cw: death, child death, semi-graphic description of injury, existential terror, memory manipulation (adding memories))

Weird things happen in Dogtown, everyone knows it. The Apocalypse Disruption Initiative (ADI) is not above taking advantage of that to test out the waters for its newest arrivals. They're not looking to send anyone to their death, though, especially not with recent events that have transpired surrounding Dogtown. An employee gives you a number to call if anything truly dangerous happens and you've been left with another person at the trailhead. Maybe they're a new arrival, as well, or a more seasoned 'veteran.' Either way, you're together for the next while and you've been asked to find and record any paranormal activity in the park. You have your phones and any other equipment you might have brought with you. Those who succeed in documenting anything peculiar will receive a $100 reward to be used as they see fit.

There is a body on the side of the path. From a distance, it's hard to tell who it might be… apart from someone who's made terrible life choices about where to take a break. You might find the body propped up against a boulder, lying in the snow, or even slumped on a bench. Approaching, though, brings into view… someone. Maybe someone you recognize vaguely. Do you know them from- Where exactly do you know them from? Or maybe it's a complete stranger, someone foreign in face and form.

The body is never the same for any groups of people who might happen upon it. One time, it's a young white man dressed in what seems to be parachute pants, a boombox fallen or resting with him. Another, it's an Hispanic person, their clothes reminiscent of something out of a western. Still others, it might be a little black girl, looking like she's cosplaying one of the original settlers for Gloucester. People of all different races, ages, genders, times, all beside the path. Some of them look to be obviously dead, their heads caved in or blood splattered across the path. Others, it's harder to tell. They might be someone who's passed out? A drunk who's wandered here from town and could need help.

The moment anyone touches them, though, the body crumbles, something made of ash that simply wipes itself away. And in its place, it leaves memory. The person who touches the body will find themselves reliving the last horrified moments of this person's life. They will know precisely how and when this person died. Every death has some component of agony or fear. No one found passed quickly or painlessly.

Everyone dies, and it is never so kind a thing as they might have hoped. Never.

➥ Prisoners of Consciousness

Photo of a woman of Asian descent banging her hands against a frosted glass pain. The woman looks distressed.
(cw: altered mental states, breathing difficulties, imprisonment, victim-blaming)

Repairs are going about as well as they can be at ADI; the building still bears the scars of last month's attack but day to day matters slump back toward the status quo now that the acute crisis has passed. For a few days it actually seems as though the press of unending needs and obligations has abated, like a massive crushing stone lifted from one's back to allow a gasp of breath, leaving workers and residents reeling in the exhausted aftermath.

It doesn't last, but when the pressure intensifies once more it takes on yet another new form. Things will seem to be back to normal when suddenly you realize that the room in which you find yourself is getting smaller–or perhaps the air has grown stale, perhaps that's why it's suddenly so hard to breathe. You're trapped in here, locked in, locked away. Windows seem to shrink and fortify into slitted openings too tight for escape; what might have been an ordinary office door is now a heavy metal thing fortified with deadbolts.

They've locked you in; they've decided that you're not to move about freely, that you're a danger to others. Are you a danger to others? You must be; you must have done something to deserve this. The question of who 'they' are is one without an answer, a nebulous sense of them, the ones who call the shots, the ones who must be looking out for everyone. They don't speak to you; there's no chance to plead your case, only this miserable, tiny cell and your own guilt over something you must have done. You hear them passing by your door at times, keys jangling, footsteps heavy, but there's no hope of aid from them.

None of it is real. The rooms don't shrink; the doors and windows don't change. To someone not caught up in the illusion, it will seem as though those caught in its grip have gone into hysterics over nothing at all, insisting that they're trapped when all they need to do is open the door.

➥ A Trick of the Dark

Black and white photo of a woman on a cobblestone street at night. She is backlit by a street lamp and appears in silhouette, her features completely obscured. She is holding something in her left hand.
(cw: monsters in the dark, altered mental states, semi-graphic description of injury)

When the crushing claustrophobia finally abates, this time seemingly for good, the shadow woman makes her first appearance. She is seen only in darkness at nighttime, silhouetted in a doorway or lurking in an underpass. Turn on the lights, and there's nothing there–it must have been a trick of the light, the mind making connections out of something seen from the corner of one's eye.

Turn off the lights, though, and there she is again.

She's patient at first, toying with her prey. Lights on, and you're safe. Lights off and the figure returns, still and staring and something you can almost convince yourself you've somehow imagined. But leave the lights on too long, play with the light switch too many times, or watch her too closely, and her patience has an end. When she finally moves, she's fast, charging across a darkened street or a darkened room, the only expression visible on her face is the inhuman light in her eyes, and there is nothing left except to run for the nearest patch of brightness in the night. Maybe you even get away–flee to the circle of sickly light under a lamppost and she must halt at the edge of the darkness, unable to follow. She might circle, waiting for you to make a run for it, or she might disappear back into the night. Will you chance a sprint to the next pool of light?

For those she catches, there is pain. There are rending claws that leave her mark, bleeding, on her victims–but the pain does not end in death. It ends in madness. You may descend into a state beyond thought, mind disappearing into a panicked fugue from which you will retain no memories. Or you may believe yourself to be still fighting off the creature of the night and legions like her, using your environment to protect yourself, to stave off attack.

Those unaffected will see what is truly happening: victims of the creature run rampant in frenzied efforts to bring more and more darkness to the nighttime city. Wild-eyed and unaware, they may start at something as simple as unscrewing a lightbulb, or engage in something as complex as cutting power to entire buildings. Regular citizens of Gloucester fall victim along with the people of ADI and sabotage runs rampant through the city, but it seems that above all else, ADI itself is the target of these attempts to turn out the lights. Panic begins to spread throughout the city as the attacks continue night after night.

➥ Mod Notes

ARRIVAL (March 1 - 31): Two people will always arrive in the same general location together. Arrivals occur throughout the early month, not all on the same day or in the same place. Arrivals are not naturally fluent in English/other languages immediately upon arrival. Characters may attempt to evade capture, but they will eventually be snagged before they can leave the building. PC's already in-game are more than welcome to interact with and try to guide new PC's to get them oriented. Please refer to the Arrival page for details regarding the arrival and onboarding process.
The Road We All Must Travel (March 1 - 31): The bodies found can be photographed, but they'll turn up blurred. There's nothing that can be gleaned about the bodies from a distance, only by moving close and touching them. The bodies can be anyone from any time and any place, even other worlds. Characters might even see non-human races represented. In every case, the body will disappear when touched and characters will pick up the final moments of the person's life. Players are welcome to make these final moments anything they want. The person could have died by mundane or supernatural means, but they will have died a painful or terrifying death in some way.
Prisoners of Consciousness (March 4 - 12): Episodes in which characters believe themselves to be imprisoned will occur exclusively on ADI property and in the Flophouse. The hallucinations may last for minutes or hours, though characters are likely to perceive time as though they were imprisoned much longer. Characters not affected by the hallucination may help pull others out of it by grounding them in reality, but it is also possible for them to be drawn into the hallucination themselves if they become frightened.
A Trick of the Dark (Nights of March 12 - 15) While people who have been caught by the apparition seem to focus their attacks on ADI property, the shadow woman herself never appears within ADI offices or apartments. She may sometimes appear in the Flophouse, and frequently appears outdoors, in darkened hallways of local businesses, and in the homes of locals. ADI housing curfew at 11:00 PM each night is still in effect; characters who stay out later may crash at HQ but will not be let into the apartments (they may also be able to get into the Flophouse…if its residents are kind enough to take them in). Characters caught by the shadow woman will experience confusion, terror, and compulsion to sabotage lighting, particularly in and around ADI property, until dawn of the next day. Characters who attempt to fight the shadow woman will find that she fights back (and that any scratch from her claws still causes the fugue state); if they manage to pin her down she will dissipate into shadows.
↬ Main Navigation

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It feels the same." She points out, but there's a visible little bit of relaxation in her shoulders at knowing it's not just her. She shakes her head at the question about orientation. "No. I woke up in an office with no clue how I got there or where I was, I getting ready to book it."

"Don't book it. There's nowhere out there to go that will treat you better if you don't understand it." He gestures to the elevator. "Let's go up to Orientation. Treat it like an investigation. You'll be safer if you know what you've been dropped into."

"What does that even mean, Malcolm?" She frowns a little at everything else that comes out of his mouth. Partly because he doesn't really have any rights to tell her what to do. Partly because he knows exactly which of her buttons to push to make her compliant, and that's annoying.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, the sound of the long-suffering, but she walks into the elevator when it dings its doors open, "Fine." Huffy little princess act, activate.

"It means something weird is going on and they can explain it better than I can," Malcolm tells her, stepping into the elevator beside her.

After Orientation, he steps out of the room with her.

"Do you think you'll stay in the provided ADI housing?" he asks, trying not to look too hopeful, even though he'd rather she were close by.

Ainsley sits in the Orientation and all of her highbrow training is engaged to keep her from laughing or having some ridiculous outburst to all the information she's being told. None of it makes sense. Nothing about this makes it better, or make any more sense.

When she walks back out with her brother, she turns to him immediately and pulls him over to the side. "Magic? Supernatural forces? Apocalypses? Malcolm, this can't be real. You know it's not real, right? Because that–" she points vaguely toward the room they'd just walked out of. "That is insane."

"I know," Malcolm agrees. "But it's also true. I've seen examples of it. It won't be long before you do, too. It's all over this place."

"Seriously, Malcolm?" She's in full incredulity mode right now. Her brain cannot process all of this nonsense. "What kind of examples?" She needs facts, brother. Solid, real ones, that can't be flimsily explained away.

He licks his lips, then presses them together, then puts his hands out.

"Okay. Gil's here too and when we first arrived, these creatures kidnapped him and put him inside a seal. Like. The animal. They put him in this skin and then it somehow turned him into the animal. And then, another time, there were these cell phone cases that looked like skin and they bit people and the bite compelled them to guard the cases jealously. And the cases grew on a plant that looked like it grew sheep."

She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.
Pinches herself. Hard.
Shifts her eyes down, flexing each finger as she counts it. Still ten.

Nope. It doesn't help. None of it, not at all. He still said that and this is as real as anything gets. No dream to be found here.

"What?"

"I know," he says apologetically. "But you do sort of... get used to it."

Ainsley shakes her head, "No. No, you don't get used to– that." she gestures vaguely, indicating everything he'd just said ten seconds ago.

"The resilience of the human mind is astonishing, actually," Malcolm tells her. "It can normalize almost anything. In fact, there are studies going on about the neurobiological functions behind mental resilience and they think they may be able to use it to develop new, more effective drugs for stress disorders," he explains.

Her face scrunches a bit at his little ramble. "Weirdo, this is not the time for one of your psych-journal ramble moments." She shoves his shoulder, "you're talking about skin phone cases that bite people. Nothing about that says 'Yeah, I could probably get used to that'."

“Well, if you see one around somewhere, don’t touch it,” he advises. “We can’t be sure they got them all.”

She groans. "Ugh, gross, Malcolm! Why do you think I would touch it?"

“Because you embody the curiosity that killed the cat?” he suggests.

"Pot, kettle." She deadpans at him. "But I'm not touching something that looks like it might be covered in skin." She gives an exaggerated shudder at the idea of it. She really hopes she doesn't come across one of them, at this point.

"Good. Best not to," Malcolm says softly. "I know I can't keep you from poking into things; that's literally what they have us do here but... can you at least call me when you're looking into something? And also....." He pauses. "Stay away from Dogtown if you can avoid it."

“I’m not incompetent, Malcolm.” She doesn’t really notice the harsher bite her words had that time. But she’s just come off of him underestimating her for months already and she’d rather he not start it here, now, too.

Her curiosity is piqued at the warning off, though. “What’s there?”

"Death. Possibly yours. Weird things happen there," he tells her.

“Weird things doesn’t tell me anything. Don’t. Do this, Malcolm,” she swats at his shoulder, but it isn’t the soft, petty little sister thing it usually is— not that it exactly hurts, either, but there’s a ferocity in it. “Stop protecting me. Just tell me the truth.”

"I don't know more," he retorts fiercely. "I don't go to Dogtown. But I know you and that's probably the first place you would go, so I'm telling you all I know and all I know is not to go there. Okay?"

She stares hard at him for a long moment, almost like she’s trying to decide whether she can actually believe him or not.

“Fine,” her voice is clipped with her irritation, but she seems content enough to drop the matter (for now).

"Thank you," he says earnestly.

He tilts his head in the direction of the elevators to the lobby.

"Want me to show you where the good coffee shop is?"

She takes a slow, deep breath in and lets it out before she nods. "You're welcome."

But then he asks that and her mood is switched in a near instantaneous sort of way. "Yes! Why didn't you start with that? Let's go." She waits for him to lead the way and follows at his side.

Edited 2022-03-14 17:31 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject