TDM #9

[apocalypsehowmods]

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➥ Arrival

(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

(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

(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

(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.
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Comments

[welladjustedwhitly]

"Ainsley," she offers in return, shaking the hand offered to her. "me too. And his name's Malcolm..." She can't decide if she wants him to know who she's looking for or not. On the one hand, maybe he could lead her to him, on the other, she'd rather just find him herself. She's just stubborn that way.

[conning]

She says ‘Ainsley’ and his eyes go wide. She confirms her brother’s name and Neal makes an incredulous noise. He can’t decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing, her presence. Good for Malcolm, bad for her? Maybe. “So do you go by Bright or Whitly or something else? I don’t want to misname you.”

In spite of the potential sarcasm of the words, he’s sincere.

[welladjustedwhitly]

Actually? Relief floods her when he recognizes her brother's name. Maybe she wants to see him more than she thought, despite everything back home. "Whitly..." but the fact that he asked meant he knew Malcolm's last name was a farce and she can't stop the slight frown that sketches across her face. "He told you about his name? Why?" It isn't exactly widely broadcasted at home. Until there's no choice but to admit it, Malcolm never owns his last name.

[conning]

Instinct demands a lie. Or at least a partial truth. A misdirect. Something to protect Malcolm as much as himself. But this is Malcolm’s sister, and if there’s one thing Neal has learned about Malcolm in the past couple of months it’s that family is everything to him. That, and he’s a terrible liar.

“I… had a hallucinatory encounter with your dad. Long story, did not end well.”

A pause. “Also Malcolm and I are dating.”

[welladjustedwhitly]

"My dad?" She echoes, incredulous, her face scrunched up in her disbelief. "How can you hallucinate someone you've never met? That doesn't makes sense, and Malcolm could tell you the, like, fifteen different ways that isn't possible." Or maybe it is possible, she doesn't know. But it doesn't make sense, and it sounds good for now anyway.

And then he says that and she can't hope to stop the laugh that bubbles up, "What?" she asks through it, too fast to stop or change into any other sound, her hand almost instantly slapping over her own mouth. "I'm sorry. It's not funny, it's just–" Her face scrunches again, but it's more of a 'trying to figure out how to say it' face this time. "He doesn't have the best track record in that particular department. That's all."

[conning]

Neal can’t help the protective edge that rises up under his tone after her laugh. “We share that track record, actually.”

He sighs. “The hallucination was more of a dream. Nightmare. Malcolm’s nightmare, specifically, that I accidentally found myself inside.”

[welladjustedwhitly]

"Probably for incredibly different reasons," she says, though it's almost more a comment to (or for) herself than for Neal.

She frowns a little at the further explanation– it doesn't really help. Ainsley has run through orientation, but she hasn't gotten to anything like a point of accepting all the things she keeps hearing about. "All of the things I hear about this place sound like a crappy horror movie." she mutters.

[conning]

The comment rankles, on several levels, but at this point in his life he's very good at letting those things pass. Or at least letting them seem to. The part about the crappy horror movie, though...

He makes an ironic little noise, gesturing for her to enter the elevator first when it finally opens. It's polite. "Not so crappy. Terrible plot, sure, but the effects are way too good."

[welladjustedwhitly]

She follows him into the elevator. Not like she has anything else to do right this minute, after all. She huffs a soft sound at that, not quite amused, but it doesn't really indicate belief in everything she's hearing about so far.

"What kind of effects?" she asks, her tone only holding genuine curiosity this time.

[conning]

For a second when he looks at her, she seems so damn young. Late twenties, probably--not a kid. And if her life has been anything like Malcolm's, well. She's not young in that sense, either.

Still, Neal focuses on the lid of the coffee he's holding for Malcolm for a moment, trying to decide how much to say. How much is a helpful warning vs too much personal risk.

"That nightmare that I found myself in, with your dad? He killed me. Malcolm stood there begging him not to, and he killed me. And I felt it. This place..."

For an unintentional moment, he's locked into that memory, and he has to force himself to breathe deeply a few times and shake it off.

"It's going to traumatize you. It's going to find a way, and dream or not, it will feel real."

[welladjustedwhitly]

Her face pinches in... is it disbelief? Confusion? She's not even sure, herself, all she knows is she doesn't understand any of this, or how it could even be possible. He isn't the first person to tell her about impossible things happening here, but no matter how many experiences she hears about, she can't reconcile it as something real in her head.

But before she can even think of what to say, something in him... shifts. Just a little. She probably would have blinked and missed it if not for all the years of watching her brother enter and exit various types of psychologically-related episodes.

She doesn't do him the disservice of trying to pull him out of it– she doesn't know him, chances were it could be disastrous if she tried. It's better to wait it out, and he seems aware enough of himself to dispel the moment on his own anyway.

"Nothing anyone is telling me even sounds real." She doesn't know how to handle that. Not after the last couple of decades, her whole life, really, of knowing her brother was experiencing things like they were real, but they weren't, and having to watch him cycle through medications and therapy techniques just to keep himself grounded. "Everything you guys keep saying just sounds like... I don't know," she shakes her head. "A psychotic break? Psychosis? Malcolm knows more about that stuff than me."

She pushes down the weird-wrong-sharp twist of... is it jealousy? Envy? Not for Malcolm knowing more, that was his job. But almost in the way of wishing she had something that people could point to and call broken. Something she's battled with for years, and it's impossible to explain it to anyone else because it sounds nuts, and she knows it.

None of it breaks through her voice, though. That stays perfectly even, conversational.

[conning]

“It feels like a psychotic break,” Neal says, trying for ironic and succeeding, mercifully.

A pause. More gently, he adds, “You’ll need to talk about it, too. You won’t want to maybe, but you’ll need to, to stay sane. It’s good that you’ve got your brother here.”

[welladjustedwhitly]

She huffs softly, not amused or annoyed, just a simple acknowledgment of his words.

"We're not exactly a hug it out and talk about it sort of family..." she admits quietly, staring down at the tile beneath her feet. She isn't sure if she hates that, or prefers it that way. Or if she might only prefer it, because it's what she's had to do for so long, about so many things.

[conning]

“Really?” That startles him, enough that he doesn’t immediately hide the reaction. With how gentle and supportive Malcolm is… Well, he’d made assumptions, apparently. Yeah, Malcolm’s mentions of his mother have been fondly exasperated, which Neal understands all too well, but the way Malcolm talks about Ainsley…

He shakes the thought off, managing a small laugh. “I’ve never been much of a talker either. Not about things like that. So I won’t say it’s easy.”

The elevator chimes, and Neal once again waits for Ainsley to exit first. “He’s usually somewhere on this floor during the afternoon. Your brother, I mean.”

[welladjustedwhitly]

She glances up at his obvious surprise, curiosity flashing through her features. "I don't know what he's told you, but... no," she shakes her head. "I mean," she tilts her head to the side for a moment. "he's probably the one that's best at it, but...the rest of us..." she shrugs. Mom downed Xanax with Johnnie Walker, and Ainsley threw herself wholesale into work at the detriment of everything else in her life.

She steps out of the elevator and glances both ways down the hall, not sure which direction to take. "What does he do here?" she asks, glancing over at Neal again.

[conning]

Neal leans in closer, whispering gravely, “Mostly, he gets bored.”

And with that he leads the way to Malcolm’s cubicle.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm sees Neal first and his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Neal,” he says, setting his pencil down in his notebook. “I wasn’t expecting you.” But it clearly sounds like a pleasant surprise.

[conning]

Neal’s reaction at Malcolm’s reaction is much the same. It’s hard not to feel warmed up inside when someone is that happy just to see you. He lifts the coffee cup in greeting, setting it down on the desk so he can slide both arms around Malcolm’s waist. “I come bearing gifts. One planned, one unplanned. Turtle mocha, for a change of pace, and…”

He glances at Ainsley and raises his eyebrows. “Something slip your mind last time we talked?”

Given that the last time they talked there was more kissing than talking, well. These things happen.

[welladjustedwhitly]

If Neal hadn’t already broken the ice on the fact that he’s dating her brother, well, there would be no hiding that fact now. Not when Malcolm brightens up like that. It’s this sort of light she can’t remember seeing in him in so long. Something in her chest tightens a little.

On the surface, she just plays the act of little sister, voice pitched high and teasing as she peeks around the corner. “Get a room!” she giggles before coming properly around the edge of the cubicle.

“Neal’s not the only one you failed to mention things to.” She lifts her eyebrows and looks stunningly like their meddling mother for a moment.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s initial response to Neal’s comment is a distracted “Hm?” Which would, incidentally, have been his response to most questions in that moment, including ‘what’s going on?’ and ‘what’s your name?’. Then he hears Ainsley and his eyebrows go up, eyes widening a little before her face comes around the cubicle, prompting him to point at it over Neal’s arm.

“Right. My sister’s here.” He looks at her, then at Neal, then gestures between them. “But you’ve met,” he surmises. He looks at Ainsley. “Technically, there were a lot of life and death things you needed to know about when you got here. This…” he gestures between himself and Neal, having not moved away at all, “is second coffee chat stuff.”

[conning]

Neal grins, first at Ainsley’s obligatory little sister moment, then at Malcolm declaring the two of them second coffee chat stuff. He kisses Malcolm firmly.

“I was going to suggest lunch outside of the compound, but now I’m going to have to insist on it. My treat, of course.”

Or rather the treat of the rich dude who hasn’t noticed yet that one of his credit cards is missing. Not the whole wallet. Just the one card.

[welladjustedwhitly]

"A boyfriend is not second coffee chat material, but," she lingers on the word for a moment. "I'll let it slide. There was a lot going on." Still is a whole lot of processing happening, but to no one's surprise, she immediately threw herself into a job.

At the idea of lunch together, she brightens. "Yes, lunch. Let's." She's practically beaming, and there's no mistaking that wicked little shine in her eyes. Oh, yes. Little Sister Mod is fully activated now.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm gives her a warning look, but it's good natured because it's hard to be anything but when Neal is right here and looking at him like that.

"I have time for lunch," he says, like he was doing anything useful. "Where did you want to go?"

[conning]

“What about that diner next to our usual spot? I keep thinking it might be worth trying and I keep forgetting.”

He flashes Ainsley a smile. “Probably a downgrade from a Park Avenue cafe, but needs must.”

Neal looks back at Malcolm, trailing his fingertips lightly down the other man’s back. “Plus I know they have some options that should be easy for you to manage.”

[welladjustedwhitly]

Her own look is utter innocence and sunshine in response. Malcolm knows better, but. In good-natured sibling ribbing? They're basically gold medalists.

"Ohh, are you from New York, too?" That sounds like it might be earning a point or two in his favor, right off the top.

She doesn't miss the affectionate touches, give so... freely, natural as breathing, and while she wouldn't say they're a completely touch-averse family... this is different. Not bad, necessarily, but new.