redstringtheories

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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.
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Malcolm grins.

“I like her, too,” he says. “You should come over and meet my other roommate.” He looks at Neal, then looks at Ainsley. “Neal comes over all the time. They’re great.”

Neal doesn't bother resisting a smile. "They are. Even if they aren't the reason I'm over all the time."

He kisses Malcolm's temple and hits the button for the main floor as they board the elevator. "They're an added benefit, we'll say."

"He's adorably clueless sometimes," Ainsley says to Neal, like they're sharing some mutual secret. It's all good-natured sibling ribbing, though, and she's sure Malcolm knows that.

Malcolm looks at Ainsley and then Neal and then Ainsley again.

"What do you mean?" he asks, making her point.

“She means it’s sweet that you think Tim or Mere could entice me over as often as you do.”

A kiss as the elevator door dings open.

Edited 2022-03-24 00:09 (UTC)

Ainsley laughs when Malcolm proves her point so flawlessly and rolls her eyes at the kiss. "Move along, love birds," she says, gesturing to the opening elevator door, though there is no malice in her tone at all.

It’s Ainsley’s voice and the familiar light teasing tone that pulls Malcolm’s gaze from Neal’s face to Ainsley’s, still sporting a bit of Smitten.

“Um, you should try the papaya salad at this place,” he tells her as they head out of the building. “They make the dressing in house.”

He likes all the salads at this place. When he’s feeling particularly adventurous, he’ll get grilled chicken on it. He gives three quarters of the chicken portion to Neal, of course. On his less well days, he just takes soup.

The weather is nice-ish, the walk brisk. There's a good northeastern spring rawness to the air that Neal loves.

"I'm glad you've got family here," he tells Ainsley as they wander their way toward the restaurant. "It's... it can be a lot."

He takes for granted the fact that Gil is on her 'family' list, too.

“Ooh, that does sound good. I just might.” Malcolm may not eat the variety some people do, but she can always count on his suggestions to be tasty.

She keeps in step with the pair of them easily enough and Neal pulls her attention at that comment. “I’m getting that,” orientation was… yeah. A lot. She’s still trying to wrap her head around it.

But it begs the question, “It’s just us, isn’t it? God, Mom’s not stuck in this place, is she?” She won’t ask about Dad— that would have been the first warning out of Malcolm’s mouth the second he saw her.

"No mom. Just us and Gil..." He looks up at the well dressed man on his other side. "And Neal."

Neal gives Malcolm a wide-eyed, startled look, but it turns into something pleased rather than alarmed or apprehensive. He's not sure what to say to that. So he kisses Malcolm instead.

Edited 2022-03-27 01:57 (UTC)

Ainsley's eyebrows arch at that and she doesn't even know what to say, or how to feel, or–

She glances between the two of them and sees Neal is just as caught off guard by this declaration of Malcolm's as she is.

Oh, good. The awkward is replaced with more.

"A-aaany-way..." Ainsley murmurs with a soft roll of her eyes.

“It’s not bad here,” Malcolm tells Ainsley. “It’s better than what I left. I mean. It was already better than what I left but now…” His eyes drift to Neal’s face. “It’s even more better.”

That makes Neal ache for Malcolm, makes him wonder what Ainsley and Gil would say about that assessment. He gives Malcolm's hand a little squeeze. "Happy to be the supplier of a grammatically incorrect modifier."

Ainsley isn't entirely sure how to take that whole commentary. Better than what he left? Better how? Because dad wasn't here? Mom wasn't? Her... "Don't go overboard just 'cuz you're smitten, kitten," she teases and pinches her brother's cheek. "'Not bad here' is the antithesis of everything else I've heard about this city so far. But..." 'any port in a storm' crosses her mind, but not her lips. "I'm glad you haven't been alone."

He can't say he's not smitten. He very obviously is. He very obviously was before Neal even turned him down the first time he asked him out.

"Thanks. Having Gil here has really helped after... everything that happened with dad before I came here."

"Everything with Dad?" she echoes, giving him a curious look. "Malcolm, there's always something going on with you and Dad, you're gonna have to be a little more specific."

Neal gives Ainsley a startled look. Everything with dad seems fairly clear to him, given the whole, y'know, stabby thing. "It had to have been pretty dramatic, then, because..."

He trails off, giving Malcolm a curious-slash-befuddled look.

“His escape?” Malcolm clarifies. “The kidnapping?” he prompts.

The frown on her face is clear enough to scream that she has absolutely no idea what he's talking about even before she speaks. Her words only confirm it. "Malcolm. What are you talking about?"

“When dad escaped from Claremont,” Malcolm says emphatically. “It wasn’t even a week ago.”

She stares at him again for a long moment, almost like she's trying to figure out if he's... lying? Joking? What a weird joke. But... She scoffs a little and rolls her eyes. "Okay, Malcolm. Petty revenge? Cute. Very funny." She doesn't sound even a little bit amused, though.

“Not a week ago for me, a week ago for y…” He frowns in genuine confusion. “What do you mean rev… oh, you mean Capshaw? I think she’s genuinely psychopathic; she didn’t want revenge on him, she wanted to form a connection with somebody who could understand her compulsions.”

Neal does not have the total context for everything the two of them are saying. He's confused, and as always when he's confused and feels like he can't interrupt for clarification, there's a little tweak of temper, but he manages to keep quiet. He's got vastly more self-control than he used to.

"No... Malcolm nothing you're saying makes sense. Dad did. not escape Claremont, that's crazy. How would he even do that? They've got security to the hilt, there, there's no. Way." Something needs to click soon, or she's going to lose her mind.

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