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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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.

"Fri..." He pauses as something occurs to him. "What the last thing that happened to you before you got here?"

That question makes her shift uncomfortably. It's subtle, only Malcolm would be likely to even catch it, because he knows her, and because his entire job is based on noticing the little things, but it's there.

"It's personal," she says, her chin tilted upward a little in something like stubborn defiance, eyes cast for the briefest flicker to Neal.

That gets a raised eyebrow, but he can't exactly argue. He doesn't like the feeling of being on the outside of something, never has, but he also knows he doesn't have the right to Malcolm's whole life just because they're sharing one here.

"Okay, what's something that happened that isn't personal?"

Malcolm holds up a hand and levels his gaze at Ainsley.

"You can talk in front of Neal. He knows what I did."

Her eyes cast toward Neal at his comment, but her focus is on Malcolm. "What you did? Or what I did? They're almost the same thing, but not quite."

"He's safe, Ainsley," Malcolm tells her. "What was the last thing that happened to you before you came here?"

"Fighting with you." Which could be vague enough for most siblings, but actually? Most of the time? Ainsley and Malcolm get along amazingly well. Even if Ainsley's competitive nature can cause some rifts here and there. "After... the prank I pulled on you." She hopes that's specific enough because Malcolm screaming about how deranged she was for it still burns in her mind and she'd like to not have to look at the face of a stranger hearing in explicit detail what that prank was.

"...The prank? That was months ago, Ains. I mean, when I got here, that was months ago." He looks at Neal almost helplessly, then looks at Ainsley. "It's... it's like you're from the past." He looks at Neal again. "Have you heard of that happening to anyone?"

Neal looks from Malcolm to Ainsley, desperately curious about what prank they’re referring to, but he’s not going to ask right now. It’s not important.

“Yes, actually. I haven’t encountered anyone it happened to directly, but I’ve read some records that indicate it does happen.”

Which is weird and uncomfortable as a hypothetical, let alone a genuine possibility. His attention shifts back to Malcolm, still hung up on the degree of trust Malcolm has in him. It touches a deep empty place he’d all but forgotten about, one he’s ignored for long enough that it became irrelevant. He wants to show Malcolm how much that means. He wants to earn it, to pay it back, but he has no idea how to go about that.

He takes a deep breath. “Maybe we should continue this with something sweet and-or savory to help with the mood.”

They are almost at that diner after all.

Her face twists in shock, barely able to wrap her head around what her brother is saying. "If this you messing with my head again, Malcolm, I swear..." her voice is tight and serious, the last words let out in a breath.

At this point, she's glad for the distraction and nods. "Yeah," she agrees with Neal, nodding a little. "let's... do that."

Malcolm looks over at her as he reaches for the door.

“Lying to you about this wouldn’t protect you from anything or gain me anything. There’s no reason to,” he says plainly, holding the door for her.

Oh, there are details to this that he very much wants. Not right now--he doubts he'd get them without Malcolm earning Ainsley's ire--but he wants them.

The interior of the diner is... well, exactly what you'd expect a diner to look like. That universal atmosphere of cheap and battered with a side of home-cooked Americana appeal. It belies the fact that the menu is more sophisticated, but Neal likes it. It's charming.

It's also slightly busier than expected.

"Hang on." He flashes a smile at one of the waitresses--the kind of smile that gets them a table without having to wait.

"You weren't–" but they're walking inside and Neal shushes them for a moment while he gets them whisked to a table without a wait and she can't deny it's kind of impressive to see that sort of thing in action from the sidelines.

Around more people than the conversation would be polite to continue in, Ainsley just smiles, the perfect-practiced, plastic thing she learned from her mother. "How about we put that aside for now," her tone even screams Jessica more than herself. "and we focus on enjoying lunch and you two," she gestures with two fingers between them. "Can tell me how this happened." Because, oh, she's curious.

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