redstringtheories

Entry tags:

!tdm

TDM #13

➥ 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.) You might even arrive in a section of building that has been demolished, leaving a pit of rubble open to the sky–hope you're up on your tetanus shots! 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. The one exception is the demolition zone off what used to be one corner of the building: it seems the security teams are keeping a particularly close eye on that area to document new arrivals and bring them in quickly.

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.)

➥A Face For Radio

Photo of a mixed woodland and farmland landscape during the day. In the foreground is the top of a radio tower.
(cw: trypophobia, phonophobia, air raid siren in link)

Weird things happen in Dogtown, everyone knows it. And the weird things have been getting worse. Much worse. The rise in dangerous rather than merely uncomfortable or startling phenomena has put an end to ADI's use of Dogtown as a testing ground for new recruits. Under ADI's advisement, the City of Gloucester has officially and indefinitely closed Dogtown to the public, and work is ongoing to construct barriers around the entire park to prevent trespassing. Dogtown's borders are now patrolled by Gloucester law enforcement as well as ADI employees from the Investigations and Security divisions, who document phenomena visible from outside its borders and actively keep people out. New arrivals who volunteer for the work may still find themselves dropped off outside the borders of Dogtown in order to beef up patrols and help document paranormal activity while receiving an introduction to the kind of work ADI does. An employee will give you a GPS device where you need only press a button to alert ADI there is severe danger and someone needs to come help you right away, explicitly instruct you not to actually enter Dogtown, and leave you with another person at the edge of the park. 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 record any paranormal activity visible from outside the park. Those who succeed in documenting anything peculiar will receive a $100 reward to be used as they see fit, but those who are caught entering Dogtown in pursuit of such proof will be reprimanded and receive no reward.

This month, everything is quiet. Peaceful, even! With Dogtown closed up and the hand creatures ostensibly dealt with, it seems the breeches caused by low manpower are finally dealt with.

And then the phones start acting up.

For some, it starts low and builds, a wailing warning issued from every cell phone on the block for stretches of seconds that feel like hours. Nothing makes it stop, the phones won’t turn off, and there’s no actual banner or text warning offering explanation.

For others, it happens in the middle of calls or while they’re browsing the web: static, sharp and sudden and loud blares from the phones in a small area all at once, seemingly at random. Annoying enough on its own, but those affected begin to notice something…off. Is that mailbox following you? Did that signpost turn to look as you passed by? Inanimate objects seem to come to life around you; those that can stalk you will, and those that can’t 'move' do all they can: watch. At least you don’t seem to be the only one noticing, right?

For those who look long and hard enough or for the truly perceptive, a commonality will eventually be spotted. It’s a cell tower within Dogtown. Tall, innocuous, with its rusted metal frame and pillar structures attached near the top; it seems perfectly normal, if weather-worn…at least until your eyes travel the form more closely. The crossing of beams doesn’t make a thin pyramid shape as it should, instead they twist over themselves into impossibly long limbs. Legs lead into a hollow torso and spindly arms, the metal so twisted and rusted that it begins to look like leathery, flaking skin the longer you stare.

The amplifiers at the top nestle in a tangle of wires and twisted metal with empty sockets at random intervals, as though the eyeless structure didn’t always used to be that way. Now it sways ever so slightly in with a gentle rocking.

➥ What Belongs to the Sea

Photo of a beach at night. The shoreline is covered in litter.
(cw: dismembered bodies, flayed bodies, body horror, zombies, hand-based trauma, human-caused environmental damage)

Last month it was horrific little dolls, this month what's washing up on the shores of Gloucester is far, far worse. ADI has people continuing to patrol the beaches, particularly those where the dolls had been found. On the night of August 13th, it's not dolls, but pieces of some sort of sea creature that wash ashore. A sea creature touched by something terrible. It's almost like an eel… if eels had irregularly-spaced and sized hands. And the face of a human woman. The pieces of its body are wrapped in fishing line, netting, and other bits of garbage that are regularly thrown into the ocean. The head, for whoever might find it, still seems to have at least a little life left in it because if it is approached, it sobs, a broken sound that shouldn't be possible when it has no lungs. It can't form words, just cries and cries. Characters who ask native ADI personnel who have heard the sobbing or heard recordings of it will let them know it sounds distinctly like the wailing heard beneath one of the local bridges last month. And the wailing beneath the bridge? That's stopped.

If it were only the strange eel creature, that would be disturbing, but manageable. It is not only the eel creature. On August 14th, the tide pulls in something else. Perhaps you're actively patrolling, perhaps you're just strolling places you might want to rethink. Whichever it is, your eye is drawn to a figure lying prone in the surf, the waves buffeting them, shifting them up and down. It's hard to make out who the body might be, and as you come closer, it doesn't help in the slightest.

The body has been flayed. All visible skin stripped away, leaving exposed muscle and fat. The salty ocean seems to have cured it to some extent, but not nearly enough. Whoever this was, they are no more. There is all manner of refuse wrapped around their feet and ankles, old fishing hooks dug into their skin. Glance into the waves beyond, and you'll see something watching you. It has reflective, animal eyes, and disappears almost as soon as you've noticed it. The analysis of the bodies by ADI personnel (native or off-worlder) will show that these are people who have been reported missing or kidnapped from Cape Ann to Essex Bay.

The next night, August 15th, there are more bodies. So many more bodies. They wash ashore in groups of five or six, always when you're not watching. These are different. Still flayed, still wrapped with refuse, but when you reach toward them this time, they reach back. The bodies grasp for you, rise and try to wrestle you into the surf. It's clear they mean to bring you their fate, whatever it was, if they can. There's no signs of life in these bodies when they come for you. The keen-eyed may note that they have large fish hooks run through or near their hands, though. Removing those seems to be an effective means to make the bodies stop. Or removing the hands/arms from the rest of the body. A headshot or two might work, as well.

➥ Telephone

Photo of a young black man looking down at his cellphone in alarm as he places his hand over his mouth.
(cw: gaslighting, altered mental states, supernaturally induced paranoia; please place additional cw's in subject lines)

The random, blaring sirens aren't the only problem with the phones, though one might be forgiven for missing a second issue that begins more subtly a few days later. Voice and video continue to work as expected within ADI's network when the sirens aren't going off, but text... text is another matter.

Sometimes the messages are dropped into the middle of a conversation. Sometimes they come out of the blue, perhaps even from someone the recipient has never met. Always, though, the messages appear to come from a legitimate network user, and always they are somehow sinister in nature. Some are uncomfortable truths about the sender or the recipient, some outright lies, others accusations or horrifying anecdotes. From the sender's perspective, nothing is amiss: all outgoing text messages will appear exactly as typed when viewed on one's own phone, no more and no less than one had chosen to send. From the recipient's perspective, additional messages appear seemingly at random. Compare phones side by side and it's clear that the people around the characters are receiving texts they did not send.

But maybe that's what they want you to think. With the phones already on the fritz this is a nasty time to play a prank on the network, but it's not as though it would be all that hard to pull off, right? There's a whole department full of hackers right there within ADI headquarters, after all, and who knows what technical skills the other off-worlders could be hiding? You can't trust what you read on your phone, obviously, but more importantly, you can't trust the people around you. They're lying to you; they wanted to scare you. If you've gotten creepy messages from multiple people, that's just evidence that they're plotting against you together.

Don't believe their lies.

➥ Mod Notes

ARRIVAL (August 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 (or the rubble that used to be part of 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, as well as information about the state of ADI Headquarters.
A FACE FOR RADIO (August 1-12): The signal creatures will be hard to spot. While tall, they are shorter than average cell towers. They can be neutralized through various creative means as well as through traditional violence. While there are only a few, they move about and make the number seem more than it is. While not inherently violent, if provoked the creatures will defend themselves. Please remember that death is permanent in the setting!
WHAT BELONGS TO THE SEA (August 13-15): The 'zombies' can be killed in the standard zombie trope manner by destroying the head or enough of the body, but for characters who might be more inclined toward a less direct solution, removing the fish hooks from the hands will also cause the body to stop moving. For the bodies that are found, ADI will be directing the police to collect them after the first few. Players are welcome to make up who the victims are, if they'd like to focus more on that aspect of the prompt, and have their characters analyze the bodies or research who they might be. The only commonality between the victims is that they are from the same general region and those listed as missing seem to have last been seen near the beach. For any characters who might be inclined toward PR, ADI will also be spinning this up as a serial killer being on the loose to try to encourage people to stay indoors/move around in groups.
TELEPHONE (August 4-15): Characters will be unable to find evidence of any outgoing messages from their own accounts on their own devices. Tech-savvy characters will be able to discover that the messages are being inserted by a nameless account spoofing the ID of whomever appeared to send them, but will not be able to pin down a location for the mystery user. Exposure to the messages will inevitably induce some level of paranoia, but players are free to decide how quickly and how severely those feelings develop. Players may choose any variety of disturbing subject matter for their characters' unintended messages; please place appropriate cw's in subject lines.
↬ Main Navigation

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Frederick looks at the notebook, looks at his hands (or what passes for his hands; they're closer to split hooves with attached thumbs than real fingers), and gingerly accepts it, though he's not sure he can hold a pencil properly. Especially not one that tiny.

But he'll try. It takes him two goes to take the pencil stub without dropping it, and then a long minute to arrange it so he can properly hold it. This was much easier when he was just tearing apart his typewriter and wiring his wife's plastic dolls to make a poppet companion.... He stumbles along in Steve's wake, not worried about potential harm Steve might give him (he's not sure yet if he'd be grateful to have this strange existence ended for him or not), focused on trying to remember his letters.

It takes several minutes but he finally nudges Steve with the notebook, on which he has drawn Kilroy again, then written out shakily, in large blocky capital letters that take up most of the page, FRED. (He... gave up on Frederick.)

Whoops, sorry, pal - Steve's never quite broken the habit of using pencils all the way down to the very end. He at least has the good grace to look sorry about it, holding the pencil steady until the other's got a grip on it.

After that, he walks slowly - it's hard enough to walk and write with human hands designed to hold pencils, after all. He winds them slowly around the rubble, pausing when he feels that nudge and his eyes light up when he sees, "Well. Hi, Fred." He offers the guy a smile. "Welcome to Gloucester, Massachusetts, if that means anything to you. I can draw you a map if it doesn't. Those of us that show up here all seem to stick around; ADI pays us and puts us up and we try to help them figure out what's going on and how to stop it."

They're mostly out of the worst of the ruined area now, with a roof back over their heads and the hallway clear of rubble. Steve's happy to get this guy to "orientation," but he's also willing to have a conversation as best he can, answer questions - or try to predict what questions there might be. He still has plenty of his own, really, but the basics are easy enough to convey.

Frederick hasn't been smiled at since before he died. Long before he died, actually. Nobody smiled in his wife's house. He rattles the stones in his ribcage, since he can't really smile back. The skull doesn't really move, after all.

He knows where Massachusetts is... sort of. He passed through there once, he thinks. The town is unfamiliar, but it's probably small or backwater or both.

He writes slowly and carefully on the notebook: NC, USA. Please guess what that means, Steve.

Steve at least gets the sense that the rattling is a good thing; it makes him smile a little more, trying not to watch Fred write because that probably feels like pressure that definitely isn't needed.

So, he waits as patiently as he's able, leaning over to see when the notebook is presented again. "North Carolina?" He guesses. "Is that where you're from? I figured you were American." Based on Kilroy. "I'm from New York. Originally."

American. Ha. The rattling increases briefly, his best attempt at laughter. Well, he supposes he lives in America, and he did marry an American. Does that technically make him American? He never really identified with any of them, except maybe his poor granddaughter.

He's probably not, anymore, anyway. He's of the other world now.

He draws another Kilroy on the next page and writes next to it MR CHAD. Steve will certainly recognize that's what both Peggy and Montgomery called the doodle, and can probably guess from it that wherever Frederick lives now, he's from Europe somewhere. England, probably.

Steve definitely gets the distinct feeling he's being laughed at; it makes him laugh a little, too, shrugging helplessly - but when he leans over to look again, "Oh. Oh - yeah. I get it. Not American, then," he says, smile wry. "I was stationed in London for a while. They called him that."

Of course, either way, he's never met anyone of any nationality that looks quite like Fred here. He isn't sure how to ask what happened, especially since it doesn't look extremely easy for the poor fellow to write a lot at once. "We should get you a keyboard," he decides. "Would typing be easier? Or I know a little ASL."

Nodding is awkward, but tilting his head, birdlike, with curiosity is easy. He does it. He remembers his typewriter (remembers taking it apart for his own poppet) but if the keys were big enough, surely he could use something like that to communicate. He writes ASL? question mark and all. It sounds familiar, but like something he heard in passing while he was alive, not like something he might have known.

Steve laughs a little, shrugging. "I'm guessing that's a no on the ASL - American Sign Language. Though I'm told my some of my signs are a little out of date." Granted, maybe not for Fred, here, if he knows who Kilroy-slash-Mr. Chad is.

But the keyboard idea seems a little more promising. Fred didn't ask what it was, at least."Follow me - we can find you a laptop to type on, maybe. I'm sure someone's stepped away from theirs."

Sign language. Huh. Frederick doesn't know what that looks like, but if it's possible he's not about to say no to learning.

He does hold up his hand, though, to show that... it's really less of a hand and more of a cloven deer hoof, the leg bones hanging with a little hide and fur still, but mostly held together with magic. The only helpful addition are wire thumbs. He can hunt and peck, but it won't be very fast, either.

Steve seems to get what Fred's trying to say, at least. "I know it's probably not very efficient. But it's something, right? At least we speak the same language."

He does admittedly have to wonder about this guy's... situation. And yet, for all that Fred's figure could certainly come across as horrifying, the person inside there clearly isn't. It does a lot to offset the strange physical appearance. Steve maybe wants to ask if he's trapped, but isn't quite sure whether that's even the right question to ask.

Besides. They are all trapped here, in a manner of speaking.

He pokes his head into the first office space they pass, and lo and behold, it's empty, with several computers on desks. He beckons Fred inside, pulling one keyboard over a bit. "You can type on this, let me just - " He turns on the screen and pulls up a word processor. "It'll show up here, instead of on paper. Easier to erase," he adds, tapping the backspace key a few times.

He knows he's supposed to get new people down to "orientation," but he'd still like to make sure there isn't anything else he can answer or help with first.

Oh, this is very fancy. Frederick peers at it, turning his upside-down skull this way and that, then lifts a hoof to tap a few keys. Then a few more.

had a typewritr before. this is quieter.

Then, while Steve reads that, he adds, one line at a time,

hello i am frederick cotgrave.

used t be human but now i m poppet of the white people. not dangerous but i know very scary.

you re doing very well thoh thank yu

Steve waits patiently, doing his best not to look over the guy's shoulder (such as it is) and let him type. He does smile, though, as the lines start to appear.

"Yeah, they're much quieter than typewriters," he agrees, even if it had felt like that familiar noise had been missing for a long time, until he'd just gotten used to different noises.

At the rest, "Did they - I don't know the white people. Did they do that to you?"

Frederick tries to think of a short way to explain the White People. Maybe a reference will help.

other world people. like fey folk.

was their servants. might be the white people ar gon. didn see any since the 60s

but their poppets re left and kep building

Steve nods at that. "I understand fey folk," he confirms. Of course, "They're just stories, where I'm from."

He pauses.

"I think."

There are aliens and elves and androids and God knows what else in the world. Steve doesn't think he'd be surprised if fey folk showed up.

Either way, that doesn't have much to do with Fred's situation right now. "Poppet," Steve murmurs. There must be a reason he chose that specific word. "They were using you?"

The rattling noise he makes sounds almost derisive, stones clacking together sharply and shortly. He types, they made me but did not like me. mostly i was alone.

He considers his words a moment, then adds, did not like them either. was a bit lonely thogh

Steve frowns. "It does sound lonely. How long has it been?"

It... maybe sounds like the guy has been around a while. Steve can appreciate that.

There's a long pause while he tries to sort that out, but he finally has to shake his head (swaying his whole shoulders from side to side) and type, do not know.

He'd stopped counting the seasons long ago. It could have been two years or twenty and he'd never know. He can't even remember what year it was, anymore, that he finished his manuscript.

He doesn't suppose it matters, though. He adds the line: long enough. not sure how much i rmeber abut acting human. will try not to scare if possble thogh

That gets a little huff of laughter, even if it maybe shouldn't. "Pal, you're doing fine so far. Plus, with everything that goes on here, people are a little tougher to scare than you might expect." At least, in the general respect. Sure, he could see how the way the guy looks might put someone off. But he's clearly not malicious, and Steve would like to think that will count for a lot.

"Do you want to know anything else on my end? Or - is there anything you need? Before I take you down so you can get the official story." He pauses. "We'll take one of these with." Fred's typing on a desktop now, but there's a laptop in the next cubicle over. Steve grabs it; he's sure whoever won't mind, just for a little while. Clearly this particular room isn't a hive of activity.

Frederick considers that a moment. He does have a lot of questions, but if there's an orientation and people who will explain.... He settles for probably the most important one, for his own ability to get around and interact with others: there are othr not human things here?

Steve nods. "There are. My friend Cortana didn't have a body until she got here. She's just the one I know best, but she's probably not the only non-human at ADI." Steve maybe doesn't know all of them, but it stands to reason that there are more.

And even if there aren't, "The entities we're trying to stop. They're definitely not human, either. And I don't think their avatars are, either, after they start working together."

Avatars. He thinks someone used that term once or twice, though not in regards to the White People or the poppets. He can't remember who.

He doesn't dwell on it. Instead he types, do they chang too? like i did

Steve considers Frederick and the question. "Maybe. Not - exactly. They don't look like you, for the most part they still look human. But their bodies can also do some very inhuman things, like turn into shadows and change shape."

It's probably not a very satisfying answer, but he really only has experience with the one.

He thinks he may know why Fred is asking, though maybe he's off base: "I don't know if it's the same people. Your White People and the entities." It could be, though, who knows.

Frederick sways from side to side. No, the White People are not invisible fear-entities who turn regular, living humans into their tools. Not like that. This much he knows. Also, he's met them, and he's pretty sure they're just people who happen to be magical. (And also the Makers and worthy of worship. But he tries to ignore that impulse. Easier, when you never go anywhere near their stones or their other poppets.)

not same, he types. pretty sure.

He'll have to learn more and find out. Mostly he was asking to see if he'd meet anyone else like him. It sounds like no, though.

But that's the last of his questions for now. thak you for helping steve

Steve offers him a smile that's still the tiniest bit regretful. "Absolutely. If you want to follow me, I'll get you to orientation." He motions back to the door they came in.

Although he has to add, "I'm sorry this happened to you. That you're here against your will. We all are, even if we're willing to help."

What is he going to do? Complain? He's had more positive interactions today than he's had since he died. Frederick reaches over one bony hoof to pat Steve on the shoulder. No hard feelings, son. He'll make do.

Then he starts for the door, figuring wherever this orientation is, it'll be outside, as indicated. Best get it over with.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TDM #13

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

wrap?