Building a New World Together with ‘Project Ascension’ (A NoPro Adventure)

Meet Gauge, real name Sara. She is eighteen years old, orphaned at twelve. She is the getaway driver for Ring Zero, a scrappy crew of criminals and her surrogate family. She is holding onto them for dear life.

It is New York City fifteen minutes in the future, but everything is different. Gauge lives on the fringes of society, amongst hackers, con artists, and A.I. bots, all committing acts of crime in the name of opportunity: for the chance to Ascend to an unknown yet promising place that promised a better life, as offered by a mysterious and faceless group. Some say whoever is in charge will upload your consciousness to the Cloud. Some say you’ll join a group of elite beings, surrounded by wealth. Some say it’s a trick from an unseen villain to control the minds of the people. But, for one reason or another, nearly everyone is chasing Ascension as a means to escape a world quickly falling to shambles.

For one weekend in May, I was Gauge, chasing the dream of Ascension and trying to stay alive in the process.

Project Ascension is a LARP (live action role-playing game) set in New York City, put on by production company Sinking Ship Creations. Project Ascension focused on collaborative storytelling, a cue taken from Nordic-style LARPs, which are driven by immersion and team efforts. For this event, each participant assumed a character and created a story together with both participants and performers, achieved through improv acting within a fully immersive environment. It incorporated “360 degree immersion,” in which the participants were surrounded on all sides by in-story action and setting, and all players remained in character for the duration of the event. The event lasted a full day, with time to prepare and decompress on either side, and took place in multiple downtown locations (I saw at least five different spaces utilized). It was only the second LARP of this magnitude produced by Sinking Ship Creations, boasting almost 100 players and facilitators, with a character and storyline for each participant.

The storyline behind Project Ascension included classic “cyberpunk” science fiction tropes, featuring a Blade Runner-esque combination of futuristic technology and A.I. mixed with gritty crime and dystopia. The characters were all seeking the nebulous “Ascension,” which they and their crews needed to commit a variety of crimes to achieve, as favors to the group of elites in charge. Players completed these tasks through things like cracking puzzles, smooth-talking other characters to get answers, or simulating crimes. Along the way, they were challenged with dark interpersonal histories, other players looking to seek revenge upon them, and the paranoia of who to trust in a society made up of criminals.

This was the first LARP I ever attended, and I didn’t know what to expect from the world-building prior to game time. I could tell that Project Ascension was to be nothing short of a logistical marvel right off the bat, due to the level of care that Sinking Ship took in preparing their players before the event. The open communication lines that they established made me feel much more at ease, and helped me to get excited for the event. “Get to know you” emails led to surveys about what players wanted out of the event. Surveys led to intricately detailed character dossiers, edited a multitude of times until they lined up perfectly with players’ wishes. Dossiers led to community tools like a Facebook group and Discord chat, where players got to know each other’s characters months before the game began. Multiple times a week, it seemed Sinking Ship Creations was working diligently to prepare a highly personalized experience, from collecting in-character headshots from players, to double-checking participants’ preferred pronouns and sharing them with the group. Moreso, this effort was backed up by multiple emails reassuring the players: don’t be intimidated; all these preparations were there to help, but participation was not required. All that was required was that you show up on the weekend of the event.

There were preparations on my end, too. As a cosplayer, I felt the familiar thrill of collecting costume pieces and drawing up sketches of who my character would be. I read and re-read my character’s dossier, and tried to get to know Gauge and learn her insecurities and her needs. I wrote to my assigned crew and broke the ice, both as a first-time LARPer and a member of the press reviewing the event, and felt relief as each of them welcomed me with open arms. The closer the date got, the more excited I became; I started to realize that when I attend immersive theatre, I assume a character or role in my head–– one that’s connected to some different, deep part of my personality. Attending a LARP would be an act of bringing this character to life; for the first time, I would get to let one of my characters out, and it was a character built purposefully for me.

One fantastic service provided as part of the experience was an in-depth, mandatory workshop for players on the night before the game. This allowed time for participants to meet each other face to face, particularly their “crew,” comprised of other players who they would interact with most and play alongside. Meeting my crew, Ring Zero, allowed us to start putting pieces together, and even have a few conversations in character. As part of the Nordic style of Project Ascension, the Sinking Ship team used the workshop to reiterate the overall goal of creating a rich and fulfilling experience for all, and encouraged us to think of how our decisions during the game could enrich the story for others. The LARP would be less about competing or trying to “win” the experience, and more about building a complex and satisfying story, in which the players felt connected with their characters, the story, and each other. It seems a LARP of this nature is particularly dependent upon the attitudes of the other people involved. The more its players were willing to think of each other, the deeper the characters and connections went. The bonding time provided by this workshop fostered a community atmosphere that supported the collaborative building of the Project Ascension story.

The second half of this valuable workshop was spent reviewing the vast system of tools and consent mechanics in place to protect players. Crews were encouraged to review some basic yet important points in their small groups, including preferred pronouns and potential triggers they wanted to avoid. Sinking Ship held to their “players first” ideology by ensuring that no participant’s ability to consent (or decline participation) was ever compromised. Multiple check-in systems were taught to players, including a stoplight system (if a player was uncomfortable, “yellow” or “red” became safe words to halt action) and a series of hand gestures to indicate a desire to stop a scene. A general check-in hand gesture was taught to all participants, which they could flash to other players if they were concerned about their teammate’s well-being, but didn’t want to break the immersive experience. Even stage combat took on an empathetic tone, with game facilitators encouraging players to consider the stories being told by others when choosing to initiate a fight scene, as well as teaching a system of simple yet effective ways to simulate combat in a consensual and safe fashion. By the end of the night, I had been given the confidence to walk into the next day ready for the game.

Walking into Alphabet City dressed as Gauge felt right; there really are few better settings for a cyberpunk story than New York City. As I sat down for breakfast with my crew, I found it surprisingly easy to slip into character and maintain it. Becoming Gauge was natural — after all, she was built for me. As we ate and talked about the (imagined) missions of yesterday, our crew was alerted via online chat that a contact would be waiting for us in one hour at a specific location a few blocks away. Once we arrived there, Project Ascension would really begin.

The action started right away: almost instantly, our crew leader Kennedy was mysteriously murdered (we learned later that this player had agreed to this beforehand, and was given another role to take on following that character’s death). From there, the world around us began to build, as we explored the surrounding neighborhood, which was crawling with characters from our story, played by both other participants and facilitators. We eventually made it to our “home base,” a spacious bar dubbed “The Underworld,” which served as a good spot to regroup with our crews and meet other characters. Here, players with an affinity for hacking could log in and work away at tech-based puzzles, while others could run out to other locations on physical missions. I leaned more towards the latter.

I was delighted by the different locations I encountered: a VR design studio, a seedy traveler’s hotel, the back corners of parks, even dollar pizza places. It seemed like Project Ascension characters could be found anywhere, fully integrated with the world around me. By utilizing the existing spaces and working with decor that was already in place, Sinking Ship smartly created a totally immersive atmosphere, in which any person could be a key to a puzzle. Covering so much ground really built up the feeling that I was on a mission, and accomplishing something physically outside of my normal boundaries.

When I wasn’t starring in my own personal action movie, I dove into the emotional intricacies to be found back at the bar. Just like Gauge, everyone else’s characters had been thoughtfully fleshed out, and there was an abundance of hidden identities and backstories to be discovered. I began to wonder about the people Gauge knew before I entered her story, and started to seek them out. I looked deeper into my own crew, learning about my mother figure’s military past, or digging into my brother figure’s mysterious family history. I heard what brought them to the crew, and what secrets they may have known about Ascension or even Gauge’s past that I did not. As they found out more about their own characters, these players helped me figure out my own context, and the story grew for all of us.

Get Leah Ableson’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

SubscribeSubscribe

My explorations reached a turning point when I decided to seek out the people who had kidnapped and killed Gauge’s father when she was a little girl. I started poking around, enlisting mediators I trusted to initiate conversations between myself and these villains, steeling myself to ask them for explanations. Some conversations were rough and unforgiving; others remained mysterious and aloof. None, however, affected me quite like the conversation I had upon encountering the person who was eventually revealed to be the killer: a bearded man named Priest, who, until I spoke with him, was just a quiet shadow from a different crew, typing on the computer across the bar. As I pulled him aside from his code-cracking and sat with him in the neon-lit bar, he told me the story of my father’s death, culminating in the real truth: it had all been an accident. It was a job. It went wrong. He revealed this truth with no motivation besides guilt, and he apologized so sincerely that I felt, for a moment, that all of this was real. And then, I learned something about Gauge.

I forgave Priest.

I hadn’t expected it. Apparently, neither did he (nor did, as revealed post-game, the experience creators). But in that moment, I felt empathy with this character I had built out of nowhere, this little girl who had seen so much and now was just tired. She was faced with a big decision later that day, and maybe she was going to be killed in the hunt for Ascension, and there was nothing she could do about anything anymore except try to come to peace with her life, and find ways to protect the people she still loved. From there, Gauge grew into an even more complex character.

I sat alongside Priest as one of the last of my father’s A.I. inventions died out, and he mourned the loss of a dear friend who lived inside the bot. I introduced him to my mother figure, Crash, and pleaded for him to protect her at all costs from the villains who were after the Ascension Chasers. I saw him from across the bar before a moment of judgment, when he implored me to run and get my crew out, while he bought us time by distracting the villain. At the end of the night, he did a head count. Did all of my crew make it out alive? If so, he did his duty.

This turn of events revealed the real magic of this style of LARP to me. Through building this story together, Priest and I (and the other players supporting our stories) created a new tale in real time. We discovered hidden parts of imagined characters that had not existed before, and made real the feelings both of granting forgiveness and of being forgiven. We expressed empathy for each other through fiction, but with our real voices and actions, coming from our own senses of self. In a moment, the stories we had dreamed up became real and rooted, and so much more than just make believe.

One thing I learned from my first LARP experience is that there are a multitude of different reasons why a person might participate in this form of entertainment. In Project Ascension, there were different facets to satisfy a variety of desires. For those looking for emotional catharsis and interpersonal relationships, this was an ideal experience. Even seasoned players seemed deeply moved by the connections forged during this game. The story revolved around complex characters with intense relationships and fascinating stories that were easy to spend the entire night exploring.

For puzzle-crackers, Project Ascension ran into a few growing pains with coordinating puzzles for such a large group, but still showed great potential in this area. There was an impressive variance of the puzzles, and they were, in my opinion, appropriately difficult for this kind of experience. From validating credit card numbers to decoding astrology charts, the myriad of puzzles provided definitely kept my interest. The only roadblock there was the size of the story at hand, pushing the production team to attempt coordinating dozens of moving parts at a time. With different puzzles going out to multiple different crews consistently throughout the day via online chat, the staff had a lot to keep up with, leading to some delays and missed connections between when a puzzle was solved and the follow-through on what would happen next.

And what if you prefer combat in your LARPs? From what I saw, Project Ascension was light on combat, but very much by choice of individual players. I didn’t see much combat, especially as part of a crew driven by emotions; regardless, there were still some great physical feats, like rooting through abandoned rooms or simulating the sedation of a character to kidnap him. I definitely still got my hands dirty.

Above all else, I’d recommend this experience especially to new LARPers and immersive experience creators. As someone totally new to the LARP world, I felt I was in great hands with Sinking Ship. The experience they created was rich and fulfilling, while still being approachable and safe for all players. The team was exceptionally open to feedback and questions at all points in the process.

Sinking Ship followed many practices that I’d love to see adopted elsewhere in the immersive community. As conversations about consent in immersive theatre have recently increased, it was encouraging to see a company place consent mechanics at the forefront of their experience. The “players first” mentality is an admirable position that’s often overlooked in immersive productions, in exchange for challenging audiences through danger or mystery. Rather than cramming all the rules into a short pre-show speech a la most immersive shows, Sinking Ship wove the expectation of respect into the very fabric of their experience, not just through careful and copious communication, but in their storywriting and in-game rules. They also allowed space both before and after the experience to safely transition into and out of the “game world,” offering participants time to emotionally check in with themselves and others. In addition, the production team’s openness to feedback and criticism, and their willingness to adjust to the needs of their audiences, and even own their mistakes, demonstrates a profound care for their experience. More than anything, Project Ascension demonstrated how good intentions and empathy can bolster and improve an audience’s experience tenfold.

Overall, Project Ascension offered a rich and vivid immersive story that encouraged players to connect from their hearts. I shared moments of deep empathy and intense emotion with complete strangers, and saw my own meditations on forgiveness and trauma recovery come out unexpectedly through the character I embodied. Call it a first-time LARPer’s inaugural experience with “LARP drop,” but Gauge and her story feel like they might sit in my heart for a long, long time.

Lastly, a post-script, if you’ll indulge me: I’d like to pay tribute to my Project Ascension crew and family, Ring Zero. Just like Gauge, I entered Project Ascension with the eyes of a child, brand new and confused and not knowing what was to come. You all took me in and shepherded me into a wild and strange world; you opened your hearts and your passions up to an outsider, and we created something magnificent together. I will always be grateful for your generous love and fierce imaginations. To Crash, Siena, Morrigan, Jumper, Culver, Kennedy, Tink, and Dot: may they never forget May 26.

This round of Project Ascension has concluded. You can follow and participate in Sinking Ship Creations’ upcoming events, including their new experience Escape From Marseilles.

NoPro is a labor of love made possible by:

…and our generous Patreon backers: join them today!

In addition to the No Proscenium web site, our podcast, and our newsletters, you can find NoPro on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, in the Facebook community Everything Immersive, and on our Slack forum.