A live, multiplayer field-monitoring terminal for the observation and containment of CMF-6143 — the fog-bound presence local record has called Adje Mossink since 1643.
“Observe. Contain. Remember nothing.”
The C.M. Foundation (CMF) runs a single forward post — Diepenheim Station — built around one task: watching CMF-6143. The Station does not claim to understand the subject. It counts willows, holds the 580 nm line, keeps the 85 Hz floor honest, and writes everything down.
In plain terms: this is a shared, story-driven field-monitoring terminal — a collaborative ARG presented as a real operations console. Operatives enlist, then monitor a live threat model, file field reports, talk across operator channels, dig through a deep body of lore, and take part in a synchronised, multiplayer haunting that can reach every connected device at once — including, with permission, a push notification to a phone in your pocket. One person at the station is the Director, who can stage events, broadcast, and play the entity itself.
The station is built in layers. Pick a layer; tap any feature to open it.
The thirteen mission tabs and the engine that drives them.
The central watch screen — everything the station knows about tonight, at a glance.
A genuine phosphor-persistence PPI scope, not a spinning graphic.
A real Leaflet map of the Diepenheim exclusion sector with live operations laid over it.
Real satellite imagery of the sector under a full targeting HUD.
A listening station locked on the 85 Hz floor.
Per-night manifestation risk for the months ahead.
The subject’s full file, plus the exam that certifies you to work it.
A working numbers station on 6143 kHz.
A four-tumbler word-lock guarding the deepest document in the canon.
Your personal sighting log, with the station’s read on your data.
The clock at the heart of the station that decides when something happens.
The whole terminal re-skins, and the station can be heard as well as seen.
The station installs like a native app and survives going offline.
Accounts, channels, progression and the social layer.
Enlist with a codename and passphrase, and show up live on the station.
Live channels for the whole station.
A community board for evidence.
The Director’s blog.
Form CMF-11/B — bureaucracy as a feature.
Server-tracked experience that earns rank.
Eleven medals on your Operator Record — some you want, one you do not.
A psychological stat the station watches climb.
A downloadable identification badge generated from your record.
Why the station is really here: synchronised dread across every screen.
One manifestation, every screen.
The Director’s red button.
An entity channel that is usually shut.
The Director becomes the entity.
Answer the voice and it remembers you.
The site itself turns nocturnal after midnight.
Type a certain word anywhere and a real shell drops over the station.
The station can reach you with the site closed and the phone in your pocket.
Command authority and the levers behind the curtain.
A fourteenth tab appears only for command — ◆ DIRECTOR CRACKMAC. The codename is reserved; nobody can register it.
Recovered imagery from the Diepenheim sector — the canals, the willow line, and the shape that wears the fog.
Recreations of each screen, drawn in the station’s own interface. Tap any to enlarge.
The station grew one release at a time. Brighter nodes mark the major chapters.
Three ways to stand at the terminal.