Project Wither

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:: section1 The ruins of the city stretch endlessly before you, a grim reminder of the life you once knew. Buildings stand like broken skeletons against the gray sky, and the faint stench of decay lingers in the air. You are Alex, a survivor hardened by loss and driven by the will to live. You've seen the horrors of the Withered and the worst humanity has to offer. But you're still here, and as long as you're breathing, there's a chance to keep going. Today, that means making a choice. [[Explore the ruined building.|section2]] [[Scout the streets for supplies.|section3]] [[Investigate the distant screams.|section4]] [[Follow a trail of smoke in the distance.|section5]]

:: section2 The ruined building looms before you, its shattered windows and crumbling facade a grim reminder of the chaos that unfolded here. Stepping inside, the air grows stale, and the faint smell of mildew and decay hits you immediately. The ground floor is littered with debris—broken furniture, scattered papers, and the remnants of someone’s desperate attempt to survive. You scan the area cautiously, keeping an ear out for any sound. As you move further in, you notice two distinct areas of interest: a sturdy-looking door slightly ajar and a staircase leading to the upper floor. *Where do you go?* [[Inspect the room behind the door.|section6]] [[Head upstairs cautiously.|section7]]

:: section3 The streets stretch endlessly ahead, the silence broken only by the occasional gust of wind stirring debris. Shadows dance across the cracked pavement as you tread carefully, scanning your surroundings for anything useful—or dangerous. You spot an abandoned car, its door hanging open and its interior covered in dust. Further down the street, you see a dark alley that could potentially hide supplies—or trouble. *Where do you go?* [[Investigate the abandoned car.|section8]] [[Check the dark alley for supplies.|section9]]

:: section4 The distant screams echo through the empty streets, chilling you to the bone. Against your better judgment, you decide to investigate. The sound pulls you forward, your steps cautious and deliberate. Each turn of the corner brings you closer to whatever horrors lie ahead. As you approach, the cries grow sharper, more desperate. You spot a figure ahead—someone is being dragged by a Withered, their struggling form leaving trails in the dirt. The Withered’s gaunt body moves with terrifying speed, its hollow eyes fixed on its prey. You have seconds to act. [[Try to distract the Withered to save the person.|section34]] [[Turn away—it’s too dangerous to intervene.|section35]]

:: section5 The thin column of smoke rises in the distance, stark against the gray skyline. The sight fills you with conflicting emotions—hope that it might be a survivor and dread that it could be something far worse. You know the risks of investigating, but curiosity wins out. As you move closer, the details become clearer. The smoke comes from a small campfire, its flames now reduced to faintly glowing embers. Scattered around the fire are signs of recent activity: a makeshift shelter cobbled together from debris, an open can of food still steaming slightly, and footprints leading away into the ruins. The silence presses down on you as you crouch low, scanning the area. Whoever was here left in a hurry, but the possibility that they’re still nearby makes your skin crawl. *You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.* [[Approach the camp cautiously.|section14]] [[Keep your distance and observe from the shadows.|section15]]

:: section16 You leave the camp behind, the distant glow of the fire fading as you press forward. The street stretches out before you, a grim corridor of broken windows and abandoned cars. Each step feels heavier, the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders. As you move, a faint noise catches your attention—a rhythmic tapping, like something metallic striking the ground. You pause, straining to locate the source, when you see it: a Withered, dragging a broken pipe behind it, its hollow eyes scanning the area. It hasn’t seen you yet, but it’s moving closer, its movements erratic and jerky. You know you’ll need to act fast. [[Try to hide in the shadow of a nearby car.|section18]] [[Confront the Withered and take it down.|section19]]

:: prologue The year is 2042. Humanity’s ambition to conquer disease led to its greatest mistake: "The Wither," a virus that promised to eliminate sickness and extend life. At first, it was heralded as a miracle – a cure for everything. But something went wrong. The virus mutated, spreading rapidly and turning its hosts into something inhuman. The infected became Withered – feral creatures driven by primal instincts. They ravaged cities, leaving devastation in their wake. Governments crumbled. Entire nations fell. Trust vanished. The world became a wasteland where survival meant sacrificing everything. This is the world Alex now lives in. [[Continue.|section1]]

:: section14 Deciding not to risk staying near the car, you grip the backpack tightly and bolt, your feet pounding against the cracked pavement. The Withered lets out a guttural snarl, its jagged pipe clanging against the ground as it begins to follow. You dart between debris and ruined vehicles, your breath coming in ragged gasps. As you run, a faint column of smoke catches your eye in the distance, rising like a beacon against the gray sky. Someone—or something—might be there. The Withered’s snarls grow fainter as you press on toward the smoke. Finally, you duck behind a crumbling wall, your legs trembling from exertion. The smoke is closer now, and you can make out the remnants of a small campfire. *You need to decide your next move.* [[Approach the camp cautiously.|section5]] [[Keep your distance and observe from the shadows.|section15]]

:: section15 You decide it’s better to avoid whatever—or whoever—is behind that fire. Keeping low, you move quietly along the edge of the camp, staying in the shadows. The faint warmth of the dying embers brushes against your skin as you pass, but you resist the urge to linger. Your eyes scan the area. The scattered belongings hint at someone’s hurried departure, but no movement catches your attention. Whoever was here might still be nearby, watching. As you clear the camp, you hear a faint rustling behind you. Instinctively, you freeze, pressing yourself against the wall of a crumbling building. Minutes pass, the sound growing fainter until it vanishes entirely. *Not worth the risk,* you think as you slip away into the desolation, your heart pounding. The world is too dangerous to let curiosity get the better of you. [[Continue down the street.|section16]] [[Circle back to scout the area later.|section17]]

:: section17 The thought of leaving the camp behind gnaws at you. After putting some distance between yourself and the fire, you decide to double back, hoping to uncover something useful without putting yourself in immediate danger. The camp is quieter now, the fire reduced to faintly glowing embers. You move cautiously, scanning the area for any sign of movement. A closer look reveals more details: a worn backpack leaning against the shelter, an empty water bottle, and faint footprints leading away from the camp. Your instincts are on high alert as you step closer. Suddenly, you hear a low growl behind you. Whipping around, you see a Withered emerging from the shadows, its hollow eyes locked onto you. The footprints weren’t from a survivor—they were from this. You have no choice but to act quickly. [[Try to flee before it gets too close.|section21]] [[Stand your ground and fight.|section22]]

:: section18 You drop to the ground, crawling toward the nearest car. The Withered’s erratic movements grow louder as it drags the broken pipe along the cracked asphalt. Your breath catches as you slide under the vehicle, pressing yourself flat against the cold ground. The stench of oil and decay clings to the air. Through the gaps in the car’s undercarriage, you see the Withered’s feet shuffle closer. It stops mere meters away, sniffing the air like a predator searching for prey. Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to give you away. The seconds stretch into eternity as the creature lingers, its hollow eyes scanning the area. Finally, it lets out a low growl and begins to shuffle away, the tapping of the pipe fading into the distance. You wait until the sound disappears completely before crawling out from under the car. Your limbs ache, and your breath trembles as you rise to your feet. *Safe—for now.* As your breathing steadies, a memory surfaces—your sister’s voice, urging you to run during the outbreak. You didn’t look back then, either. "Keep going, Alex. You promised me." The thought cuts through the silence like a shard of glass. [[Continue down the street, shaken but alive.|section20]]

:: section19 Gripping your weapon tightly, you step forward, your muscles tensing as adrenaline floods your system. The Withered turns its head sharply, its hollow eyes locking onto you. It lets out a guttural snarl and raises the jagged pipe it drags behind. You charge, swinging your weapon with all your strength. The first hit connects, sending the creature staggering back, but it barely slows. It lunges at you, its claws slashing wildly. You manage to dodge the first attack, but its second swipe catches your arm, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain flares through you, but you grit your teeth and press on. You swing again, this time landing a solid blow to the creature’s head. It stumbles, collapsing to the ground, but before you can finish it off, it grabs your leg and pulls you down with it. The jagged pipe slams into your chest, and the world blurs as pain consumes you. You struggle, gasping for breath, but the Withered’s strength is unrelenting. The last thing you see is its twisted face as darkness takes you. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section20 You take a moment to steady your breathing, the tension from the encounter still gripping your body. The Withered is gone, but its presence lingers in your mind like a shadow. You glance down the street, uncertain of what might lie ahead. As you continue moving, the silence around you feels heavier. Every sound—your footsteps, the rustling wind—seems amplified. Then, breaking through the stillness, you hear it: faint, distant screams. Your heart skips a beat. Someone is out there, and they’re in danger. Against your better judgment, you pick up the pace, drawn toward the sound. The cries grow louder, each one sharp and desperate, pushing you forward. Rounding a corner, you spot the source: a Withered dragging a struggling figure across the dirt, its hollow eyes locked on its prey. The person thrashes weakly, their cries growing weaker. You freeze. The scene before you is a brutal reminder of the world you live in. *You have seconds to act.* [[Try to distract the Withered to save the person.|section34]] [[Turn away—it’s too dangerous to intervene.|section35]]

:: section21 Your heart races as you turn and sprint away. The Withered’s guttural growl rises behind you, followed by the pounding of its uneven steps. You weave between debris and dart down narrow alleys, your breath coming in sharp gasps. The creature is fast, but desperation drives you faster. After what feels like an eternity, the sound of its pursuit begins to fade. You don’t dare slow down until you’re certain it’s gone. Finally, you collapse against the wall of a crumbling building, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. The world feels eerily silent again, the only sound your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. *That was too close.* [[Continue your search for safety.|section23]]

:: section22 You grip your weapon tightly, bracing yourself as the Withered lunges at you. Its growls echo in your ears as you swing, your strike glancing off its shoulder. It stumbles but recovers quickly, its claws raking through the air toward you. You dodge the first swipe but misstep on loose debris. The creature is on you in an instant, its claws tearing into your side. Pain flares through your body, and your strength begins to wane. Desperately, you swing again, this time hitting its head, but it only seems to enrage the Withered. It pins you to the ground, its hollow eyes staring into yours as it delivers the final blow. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section23 As your breathing steadies, you force yourself to move again. The Withered may be gone, but the world is far from safe. You tread carefully down the cracked streets, your eyes scanning for any sign of shelter or supplies. Rounding a corner, you spot a small convenience store, its windows shattered and shelves barely visible through the gloom inside. You hesitate for a moment before stepping in, hoping to find something useful. Inside, the air is stale, and debris litters the floor. Toward the back of the store, your flashlight catches something odd—a stack of neatly arranged newspapers and notebooks. Curiosity takes over as you leaf through one of the notebooks. The handwriting is rough but clear enough to piece together fragments: *“The Wither Project… a failed cure… mutated beyond control…”* *“Evacuation point compromised… no further contact…”* Your stomach churns. The evacuation failed, and whoever wrote this likely didn’t make it far. You pocket the notebook alongside the one you found earlier, feeling the weight of what little hope it once carried. *This changes everything.* You stare at the notebook, its fragmented words bringing an old ache to the surface. Your father used to keep journals like this, writing plans and lists obsessively. “Preparation is survival, Alex,” he’d say. Did it help him? Did it help anyone? [[Leave the store and search for more clues.|section24]] [[Head to a safer location to process what you’ve found.|section25]]

:: section24 You step back into the desolate streets, the notebook weighing heavily in your pocket. The revelation gnaws at your thoughts—someone knew about The Wither, and there’s more to this disaster than the world ever realized. The city around you feels different now, as if the shadows themselves are watching. You move cautiously, keeping to the edges of buildings and darting across open spaces. Every sound sets your nerves on edge. Ahead, you spot a decrepit building with faded lettering: *“City Archives.”* The doors are slightly ajar, the faint sound of wind echoing from inside. If answers exist, this might be the place to find them. *Do you risk it?* [[Enter the archives to investigate further.|section26]] [[Decide it’s too dangerous and search elsewhere.|section27]]

:: section25 Clutching the notebook tightly, you make your way to a more secure spot—a crumbling apartment building you passed earlier. The doors hang off their hinges, but the second floor seems stable enough to offer temporary refuge. Once inside, you find a quiet corner and sit down, letting the weight of what you’ve read sink in. The notebook’s words echo in your mind: *“The Wither Project… mutated beyond control… key personnel evacuated…”* Someone had foreseen the apocalypse, and if they escaped, maybe they left behind more than just warnings. You flip through the notebook again, hoping to make sense of the scattered notes. One page catches your eye, a rough map drawn in shaky lines. It shows a section of the city marked with a crude X, along with the word *“facility.”* Your breath catches. Could this be where the key personnel fled? Or is it just another dead end? *The choice is clear: you have to find out.* [[Head toward the marked location.|section28]] [[Stay put for the night and plan your next move.|section29]]

:: section26 You push open the doors to the City Archives, the creak of rusted hinges echoing through the empty halls. The air is damp, carrying the faint scent of mold and decay. Your flashlight flickers as you scan the abandoned shelves and shattered cabinets. The deeper you go, the heavier the silence becomes. Faded documents and broken filing systems hint at a treasure trove of forgotten information. You push further, drawn by the possibility of answers. But then you hear it—voices. They’re low, muffled, but unmistakably human. Your heart races as you inch closer, staying hidden behind a toppled shelf. Peering through a gap, you see them: armed guards in full biohazard suits standing near a group of researchers in matching protective gear. The reflective visors on their helmets glint in the faint light, giving them an almost otherworldly appearance. You try to make out their conversation, but the guards suddenly tense. One of them shouts, “Who’s there?!” Before you can react, a beam of light from a flashlight cuts through the darkness and lands on you. “Drop your weapon and put your hands up!” one of the guards barks, raising his rifle. You hesitate for a moment too long. “Shoot!” someone yells, and the crack of gunfire fills the air. Pain explodes in your chest as you collapse to the floor. Your vision blurs, the sound of hurried footsteps fading as everything turns dark. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section27 You shake your head, instincts screaming that the risk isn’t worth it. The City Archives might hold answers, but it could just as easily hold death. You turn away, moving further into the ruined streets. The notebook’s weight in your pocket is a constant reminder of what you’ve learned—and what you still don’t know. As you navigate through the debris, a faint sound catches your attention: the crackle of static. Following the noise, you find an old radio sitting on the hood of an abandoned car, its signal weak but persistent. You glance around nervously, ensuring no one—or nothing—is nearby, before cautiously picking it up. The voice on the other end is garbled but clear enough to make out snippets: "… facility secure… survivors… evacuation scheduled…" The message repeats, the same few sentences over and over. You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. 'Facility secure.' Like I’m falling for that." But as you hold the radio, doubt creeps in. What if it’s real? What if there really are survivors out there? The thought lingers, pulling at the back of your mind. What do you do? [[Follow the radio signal toward its origin.|section28]] [[Leave the radio behind and move on.|section32]]

:: section28 The notes weigh heavily on your mind as you navigate the desolate streets. The marked location feels like a beacon of both hope and dread—what could be there? Answers, safety, or something worse? The outskirts of the city are eerily quiet, the crumbling remnants of what was once an industrial area looming over you. Finally, you spot the structure from the map—a tall, reinforced building surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence. Faded letters above the entrance read “Research Division—Quarantine Facility.” The place looks ominous. Heavy locks secure the gate, and faint but unmistakable hums of power suggest the facility might still be operational. Cameras mounted along the perimeter move slowly, scanning the surroundings like mechanical sentinels. For a moment, you hesitate. The facility might hold answers, perhaps even a way to understand what really happened to the world. But the risks are undeniable. The thought of being caught—or worse—makes your stomach churn. You can’t turn back now. [[Decide it’s too risky and move on.|section32]] [[Knock on the gate and hope for a response.|section31]]

:: section29 You decide it’s too dangerous to move through the city at night. The crumbling apartment provides a fragile sense of security, and you barricade the door with whatever you can find before settling in for the night. As the darkness deepens, the city’s eerie silence is broken by distant sounds—the guttural growls of Withered, the occasional crash of debris, and once, faint voices. You stay still, gripping your weapon tightly, every sound keeping you on edge. By the faint glow of your flashlight, you examine the notebook again. The map’s crude X gnaws at your thoughts. *If someone went to the trouble of marking it, it must mean something.* Your mind races as you consider the risks and rewards. The facility could hold answers—maybe even hope. But the journey will undoubtedly be dangerous. Morning arrives slowly, the gray light filtering through the broken windows. You stretch your aching limbs and gather your things, determination setting in. It’s time to move. [[Head toward the marked location.|section28]]

:: section34 Your heart races as you grab a nearby rock and hurl it at the Withered. The projectile strikes its bony shoulder, and the creature’s head snaps toward you. It lets out a guttural snarl, releasing its grip on the struggling victim. “Run!” you shout to the person on the ground, but they’re too weak to move. The Withered, now fully focused on you, begins to charge, its hollow eyes glinting with rage. You grip your weapon tightly, bracing yourself as the creature closes the distance. It lunges, claws swiping wildly. You dodge the first attack and swing hard, your weapon connecting with its side. The Withered stumbles but quickly recovers, snarling as it comes at you again. *This fight isn’t going to be easy.* [[Keep fighting to protect the injured person.|section36]] [[Retreat before it’s too late.|section37]]

:: section35 Your heart sinks as you realize the danger is too great. The Withered is faster, stronger, and more ruthless than anything you can handle. You take a step back, then another, before turning away and moving as quickly as you dare in the opposite direction. The screams continue to echo behind you, piercing the silence like a knife. Each cry twists your gut, but you force yourself to keep moving. *There’s nothing I could have done,* you tell yourself, even though the words feel hollow. Minutes later, the screams stop. The sudden silence is deafening, pressing down on you with the weight of what you’ve left behind. You pause to catch your breath in an alley, leaning against a crumbling wall. Your hands tremble, and the reality of your choice settles in. The world is unforgiving, and every decision carries a cost. *You can’t save everyone.* [[Keep searching for a safer path.|section44]] [[Reflect on your choice and plan your next move.|section43]]

:: section36 You tighten your grip on your weapon, determined to protect the injured person. The Withered lunges at you again, its claws slashing through the air. You manage to block its first strike, but its sheer strength sends you staggering back. Desperation fuels your next attack as you swing at its head. The blow connects, cracking its jaw, but it barely slows down. The Withered retaliates with a brutal swipe, its claws tearing into your arm. Pain shoots through you as blood stains your clothes. The injured person behind you cries out weakly, snapping your focus back to them. It’s enough of a distraction for the Withered to close the distance. Its claws dig into your chest, and the world spins as you collapse to the ground. You try to rise, but your strength is gone. The Withered looms over you, snarling as it delivers the final blow. Your vision fades, the cries of the injured person growing distant. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section37 Your instincts scream at you to retreat. This fight is more than you can handle, and there’s no use dying here. You take a step back, then another, before turning and sprinting away from the scene. The Withered lets out a guttural snarl, but it doesn’t follow you. Its focus remains on the injured person, whose weak cries fade as you put distance between yourself and the chaos. Guilt gnaws at your thoughts as you navigate the desolate streets. You couldn’t save them, but you’re still alive. And in this world, survival is all that matters. You try to convince yourself there was nothing you could do, but the memory of their screams lingers. Eventually, you find a crumbling alleyway where you pause to catch your breath. The city around you feels colder, emptier. You shake off the lingering guilt and focus on what’s next. *There’s still more to do.* [[Keep searching for supplies.|section38]] [[Find a safer place to regroup.|section21]]

:: section38 Your steps take you deeper into the city’s ruins, the weight of what just happened lingering in your mind. The thought of the injured person left behind gnaws at you, but you force yourself to focus. Survival means staying sharp, even when it hurts. As you move, you spot a familiar landmark—a crumbling building you passed earlier, not far from the campfire you avoided before. The faint glow of the fire is gone now, leaving the area eerily quiet. You hesitate, scanning for signs of movement, but nothing stirs. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you cautiously approach the remnants of the camp. The scattered belongings remain, but the fire has burned out completely. Among the debris, you notice something you missed before—a journal partially hidden beneath an overturned crate. Flipping through the pages, you see hastily scrawled notes: *“… can’t trust anyone… supplies running low… Withered nearby… need to leave before nightfall.”* The final entry chills you: *“… spotted a group heading toward the old quarantine zone. Armed. Dangerous. Avoid at all costs.”* The words make your stomach churn. Whoever wrote this didn’t make it far. And now you’re left with a choice: investigate this quarantine zone or move on and focus on survival. *Your next step feels heavier than ever.* [[Head toward the quarantine zone.|section15]] [[Leave the area and search elsewhere.|section24]]

:: section44 You keep moving, the silence around you a stark contrast to the chaos you left behind. Your legs ache, and your breath comes in shallow gasps, but stopping isn’t an option. The Withered could still be nearby. As you round a corner, you spot the remains of a small makeshift camp tucked into the shadow of a collapsed building. It’s clear that whoever was here left in a hurry. Torn blankets and scattered belongings hint at a desperate escape. Among the debris, something catches your eye—a small notebook lying under an overturned crate. You pick it up, flipping through a few pages. Most of the writing is smudged and illegible, but one phrase stands out: *“The Wither Project… key personnel evacuated…”* You tuck the notebook into your pocket and move on, your mind racing with questions. Someone knew about The Wither, but why didn’t they stop it? [[Head toward a safer spot to process what you’ve found.|section23]]

:: section43 You press on through the desolate streets, trying to shake the lingering echoes of the screams you left behind. The weight of your choice bears down on you, but survival demands focus. You tell yourself it was the right decision—there was nothing you could do—but the hollow words bring no comfort. The city feels quieter now, the silence heavy and oppressive. As you move cautiously between the shadows of broken buildings, you hear a faint rustling nearby. Instinctively, you press yourself against the wall, gripping your weapon tightly. Peering around the corner, you see the remnants of a campfire ahead, its faint embers still glowing. You recognize the spot—it’s the same camp you passed earlier, the one you decided to avoid. But now, the fire has almost died out, and the area seems abandoned. *Perhaps there’s something here you missed.* [[Approach the camp cautiously.|section15]]

:: section8 You approach the abandoned car cautiously, your eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. The door hangs open, and inside you spot a small backpack sitting on the passenger seat. You grab the bag, your pulse quickening as you sift through its contents: a bottle of water, a flashlight, and a single energy bar. Before you can celebrate your find, a metallic tapping sound echoes behind you. Turning slowly, you see it—a Withered dragging a broken pipe along the ground. It hasn’t spotted you yet, but it’s moving closer. *You have seconds to act.* [[Hide under the car.|section18]] [[Try to escape before it notices you.|section14]]

:: section9 The alley is dark and foreboding, the air thick with the smell of rot. You tread carefully, your weapon at the ready. Trash and debris line the walls, and the faint sound of dripping water echoes around you. Halfway down the alley, you see a figure slumped against the wall. Your heart skips a beat as you approach cautiously, only to realize it’s a Withered lying in wait. Its hollow eyes snap open, and it lets out a guttural snarl as it lunges at you. You swing your weapon, but the creature is faster. Its claws tear through your defenses, and before you can react, it pulls you to the ground. The last thing you see is its snarling face as the world fades to black. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section7 The staircase creaks under your weight as you ascend, the air growing heavier with each step. The upper floor is just as ruined as the rest of the building, with holes in the walls and furniture scattered across the rooms. As you step into what looks like a bedroom, a faint noise catches your attention. You freeze, your eyes locking onto the source of the sound. A Withered crouches in the corner, its gaunt form hunched over something unrecognizable. Its hollow eyes are fixed on its meal, and for now, it hasn’t noticed you. Your instincts scream at you to leave, but you can’t help but think there might be something valuable in the room—something worth the risk. [[Try to sneak past the Withered.|section12]] [[Retreat back downstairs.|section13]]

:: section6 You push the door open cautiously, its rusty hinges letting out a faint creak. Inside, the room is dark and cramped, filled with overturned furniture and scattered belongings. A faint glimmer catches your eye—a small metal box tucked under a broken table. You kneel to retrieve it, your heart racing as you open the latch. Inside, you find a handful of bullets and a folded note. The note reads: *“If you’re reading this, take what you can and don’t look back. The Withered are everywhere.”* You pocket the bullets and rise to your feet, but the sound of distant shuffling freezes you in place. Something is moving in the hallway outside. [[Investigate the sound.|section10]] [[Try to leave the room quietly.|section11]]

:: section10 You grip your weapon tightly, your breath catching as you approach the doorway. The shuffling grows louder, irregular and unnerving. Peering around the corner, you see the source—a Withered, its gaunt form dragging itself along the hallway floor. Its hollow eyes lock onto yours, and a guttural snarl erupts from its throat. The creature lunges toward you, its speed belying its frail appearance. There’s no time to think. [[Stand your ground and fight.|section46]] [[Retreat back into the room and barricade the door.|section47]]

:: section11 You step back, heart pounding, as the shuffling outside grows louder. Taking a deep breath, you move toward the door, carefully avoiding the creaking floorboards. As you reach the exit, the sound stops abruptly. The silence presses in, almost suffocating. You hold your breath, hand on the doorknob, and glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty—whatever was there seems to have moved on. Or maybe it’s just waiting. You slip out of the room and into the hallway, every nerve on edge. [[Head back to the staircase.|section2]] [[Continue exploring further down the hallway.|section48]]

:: section12 You hold your breath and take a cautious step forward, keeping to the edges of the room. The Withered doesn’t move, its focus entirely on its grisly meal. For a moment, it seems like you might actually pull this off. Then, the floorboard creaks under your weight. The creature’s head snaps up, its hollow eyes locking onto yours. A guttural snarl escapes its twisted throat as it lunges toward you with terrifying speed. You barely have time to react before its claws tear into you, sending you crashing to the ground. Pain explodes through your body as the Withered pins you down, its jagged teeth inches from your face. You struggle, but its strength is overwhelming. The last thing you see is its twisted, snarling face as darkness consumes you. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section13 Your breath catches as you back away from the doorway, careful not to make a sound. The creaking floorboards beneath your feet betray you, and the Withered’s hollow eyes snap toward you. A guttural snarl escapes its twisted throat, and it lunges forward with terrifying speed. You don’t think—you run. [[Run for your life!|section45]]

:: section45 You bolt down the staircase, your heart pounding as the snarls of the Withered echo behind you. It’s faster than you expected, its claws scraping against the walls as it chases you. Bursting out of the building, you dart into the desolate streets, weaving between debris and abandoned vehicles. The creature’s uneven footsteps and guttural growls are a constant reminder that it’s still on your heels. Every instinct screams at you to keep moving. You can’t stop—not yet. [[Keep running until you lose it.|section21]]

:: section46 You grip your weapon tightly, adrenaline surging as the Withered lunges toward you. Swinging with all your strength, you manage to connect, the blow staggering the creature momentarily. But it’s not enough. It recovers with terrifying speed, claws slashing through the air. You dodge the first strike, but the second tears into your side, sending you crashing into the wall. Pain flares through your body as you try to rise, but the Withered is relentless. Before you can react, it pins you to the ground, its jagged teeth inches from your face. You struggle, but its strength is overwhelming. The last thing you see is its hollow, snarling face as darkness consumes you. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section47 You stumble back into the room, slamming the door shut just as the Withered crashes into it. The impact rattles the hinges, and you scramble to push whatever you can find against the door—a broken chair, an overturned table, anything to keep it out. The creature snarls and claws at the other side, its relentless assault sending splinters flying from the doorframe. You brace yourself against the barricade, your breath coming in ragged gasps. After what feels like an eternity, the pounding stops. The snarls fade into the distance as the Withered moves on, leaving you in a heavy silence. You sink to the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The barricade holds for now, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to leave this place. You can’t stay here. [[Plan your next move and prepare to leave.|section49]]

:: section48 The hallway stretches out before you, shadowy and oppressive. You tread cautiously, each step a calculated risk. Further ahead, a faint sound catches your attention—a low, guttural growl. Your heart pounds as you press forward, hoping to discover something useful. Instead, the growl grows louder, and you realize too late that it’s not distant—it’s coming from above. A Withered drops from a hole in the ceiling, its claws slicing through the air. You raise your weapon, but the attack is too sudden. The creature’s weight slams you to the ground, its hollow eyes gleaming with hunger. You fight desperately, but the Withered’s strength is too much. The last thing you hear is your own ragged breathing as the world fades away. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

Here’s a revised version of section 49 with Alex losing the ammunition during the night’s events, adding to the tension: :: section49 The night feels endless as you sit in the dim room, clutching your weapon tightly. Every creak of the building and faint sound from outside sets your nerves on edge. You know you can’t stay here—it’s only a matter of time before the Withered or something worse finds you. When dawn’s faint light filters through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, you take stock of your belongings. Panic sets in as you realize the bullets you found are missing—likely lost during the chaos of the night. The weight of this loss sinks in, but there’s no time to dwell on it. Steeling yourself, you move the barricade and crack the door open. The hallway is empty, the air thick with the stench of decay. You step cautiously into the ruins, keeping low and quiet as you navigate the desolate building. Outside, the streets are eerily quiet, the morning light casting long shadows. You spot something in the distance—a faint column of smoke rising into the sky. It’s not far, and it might be your best chance to find supplies or safety. You need to move before the Withered return. [[Head toward the smoke cautiously.|section15]]

:: section31 Taking a deep breath, you step out of the shadows and approach the gate. The cameras swivel toward you, their lenses glinting ominously in the morning light. You raise your hands, hoping to show you mean no harm. “Hello?” you call out, your voice shaky but loud enough to carry. “I need help!” For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, a distorted voice crackles through a hidden speaker. “Stand down and identify yourself!” “I’m just a survivor!” you plead. “I found your map—I’m looking for answers!” The silence stretches unbearably long. Just as you’re about to speak again, the gate creaks slightly, and a group of figures steps out. Clad in biohazard suits, their faces are obscured behind reflective visors. Each one carries a rifle, the barrels pointed directly at you. “Get on the ground! Hands behind your head!” one of them barks. Heart pounding, you drop to your knees, raising your hands in surrender. But as you do, one of the soldiers yells, “Weapons free!” The first shot misses, striking the ground inches from you. Instinct takes over—you bolt, adrenaline surging as you sprint away from the facility. Bullets whistle past, some pinging off debris as you weave through the ruins. A sharp pain rips through your back. The impact knocks you forward, and you collapse onto the cracked pavement. Warmth spreads across your torso as the world begins to blur. The last thing you hear is the distorted voice of the soldier: “Target neutralized. Secure the perimeter.” Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section32 Your stomach growls, a sharp reminder of how long it’s been since you last ate. The emptiness gnaws at your focus, making every decision feel heavier. You know you need to find food soon—going much longer without will slow you down, and in this world, hesitation can be deadly. Ahead, a small grocery store looms, its faded sign barely readable through years of grime and decay. The glass doors are shattered, and scattered debris suggests someone—or something—has passed through recently. A faint trail of footprints leads inside, vanishing into the gloom. To the side of the street, you notice an delivery truck, its rear door hanging open. The crates inside are barely visible from this distance, but the possibility of supplies makes your heart quicken. The truck looks abandoned, but the state of the city has taught you that appearances can be deceiving. The thought of supplies makes your stomach tighten in anticipation, but caution whispers in the back of your mind. The store and the truck could just as easily hold danger as salvation. *Your hunger urges you forward, but your instincts scream caution.* [[Investigate the grocery store cautiously.|section50]] [[Ignore the store and keep moving, hoping to find a safer option.|section51]] [[Check the truck for supplies.|section54]]

:: section50 You step carefully into the grocery store, your senses on high alert. The air inside is stale, tinged with the faint smell of mildew and rot. Shelves are toppled, their contents scattered across the floor—cans, shattered glass, and packaging long since torn apart. Your eyes scan for anything edible. Amidst the chaos, a small stash catches your attention: a dented can of beans and a half-empty box of crackers tucked behind a fallen display. It’s not much, but it could keep you going for another day. As you move closer, a faint noise freezes you in place—a shuffle, barely audible, coming from the back of the store. Your heart pounds as you strain to listen, your grip tightening on your weapon. *You don’t have much time to decide.* [[Grab the food quickly and leave.|section52]] [[Investigate the noise before doing anything else.|section53]]

:: section51 You shake your head, deciding it’s not worth the risk. The thought of food gnaws at you, but the store feels like a trap waiting to spring. You press on, scanning the desolate streets for a safer alternative. As you walk, the emptiness around you grows oppressive. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the ruins, and hunger weighs on your body like a physical force. Ahead, you spot a delivery truck. Its rear door hangs open, revealing crates inside. The sight fills you with cautious hope. Delivery trucks often carried preserved goods, but the overturned state hints at trouble. You glance around, ensuring the area is clear before moving closer. *Every step feels heavier as you approach the truck.* [[Climb into the truck to search for supplies.|section54]] [[Decide it’s too dangerous and keep moving.|section55]]

:: section52 You grab the can of beans and the box of crackers, your stomach growling in anticipation. Stuffing them into your bag, you glance toward the back of the store where the faint noise came from earlier. The sound is gone now, replaced by an eerie silence. Just as you turn to leave, a sudden crash shatters the stillness—a shelf collapsing deeper in the store. Your heart races as you whip around, scanning the shadows for movement. The noise echoes for a moment before fading, leaving you frozen in place. You don’t wait to find out what caused it. Darting out of the store, you find yourself back on the desolate street. The food in your bag offers some relief, but your nerves remain on edge. As you move cautiously down the road, you spot a delivery truck ahead. Its open door swings lazily in the wind, revealing crates inside. *It could be another chance to find supplies—or another trap.* [[Climb into the truck to search for supplies.|section54]]

:: section53 Your breath catches as you stare into the shadows at the back of the store, the faint shuffle sending a chill down your spine. Your instincts scream at you to leave, but curiosity holds you rooted in place. *What if it’s a Withered? Or worse… another survivor?* The thought twists in your stomach. Withered are terrifying, but predictable—they attack on sight, driven by hunger and instinct. Humans, though… they’re far more dangerous. Desperation makes people do unthinkable things, and you’ve seen firsthand what survival can cost. You glance toward the stash of food, the dented can and crackers suddenly feeling like a lifeline you can’t afford to lose. But what if the noise is coming from someone else looking for the same thing? Or something waiting to ambush you the moment you let your guard down? *Is it worth the risk?* The shuffling grows louder, more deliberate, as if whatever’s there knows you’re hesitating. Your grip on your weapon tightens, your heartbeat a drum in your ears. Memories flash through your mind—faces you trusted that turned against you, a Withered lurching from the shadows when you least expected it. *You need to decide quickly.* [[Investigate the noise, ready to defend yourself.|section60]] [[Grab the food and leave immediately.|section52]]

:: section54 You climb into the truck, the metal steps groaning under your weight. The crates inside are haphazardly stacked, their labels faded and peeling. You pry open one of the nearest boxes, revealing rows of canned food. Relief floods through you as you grab a few cans and stuff them into your bag. Just as you’re about to search another crate, the sound of footsteps echoes from outside. Panic sets in as you realize someone—or something—is approaching the truck. Before you can react, the door slams shut behind you, plunging the space into darkness. Your breath catches as you hear muffled voices outside. They’re low and urgent, too far away to make out clearly, but you can tell they’re human. The footsteps grow louder, the crunch of gravel signaling that they’re moving closer to the truck. Without thinking, you crouch behind a stack of crates, your heart pounding in your chest. The voices stop, replaced by the metallic clatter of the truck being inspected. A flashlight beam slices through the dark, barely missing your hiding spot as it sweeps across the interior. You press yourself tighter against the crates, hoping they don’t hear the sound of your breathing. Whoever they are, you can’t afford to be found. *You wait in silence, every second stretching into an eternity.* [[Stay hidden and wait for them to leave.|section56]]

:: section55 You shake your head and keep walking, the thought of risking the truck’s contents gnawing at you almost as much as the hunger in your belly. Each step feels heavier, the energy draining from your body with every passing moment. The ruins around you blur into one monotonous stretch of decay. Cracked asphalt gives way to broken cobblestones, weeds pushing through the fractures as nature reclaims what’s left of the city. Your dry throat burns as you swallow, the absence of water weighing on you more acutely than the lack of food. You press your palm against a wall for support, its surface cool and rough beneath your touch. The memory of water floods your mind—clear, cold streams from your childhood, the metallic taste of water bottles scavenged during the early days of the outbreak. Now, even the thought feels cruel, a reminder of what you don’t have. The sound of your footsteps echoes faintly, joined by the occasional rustle of wind through the hollow shells of buildings. You keep scanning the streets, hoping for something—a sign, a clue, even a hint of movement that might mean food or water. Your thoughts wander as the hunger sharpens, and the thirst becomes an unbearable itch at the back of your throat. *How long has it been since I last drank?* you wonder. Days, maybe? You shake your head, trying to focus, but the memories creep in regardless. You remember a time before this—sitting at a kitchen table, the smell of toast filling the air. Your mother’s laugh, soft and musical, as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of you. The phantom taste lingers on your tongue, and you bite back a frustrated groan. That world is gone, and you can’t afford to dwell on it. Your legs tremble as you push forward, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders. The buildings around you grow sparser, the streets widening into long stretches of emptiness. In the distance, a faint glint catches your eye—something metallic, half-buried in rubble. It might be worth investigating, but part of you just wants to keep walking, to avoid another potential dead end. *You need to decide.* [[Investigate the metallic glint in the rubble.|section58]] [[Ignore it and conserve your energy, continuing down the road.|section59]]

:: section56 You stay hidden behind the crates, your heart pounding as the truck’s movements jolt you around. The voices outside continue, muffled but urgent. “Load it up! We’re burning daylight!” a gruff voice commands. The truck lurches forward, the vibrations rattling through the metal frame. You press yourself tighter into the corner, hoping the noise of the crates shifting masks your presence. But as the minutes drag on, exhaustion begins to take hold. Hunger, thirst, and the adrenaline crash overwhelm your senses. Your vision blurs as darkness creeps in at the edges of your sight. You fight to stay conscious, but the strain is too much. Your grip on your weapon loosens, and the last thing you hear is the muffled chatter of the people outside before everything fades to black. *You don’t know how much time has passed when you finally wake up…* [[Wake up.|section61]]

:: section58 {"position":"7900,3000","size":"100,100"} You stumble toward the metallic glint in the rubble, every step feeling like a monumental effort. Your vision swims as dehydration and hunger take their toll, but the promise of supplies keeps you moving. As you reach the source of the glint, your knees buckle. The object—a rusted canteen—lies just out of reach. You stretch your arm toward it, but your strength fails, and you collapse onto the ground. The last thing you hear is the faint crunch of footsteps approaching. A blurry figure leans over you, their voice distant and garbled. “He’s alive,” the voice says. “Get him back to camp.” Darkness swallows you whole, and the world fades away. *You awaken to find yourself in an unfamiliar place…* [[Wake up.|section61]]

:: section59 You shake your head, unwilling to waste what little energy you have left on a possible dead end. The metallic glint fades into the background as you force your legs to carry you forward, one heavy step at a time. The road stretches endlessly ahead, each crack and shadow blending into a monotonous blur. Your throat burns, each dry swallow scraping like sandpaper. The hunger twisting in your gut is almost a distant ache compared to the gnawing thirst that consumes you. The buildings around you thin out until they’re little more than skeletal ruins. The wind picks up, carrying with it a faint, acrid smell that stings your nose. You stumble, your vision blurring as fatigue sets in. Each breath feels harder to draw, your chest heaving with the effort. You press on, your mind a haze of fragmented thoughts. Memories bubble to the surface—your sister’s laughter as you raced through the park, your father’s voice urging you to “stay strong, no matter what.” Their faces blur together, slipping through your grasp like water through your fingers. Your legs tremble, the weight of your body too much to bear. You collapse to your knees, the cracked asphalt biting into your skin. The world around you spins, and the sky above seems impossibly far away. You clutch at the ground, trying to rise, but your strength is gone. The last thing you see is a faint shimmer on the horizon, too distant to reach. A mirage? Hope? You’ll never know. Darkness envelops you, and the world grows quiet. *Your journey ends here.* [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section60 You take a deep breath, forcing your body to move despite the fear clawing at your chest. Each step feels deliberate, your weapon steady in your grip as you approach the source of the noise. Shadows stretch across the back of the store, twisting and shifting with every flicker of light from your flashlight. Your breath is shallow, your ears straining for any sound. The faint shuffle you heard before is gone, replaced by an oppressive silence. You crouch low, scanning the area, every nerve in your body on edge. Broken shelves and discarded debris create a maze of hiding places, each one a potential threat. “Come on,” you mutter under your breath, your voice barely audible. The words are meant to steady you, but they sound hollow in the heavy air. You sweep the beam of your flashlight across the floor. A broken can rolls away, making you flinch. Your heart pounds as you step closer to the corner, ready for anything. But when you finally reach the spot where you thought the noise came from, there’s… nothing. Just empty space and shadows. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. *There’s no one here.* You exhale sharply, the tension in your muscles refusing to ease. Your mind races with possibilities. Was it just a rat? A gust of wind moving debris? Or is something—or someone—still watching you, hidden beyond your reach? The silence around you feels heavier now, pressing down like a physical weight. You don’t dare stay any longer. Whatever caused the noise, it’s not worth finding out. As you retreat toward the front of the store, your flashlight catches a faint glint near the shattered checkout counter—a small bottle of water wedged beneath a collapsed shelf. The sight is enough to give you pause. *You need to act fast.* [[Grab the bottle and head toward the delivery truck outside.|section62]] [[Ignore it and focus on escaping the store.|section55]]

:: section62 You lunge for the bottle, yanking it free from the rubble. Dust coats the plastic, and the seal is grimy, but it’s intact. Relief washes over you for a brief moment as you shove it into your pack. The sound of your movements echoes loudly, breaking the tense silence of the store. Without waiting to see if anything—or anyone—heard, you make your way out of the store and into the open air. The city feels quieter now, but your thirst burns hotter than ever. You glance around and spot the overturned delivery truck a short distance away. The thought of food or supplies inside makes your stomach twist with both anticipation and dread. But you can’t ignore it. You move cautiously toward the truck, the sound of your footsteps blending with the faint rustling of the wind. *This could be your best—or worst—decision yet.* [[Climb into the truck to search for supplies.|section54]]

:: GameOver Your journey ends here. Thank you for playing. Perhaps there's another path through this brutal world that lets you survive. Can you find it? Remember to save often! This world is unforgiving, but your choices matter. [[Restart from the beginning.|prologue]]

:: section61 The world around you is blurry as your eyes flutter open. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by fatigue and unfamiliar warmth. The harsh smell of antiseptic mingles with the faint scent of woodsmoke, and muffled voices echo nearby. You’re in a small room—roughly constructed but clean. The walls are made of scavenged metal sheets, and sunlight filters through a gap near the ceiling. A rough-hewn bed supports your aching frame, a thin blanket draped over you. The memories of the truck—or was it the rubble?—blur together in your mind. You try to sit up, but the effort sends a sharp ache through your limbs. A figure sitting nearby notices your movement and stands. “You’re awake,” they say, their voice calm but firm. They’re a woman in her late thirties, her face smudged with dirt but her eyes sharp and alert. “You’ve been out for three days. Lucky for you, we found you before the Withered did.” She moves closer, handing you a small cup of water. “Don’t drink too fast,” she warns. “We don’t have much to spare, but you need it.” You sip the water cautiously, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. “Where… am I?” you croak, your voice hoarse. “A camp,” she replies curtly. “Not a permanent one, but it’s safe for now. Name’s Clara. You’ve got questions, I’m sure, but they’ll have to wait. For now, we need to know something: can you pull your weight, or are you just another mouth to feed?” Her words cut through the haze in your mind, forcing you to focus. She’s watching you closely, waiting for an answer. You realize this is more than just a question—it’s a test. [[Tell her you’ll help however you can.|section65]] [[Ask for more time to recover.|section63]] [[Demand to know what’s going on.|section64]]

:: section63 “I need more time,” you say hesitantly, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “I… I’m not ready for this yet.” Clara’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you expect her to push back. Instead, she sighs, crossing her arms. “Fair enough. You’ve been through hell. I get it. But don’t mistake my understanding for patience. Rest tonight. By tomorrow, you’d better have your head straight.” Her tone softens slightly as she adds, “You’re not the first to end up here broken, Alex. But broken things don’t last long in this world. Think about that.” She turns to leave but pauses at the door. “If you have questions, now’s the time to ask. After tonight, the only answers you’ll get are from experience.” [[Ask Clara more about the camp.|section66]] [[Ask Clara about herself.|section64-2]] [[Let her leave and rest.|section69]]

:: section64 “What exactly do you expect me to do?” you demand, your voice rising slightly despite the dryness in your throat. “I don’t even know what you people want from me.” Clara raises an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and irritation. “Easy there. I get it—you don’t want to be someone’s lackey. But no one here is asking you to do anything we don’t do ourselves. You scavenge, guard, and help keep this place running. Simple.” She steps closer, her voice lowering. “But don’t mistake cooperation for weakness. You don’t want to pull your weight? Fine. There’s the door. But out there…” She gestures vaguely toward the rusted walls. “…you’ll be dead by the end of the week.” Her words hang in the air as she straightens up. “Now, do you want more details, or are you ready to rest?” [[Ask Clara for more details about the camp.|section66]] [[Ask Clara why she’s still helping you.|section64-2]] [[End the conversation and try to rest.|section69]]

:: section65 Clara narrows her eyes, her gaze sharp and calculating as you struggle to sit up. “Look, I get it. You’re not at your best right now,” she says, her tone softer but still firm. “But let me make one thing clear: this camp doesn’t run on goodwill. Everyone pulls their weight.” You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. The thought of contributing makes sense—it’s survival, after all. But the unease gnawing at you won’t let go. What if their version of “pulling your weight” is just a way to exploit you? “I’ll help,” you croak, forcing the words out despite the dryness in your throat. “But I won’t… be used. I need to know what I’m getting into.” Clara raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Fair enough. You’ve got some fight in you—good. But talk is cheap. Actions are what count.” She places the cup of water on a crate beside you and crosses her arms. “Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll show us what you can do. No one here’s going to bleed you dry, but don’t think you’ll get a free ride either.” Her words carry a mix of reassurance and warning, leaving no room for argument. Before you can respond, she steps back toward the door, pausing briefly. “If you’ve got questions, ask them now. Otherwise, get some rest. You’ll need it.” She waits, her sharp eyes studying you carefully. [[Ask Clara about the camp.|section66]] [[Stay silent and try to rest.|section67]] [[Insist on more details about what’s expected of you.|section68]]

:: section66 You clear your throat, your voice still weak but steady enough. “Tell me about the camp. Who runs it? How many people are here?” Clara leans against the doorframe, her expression softening slightly. “We’re a small group, less than a dozen. Everyone here has seen their share of hell, just like you. The ones who make it usually don’t stay long. Too many scars, not enough trust.” Her gaze sharpens. “This place? It’s not permanent, but it’s home for now. We keep it quiet, avoid drawing attention, and move when we have to. That’s how we’ve survived this long.” She pauses, as if weighing her next words carefully. “We don’t take in just anyone. You’re here because I see something in you. But don’t mistake that for trust—not yet.” Her words hang heavy in the air. She shifts slightly, her stance more relaxed now. “Anything else you want to know, or are you ready to rest?” [[Ask about the world outside.|section66-5]] [[Ask Clara about herself.|section66-7]] [[Ask about the researchers.|section66-8]] [[End the conversation and try to rest.|section69]]

:: section67 You stay silent, unsure of what to say. Clara seems to take your hesitation as agreement and nods curtly. “Good. You don’t look like you’ll be much trouble,” she mutters, almost to herself. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll see what you’re made of.” She exits the room without another word, leaving you alone. The faint murmur of voices outside blends with the crackle of a campfire, lulling you into uneasy rest. [[The next day begins.|section69]]

:: section68 “I need to know what’s expected of me,” you say, your voice firmer now despite the ache in your throat. “I’m not here to be someone’s grunt or scapegoat.” Clara’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t seem angry—more intrigued. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But this place doesn’t work without rules. Everyone contributes. Whether it’s scavenging, guarding, or pulling the wounded out of the fire, you’ll do your part.” She leans closer, her voice dropping slightly. “But if you’re thinking of playing the lone wolf, don’t bother. We’ve seen that before, and it never ends well.” Satisfied she’s made her point, Clara straightens up. “Get some rest. You’ll get your chance to prove yourself tomorrow.” [[Lie back and prepare for what’s to come.|section69]]

:: section69 The world around you is quiet as the first rays of sunlight filter through the cracks in the rusted metal walls. The room is still, save for the faint creak of wood as you shift in the makeshift bed. Your body aches, but the pain is manageable—proof that you’re still alive. Before you can gather your thoughts, the door swings open with a low groan. Clara steps inside, her expression unreadable but purposeful. “You’re up. Good,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “The others are waiting.” You sit up slowly, the stiffness in your limbs reminding you of how close you came to losing everything. Clara doesn’t offer a hand, but her eyes flicker with something resembling approval as you manage to stand on your own. She gestures toward the door. “Let’s go. Rowan wants to meet you. He’s the closest thing we’ve got to a leader around here, so try not to piss him off.” Following Clara through the narrow corridors of the camp, you take in your surroundings for the first time. The camp is cobbled together from salvaged materials—scraps of metal and wood forming crude walls and shelters. A faint smell of smoke lingers in the air, and voices murmur in the distance. You step out into an open courtyard where a small group of survivors is gathered. Their eyes fix on you as you approach, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and indifference. At the center of the group stands a man in his forties, his grizzled face marked by a scar running down one cheek. His presence commands attention. “This him?” the man asks, his voice rough but measured. His sharp eyes assess you, lingering just long enough to make you feel uneasy. Clara nods. “Yeah. Says he’s willing to pull his weight.” The man grunts, his gaze never leaving you. “We’ll see about that.” He gestures to a map spread out on a makeshift table. The paper is worn and marked with faded ink, its edges frayed from use. “We’ve got a job for you. Simple, but important. Screw it up, and you’re on your own.” He steps closer, his tone hardening. “This isn’t a free ride. You’re either with us, or you’re a liability. So, which is it?” The weight of his words presses down on you, and you realize there’s no turning back. [[Agree to help without hesitation.|section70]] [[Ask for more details before committing.|section71]] [[Challenge Rowan’s tone.|section72]]

:: section64-2 “Why are you still helping me?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “You don’t even know me.” Clara pauses, her expression hardening for a moment before softening into something more contemplative. She shifts her weight, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. “You know, I’ve asked myself the same question,” she says, her tone low. “This world doesn’t reward kindness. Every time you help someone, you’re taking a risk—a risk they’ll stab you in the back, or worse, bring danger to your doorstep.” Her gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, steady and unwavering. “But… I’ve been where you are. Lost, scared, and thinking no one in the world gave a damn if I lived or died. And maybe they didn’t. But someone helped me anyway.” She sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. “You remind me of that time. I’m not saying I trust you—not yet. But maybe you deserve the same chance I got.” Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice taking on a firmer edge. “Don’t mistake this for charity, though. You’re here because I think you might be useful. If I’m wrong, you won’t last long. That’s just how it is.” Clara pushes off the doorframe, straightening up. “So now it’s your turn. Prove me right, or prove me wrong. Your choice.” [[Ask about the researchers.|section66-8]] [[Ask more about Clara’s past.|section66-7]] [[End the conversation and rest.|section69]]

:: section66-5 “What’s it like out there?” you ask, gesturing vaguely toward the rusted walls. “I mean… beyond the Withered.” Clara lets out a bitter laugh. “The Withered are the least of your worries. Sure, they’ll rip you apart if you’re not careful, but they’re predictable. People? They’re the real monsters.” She leans against the doorframe, her expression darkening. “You’ll find groups out there—some like ours, just trying to survive. Others? They’re scavengers, slavers, or worse. And if you run into anyone flying a red flag with a black mark in the middle, you turn and run. No questions, no hesitation.” Her tone leaves no room for doubt. “The world’s gone to hell, Alex. Don’t expect anyone to save you.” [[Ask about the red flag.|section66-6]] [[Stay quiet and rest.|section69]]

:: section66-7 “What about you?” you ask after a moment of hesitation. “How’d you end up here?” Clara’s expression hardens briefly, but she doesn’t brush off the question. “I used to work in logistics. Ran supply chains, kept things moving. When everything fell apart, I figured I could use those skills to stay alive.” She shrugs, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Turns out, it’s not that different. Only now, instead of keeping shelves stocked, I’m keeping people alive. Not exactly what I pictured for myself.” Her gaze softens slightly as she adds, “But you don’t get to pick your role in a world like this. You take what you’re given and make it work.” [[Thank her for the help.|section69]] [[End the conversation silently.|section69]]

:: section66-6 “What’s the deal with that red flag?” you ask, frowning. “Who are they?” Clara’s jaw tightens, her fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for a weapon. “They call themselves The Scourge. A group of raiders, slavers, and murderers. They take what they want and leave nothing behind but ashes.” Her eyes meet yours, cold and steady. “If you see that flag, you run. And if you can’t run, you fight to the death. Because if they catch you… you’ll wish you hadn’t survived.” The weight of her words settles heavily on you, a grim reminder of the dangers beyond these walls. [[End the conversation and rest.|section69]]

:: section66-8 “What do you know about the researchers?” you ask, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve heard stories, but… they sound more like myths than reality.” Clara’s face darkens instantly, her jaw tightening. “They’re no myths,” she says, her voice sharp. “The researchers are very real. And they’re the reason we’re in this mess.” She paces a few steps, her boots scuffing the floor as she speaks. “They started all this with some miracle cure they called ‘The Wither Project.’ Supposed to end disease, make us all live longer, stronger. It was supposed to be a gift to humanity. Instead, it became a curse.” Her voice turns bitter, and she stops to face you. “When the virus mutated, everything fell apart. But instead of staying to fix their mistakes, they ran. Took their knowledge, their resources, and vanished into their labs. Some of them fortified their bunkers so well that even the Withered couldn’t get in.” She shakes her head, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “People say they’re still out there, trying to find a cure, but I don’t buy it. If they really wanted to help, they would’ve done it already. The only thing they care about is their own survival.” Her words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. After a moment, she gestures toward you. “If you’re thinking about chasing them down, don’t. Their labs are death traps. And if you do find one of them alive… don’t expect a hero. Expect a coward.” [[Press her for more details.|section66-9]] [[Ask Clara about the world outside.|section66-5]] [[End the conversation and rest.|section69]]

:: section66-9 “Have you ever met one?” you ask, your curiosity outweighing the heaviness in the room. “A researcher?” Clara’s eyes harden, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond. Finally, she exhales sharply, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Once. A long time ago.” She begins pacing again, her movements tense. “He was holed up in a bunker, somewhere outside the city. When we found him, he was half-crazy—rambling about how it wasn’t his fault, how someone sabotaged the project. He kept saying they were ‘so close’ to saving everyone.” She stops and looks at you, her gaze piercing. “But here’s the thing—he wasn’t working on a cure. He was making something else. Something worse. We didn’t stick around to find out what.” Her jaw clenches, and she turns away briefly. “I learned something that day. The researchers? They’re not saviors. They’re just people. Desperate, selfish people who will do anything to stay alive, even if it means leaving the rest of us to rot.” Clara takes a deep breath and faces you again. “If you find one of their labs, be ready for what you’ll see. It’s not hope, Alex. It’s despair.” Her words settle in your mind like a stone, heavy and unrelenting. [[Ask Clara about her past.|section66-7]] [[Ask about the camp.|section66]] [[End the conversation and rest.|section69]]

:: section70 “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your gut. If there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that hesitation can be deadly. Rowan’s sharp gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods. “Good,” he says simply. He points to the map on the table, his finger landing on a circled location just outside the camp’s perimeter. “There’s a supply stash here—something we set up a while back for emergencies. Problem is, it hasn’t been checked in weeks.” Rowan straightens, his tone firm. “We need someone to go out there, make sure it’s still intact, and bring back whatever’s useful. Food, medical supplies, ammunition—anything we can use. It’s a short trip, but don’t get cocky. The area’s crawling with Withered.” Clara steps forward, crossing her arms. “You’ll need to move fast and stay quiet. No heroics. If the stash has been compromised, you get back here alive. Understood?” You nod, the weight of their expectations settling on your shoulders. “Got it. Anything else I should know?” Rowan gestures to the small table beside him, where a handful of basic supplies are laid out: a rusty knife, a single loaded pistol, and a flashlight with a flickering bulb. “Take what you need, but don’t expect more than the basics. If you’re expecting luxury, you’re in the wrong world.” Clara’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “And remember, Alex—this isn’t just about the supplies. This is about proving you’re not dead weight. We don’t need passengers here.” Rowan grunts in agreement, his scarred face unreadable. “You leave in an hour. Don’t keep us waiting.” [[Gather supplies and prepare for the mission.|section73]] [[Ask Clara for advice before leaving.|section74]] [[Head out immediately without saying anything further.|section75]]

:: section71 A flicker of uncertainty twists your stomach as you eye Rowan’s hardened face and the worn map on the table. You clear your throat, choosing your words carefully. “I’m willing to help,” you say, “but I need more details. What exactly am I walking into?” Rowan’s lips press into a thin line. He taps a calloused finger on the circle drawn on the map. “This stash is in a hot zone—Withered sightings every other day. We used to maintain it regularly, but we haven’t had the manpower for weeks.” Clara speaks up, folding her arms. “It’s not just Withered you need to watch out for. There are… rumors about scavengers sniffing around. People who’d do worse than kill you if they catch you off guard.” Rowan gives a curt nod. “Exactly. You might run into more than mindless husks out there. That’s why we need someone who can handle themselves. So…” He lifts his gaze to meet yours. “Still in, or are you backing out?” [[Agree to the job, despite the risks.|section73]] [[Press them for even more specifics.|section71-1]] [[Refuse to walk into danger without guarantees.|section72]]

:: section72 Something about Rowan’s tone sets your teeth on edge. You square your shoulders, unwilling to let him push you around. “Watch how you talk to me,” you say, your voice firm. “I’m not some pawn you can just throw into the fire.” A hush falls over the courtyard. A couple of the other survivors glance your way, clearly surprised. Rowan’s stare hardens, and for a moment, you think he’s about to snap. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “You don’t like my tone?” he says quietly. “Fine. But this isn’t about feelings. It’s about survival. Either you take the job and prove you’re worth a damn, or you walk.” Clara looks between the two of you, tension thick in the air. “Rowan,” she cautions, then turns to you. “He’s not wrong, you know. This world’s harsh, and so are we. But if you want to stay here, you play by the rules.” Your heart pounds, anger warring with a grudging acceptance of the truth. Everyone’s eyes are on you now, waiting. [[Agree to do the mission, despite your misgivings.|section73]] [[Refuse and prepare to leave the camp.|section72-1]]

:: section73 You approach the table of supplies, eyeing each item carefully. The rusty knife feels awkward in your grip, its blade dull but sturdy enough to be a last resort. The pistol, on the other hand, offers a small sense of security despite its limited ammunition. The flashlight flickers when you test it, casting uneven beams of light across the courtyard. “Not much to work with,” you mutter under your breath. Clara steps up beside you, her tone dry. “Welcome to survival. You’ll have to make do.” Rowan watches you from a distance, his arms crossed. “Choose wisely,” he says gruffly. “What you take might save your life—or cost it.” Select your loadout: [[Take the pistol and flashlight.|section76]] [[Take the knife and flashlight.|section77]] [[Take only the knife, trusting stealth and speed.|section78]]

:: section74 As the others disperse, you catch Clara’s attention. “Clara,” you say, your voice low. “Any advice before I head out?” She glances around to make sure no one’s listening before leaning in slightly. “Yeah. Don’t try to be a hero. If you hear or see anything strange, don’t investigate. Get in, get out, and keep your head down.” You nod, but she isn’t finished. “And one more thing—Rowan’s not telling you the whole story. That stash? It’s close to a place we’ve avoided for months. There’s something out there—something worse than the Withered. We don’t know what it is, and we don’t want to find out.” Her words send a chill down your spine, but you swallow the unease. “Why didn’t he tell me?” Clara shrugs, her expression grim. “Because he wants to see if you can handle it. Prove him wrong.” [[Take Clara’s words to heart and prepare for the mission.|section73]] [[Ignore her warning and head out immediately.|section75]]

:: section75 You grab the knife from the table without a word, ignoring the flickering flashlight and the pistol’s limited rounds. The weight of the blade in your hand feels grounding, a reminder that survival isn’t about perfection—it’s about instinct. As you step past Clara and Rowan, neither of them tries to stop you. Clara watches you with a mix of concern and curiosity, while Rowan simply nods, as if this is what he expected. The camp fades into the background as you head toward the outskirts. The air grows heavier, the ruins ahead looming like jagged teeth against the gray sky. Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws—a sharp, lonely sound that sends a shiver down your spine. The path ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear: you’re on your own now. [[Navigate the outskirts toward the stash.|section79]]

:: section76 You grab the pistol and flashlight, tucking the weapon into your belt. The flashlight flickers weakly when you test it, but the beam holds steady long enough to give you a small sense of reassurance. The pistol feels cold and unfamiliar in your hand, but it’s better than nothing. You check the chamber—just three rounds. Not much, but enough if used wisely. Clara steps closer, her expression firm. “If you’re going to use that thing, aim for the head. Anything else, and you’ll just piss them off.” Rowan, standing a few meters away, crosses his arms and gives you a measured look. “Let’s see if you can handle yourself. That gun won’t do the work for you.” You nod, shouldering the flashlight and pistol. The weight feels manageable, but the responsibility heavier. The others watch as you turn toward the gate that leads out of the camp. Clara’s voice stops you. “Remember—if it gets too loud, you’ll draw more of them. Don’t waste those shots.” With her words echoing in your mind, you step into the desolate outskirts. [[Continue toward the stash with the pistol and flashlight.|section79-1]]

:: section77 The knife rests easily in your hand as you test its weight, its blade dull but serviceable. You pick up the flashlight, its flickering bulb casting uneven beams of light across the courtyard. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. “Good choice,” Clara says, standing beside you. “Quiet and efficient. Just remember—speed and stealth will keep you alive longer than any weapon.” Rowan lets out a low grunt. “Flashlight might give you away if you’re not careful. Watch your surroundings, and don’t get yourself cornered.” You nod, slipping the flashlight into your bag and gripping the knife tightly. As you approach the gate, Clara catches your arm briefly. Her voice is low, almost a whisper. “One more thing—don’t hesitate. If it’s you or them, you don’t stop to think. You act.” Her hand falls away, and she steps back. The gate creaks open as you pass through, the cold night air wrapping around you like a shroud. The ruins ahead beckon, their jagged outlines framed by the faint glow of the moon. [[Continue toward the stash with the knife and flashlight.|section79-2]]

:: section78 You pick up the knife, turning it over in your hand. The blade is worn but sharp enough to get the job done. It feels like an extension of yourself—silent, reliable, and dangerous at close range. You glance at the flashlight but decide against it. Its flickering light might give you away more than it helps. Clara notices your decision and raises an eyebrow. “Confident, huh? Just don’t let that confidence get you killed. The Withered don’t care how tough you think you are.” Rowan watches silently, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. “If you’re going light, you’d better move fast. No second chances out there.” You nod, gripping the knife tightly. As you step toward the gate, Clara speaks again, her tone softer this time. “If you’re planning on being quiet, make sure you don’t freeze up. Hesitation gets people killed.” The gate groans as you push it open, the ruins stretching out before you like a jagged sea of shadows. You tighten your grip on the knife, your heart pounding as you take your first steps into the unknown. [[Continue toward the stash with only the knife.|section79-3]]

:: section79 The ruins stretch out like a labyrinth, every shadow a potential threat. Your footsteps echo faintly against the cracked pavement as you press on toward the stash. The flickering light of your flashlight barely cuts through the darkness, each beam casting jagged shadows that seem to reach for you. The weight of the knife—or pistol, depending on your choice—feels heavier with every step. As you round a corner, you catch a faint glimmer of light ahead. It’s not moonlight, nor the dying glow of a campfire—it’s harsh, artificial, casting long shadows across the wreckage. You crouch low, creeping closer, the hairs on your neck standing on end. The source comes into view: two groups locked in a tense standoff near the stash’s location. On one side, you recognize them immediately—the black-marked red flags of The Scourge fluttering faintly in the breeze. Their weapons glint in the pale light, crude but deadly. On the other side, figures in biohazard suits stand in formation, their visors reflecting the scene like eerie mirrors. The researchers, heavily armed and clearly unwilling to back down, seem to be guarding something—a steel container just visible behind them. You press yourself against a crumbling wall, your heart pounding as you take in the scene. The Scourge leader steps forward, his voice carrying through the ruins. “Hand it over, and we might let you leave alive,” he sneers. The biohazard-suited figure at the front shakes their head, their voice muffled but firm. “This isn’t yours. Walk away, or we’ll end this now.” The tension is palpable, a razor’s edge that could snap at any moment. You can feel the weight of the decision before you. The stash is just beyond them, tantalizingly close. But with both groups on high alert, any wrong move could turn you into collateral damage. Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, shattering the silence. Chaos erupts as the two sides clash, bullets flying and shouts echoing through the ruins. The researchers retreat behind cover, their precision strikes keeping the Scourge at bay, while the raiders charge with reckless abandon, their brutality on full display. You’re frozen for a moment, watching the carnage unfold. The stash is there—unguarded for the moment, but not for long. You’ll have to decide quickly if you’re willing to risk it. [[Sneak past the chaos to retrieve the stash.|section87-4]] [[Wait and watch, hoping for an opening.|section88-4]] [[Turn back—the risk isn’t worth it.|section89-4]]

:: section79-1 The outskirts are eerily quiet, save for the occasional groan of metal and the distant rustle of leaves. You grip the pistol tightly, its weight a constant reminder of your limited resources. The flashlight’s beam cuts through the darkness, illuminating the broken path ahead. As you move cautiously, the faint sound of shuffling grows louder. You freeze, sweeping the flashlight toward the source. A Withered stumbles into view, its gaunt frame illuminated by the flickering beam. It snarls, locking its hollow eyes onto you. Your heart pounds as you weigh your options. The pistol feels heavy in your hand, a solution with consequences. A single gunshot will take it down—but will it alert others? [[Fire the pistol and take it down.|section85-1]] [[Try to retreat quietly and avoid a fight.|section86-1]]

:: section79-2 The ruins stretch out like a maze, the flashlight’s flickering glow casting uneven shadows. You hold the knife tightly, its familiar weight giving you a small sense of control. Clara’s words echo in your mind: “Speed and stealth will keep you alive.” The shuffling sound ahead makes you stop in your tracks. Killing the flashlight, you crouch low, letting the moonlight guide your eyes. A Withered is just a few meters away, its erratic movements betraying its hunt for prey. It hasn’t noticed you yet. You take a deep breath, considering your options. The knife offers silence, but only if you’re close enough to use it. The flashlight might help you see better, but it’ll also reveal your position. [[Try to sneak past the Withered quietly.|section85-2]] [[Wait for the perfect moment and strike silently.|section86-2]]

:: section79-3 The darkness feels overwhelming without the comfort of a flashlight, but your eyes adjust quickly. The knife is steady in your hand, a lifeline in this labyrinth of shadows. Every step is calculated, your breathing shallow to avoid making a sound. A faint growl pulls your attention to a nearby alleyway. A Withered emerges, its gaunt silhouette barely visible against the faint moonlight. Its movements are jerky, its hollow eyes scanning the area hungrily. You crouch low, every muscle tense as you consider your next move. With no flashlight, you rely on the dim light of the moon and your instincts to guide you. [[Wait for it to move away and sneak past.|section85-3]] [[Prepare an ambush and take it down quickly.|section86-3]]

:: section85-1 The Withered charges toward you, its guttural snarl echoing in the ruins. You raise the pistol, your hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The first shot rings out, hitting it squarely in the chest. It stumbles but doesn’t stop. You fire again, this time aiming for its head. The creature collapses with a sickening thud, its movements ceasing. The echoes of the gunshots fade, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. But then you hear it—distant growls, answering the sound of the shots. The Withered are coming. You don’t have much time. [[Run toward the stash, hoping to outrun them.|section87-1]] [[Try to find a place to hide and wait them out.|section88-1]]

:: section86-1 Your grip on the pistol tightens, but you know better than to waste ammunition unless absolutely necessary. Slowly, you step backward, keeping the flashlight’s beam away from the Withered. Its hollow eyes search the darkness, but it doesn’t seem to notice you. You retreat further, keeping your breathing controlled and your movements silent. After a tense moment, the creature turns away, its shuffling gait carrying it back into the ruins. Relief washes over you, but the threat hasn’t passed entirely. You’ll need to move cautiously from here. [[Continue toward the stash with extra care.|section87-1]]

:: section85-2 You crouch low, killing the flashlight and relying on the dim moonlight to guide you. The Withered is only a few meters away, its erratic movements unpredictable. Every step feels like an eternity as you inch past it, your breathing shallow and controlled. A piece of debris shifts under your foot, sending a faint clatter into the night. The Withered snaps its head in your direction, letting out a guttural growl. Your heart pounds as you freeze, every muscle tense. The creature hesitates, sniffing the air, before turning away. You’ve managed to slip by, but the danger isn’t over yet. [[Continue toward the stash, staying low and quiet.|section87-2]]

:: section86-2 The Withered stumbles closer, its hollow eyes searching for prey. You grip the knife tightly, every muscle coiled as you wait for the perfect moment. When it’s close enough, you lunge forward, driving the blade into its neck. The creature lets out a muffled snarl, its clawed hands swiping wildly. You twist the knife, the movement precise and deliberate. With a final shudder, it collapses at your feet. You wipe the blade on your sleeve, your breathing ragged. The silence that follows feels deafening, but you can’t stay here. The noise may have attracted others. [[Move quickly toward the stash.|section87-2]]

:: section85-3 You press yourself against the cold wall, every muscle tense as the Withered prowls nearby. Its guttural growls send a chill down your spine, but you remain perfectly still. The creature pauses, sniffing the air, before shuffling further into the ruins. The tension in your chest eases, but only slightly. The Withered might be gone, but the shadows feel heavier now, each one a potential threat. [[Continue toward the stash, relying on your instincts.|section87-3]]

:: section86-3 The Withered’s gaunt form moves closer, its hollow eyes scanning the darkness. You crouch low, knife ready, and wait for the perfect opportunity. When the creature stumbles past you, you spring forward, driving the blade into its side. The Withered thrashes wildly, its claws raking across your arm. Pain flares, but you grit your teeth and hold firm, twisting the knife until the creature collapses. Your arm is bleeding, but the wound isn’t deep. You pull the blade free, your breathing heavy as you glance around. The fight was short, but the noise might attract others. [[Press on toward the stash, wounded but alive.|section87-3]]

:: section87-1 Your breath comes in short gasps as you sprint toward the stash’s location. The echoes of your gunshots still linger in your mind, and with every step, you hear the growls getting louder. Shadows move in the periphery, darting between the ruins. You glance back and see them—Withered, dozens of them, emerging from the darkness. Their hollow eyes glint in the moonlight, and their snarls grow more frenzied with each passing second. Panic surges through you as you push your body to its limit, your legs burning with the effort. The stash is close—just a few more steps—but so are they. The pistol in your hand feels useless now. You don’t have enough bullets to handle this. As you round a corner, your foot catches on a piece of debris, sending you sprawling to the ground. The Withered are upon you in moments, their gaunt forms blocking out the moonlight as they descend. Claws tear into you, and you barely have time to scream before the world goes dark. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section88-1 You duck into a crumbling doorway, pressing yourself against the cold, damp wall. The sound of Withered snarls grows louder, the echoes bouncing off the ruins around you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grip the pistol tightly, its weight both a comfort and a reminder of your limited options. Peering through a crack in the doorway, you see them—a horde of Withered swarming the area. Their gaunt forms move erratically, sniffing the air and scraping their claws against the stone. The moonlight catches their hollow eyes, and you shudder at the sight. You hold your breath as one of them lurches closer to your hiding spot. Its rasping growls fill the air, each step dragging it closer to where you’re concealed. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but you know firing now would be a death sentence. You force yourself to stay still, even as your muscles scream to run. The Withered sniffs the air, its head jerking toward the doorway. It hesitates, its claws scraping against the ground. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, every second stretching into eternity. Finally, it lets out a guttural snarl and turns away, rejoining the others as they move further into the ruins. You exhale shakily, your body trembling from the tension. The horde is still close, but the way to the stash appears clear—for now. You wipe the sweat from your brow and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s next. You’ll need to move quickly and quietly if you want to make it out of this alive. [[Sneak toward the stash, avoiding further encounters.|section87-4]]

:: section88-2 You tighten your grip on the knife, your pulse quickening as you weigh your options. The Withered prowls near the stash, its guttural growls echoing in the tense silence. You glance at the flashlight, hesitating for a moment, before deciding to use it to create a distraction. Click. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the far corner of the store. The Withered’s head snaps toward the sudden light, snarling as it moves in that direction. Relief floods you as the creature seems momentarily distracted, giving you a slim window to act. But the flashlight flickers again, its erratic beam cutting through the darkness like a strobe. The Withered freezes, its hollow eyes snapping back toward you, realizing the source of the disturbance. With a blood-curdling snarl, it charges, its claws scraping against the broken tiles. You swing the knife in desperation, but it’s too late. The creature barrels into you, its jagged claws tearing into your side. Pain explodes through your body as it pins you to the ground, its snarling face inches from yours. The flashlight clatters to the floor, spinning wildly as its flickering beam dances across the store. The last thing you see is the Withered’s hollow eyes as everything fades to black. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section87-3 The ruins are cloaked in shadow, the faint light of the moon your only guide. You stick to the edges, every step carefully placed to avoid making a sound. The stash is close—you can feel it. The air smells faintly of rust and decay, the kind of scent that lingers in abandoned places. You spot the stash nestled in the remains of an old store, its broken windows casting eerie shadows. Without a flashlight, navigating the debris is a challenge, but your eyes adjust quickly. You step inside, crouching low to stay hidden. In the far corner, partially obscured by rubble, is the stash—a reinforced container, its surface scratched and battered but intact. Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived. A guttural snarl echoes through the building, and you freeze. The Withered is close, its erratic movements sending faint tremors through the ground. You tighten your grip on the knife, every muscle tensed as you consider your next move. [[Wait for the Withered to move away before retrieving the stash.|section88-3]] [[Ambush the Withered before it finds you.|section89-3]]

prying it open with trembling hands. Inside, you find a small cache of supplies: a couple of canned goods, a roll of bandages, and a box of ammunition. You shove the items into your pack, trying to ignore the prickling sense of unease crawling up your spine. The store feels too quiet, the air too heavy. As you zip the pack shut, a sound cuts through the silence—a sharp, guttural growl, far too close for comfort. Your heart pounds as you look up to see three Withered emerging from the shadows, their hollow eyes locking onto you. One snarls, its claws scraping the ground as it lunges forward. Without hesitation, you grab your pack and bolt toward the exit. The Withered give chase, their movements jerky but terrifyingly fast. You weave through the ruins, ducking under collapsed beams and dodging shattered glass. The snarls grow louder, and you can feel them closing in. The weight of the supplies in your pack drags at your shoulders, but you force yourself to keep running. Bursting out into the open street, you hear the screeching cries of more Withered joining the hunt. They’re everywhere now, their feral hunger driving them to relentless pursuit. Your lungs burn, and your legs scream for rest, but you can’t afford to stop—not here, not now. Ahead, the faint outline of the camp’s walls comes into view. It’s close, but the snarls behind you remind you how quickly it could all end. You’ve made it this far, but can you outrun the monsters behind you? [[Keep running toward the camp, trusting your speed.|section90]] [[Find somewhere to hide and hope they lose your trail.|section91]]

:: section88-2 You grab a small rock from the ground and hurl it toward the far end of the store, hoping the noise will draw the Withered away. The creature's head snaps toward the sound, its hollow eyes locking onto the source. For a moment, it seems to work—the Withered snarls and lumbers toward the noise, giving you the opening you need. But as you inch away, your foot grazes a piece of debris, sending it skittering across the floor. The sound is subtle, but it’s enough. The Withered spins back toward you, letting out a guttural scream as it charges. You barely have time to raise your knife before the creature is on you. Its claws tear through your defenses, ripping into your arm and sending you sprawling to the ground. You swing wildly, but its strength is overwhelming, pinning you in place. The last thing you see is its snarling face inches from yours before the darkness consumes you. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section89-2 You steady your breathing, gripping the knife tightly as you inch closer to the Withered. Its hunched form prowls near the stash, its hollow eyes darting around in search of prey. You take a step closer, the flashlight turned off to keep you hidden. Just as you prepare to strike, your foot catches on a loose piece of debris. The faint sound is enough. The Withered’s head snaps toward you, and it lets out a guttural snarl, lunging with terrifying speed. You barely manage to raise the knife as its claws rake across your arm. Pain flares, but adrenaline pushes you forward. You thrust the blade into its neck, twisting hard. The Withered thrashes wildly, dragging you to the ground as its claws tear into your side. The world spins as darkness encroaches. Your grip on the knife loosens, and the Withered’s weight presses you into the cold floor. The last thing you see is its snarling face inches from yours before everything goes black. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section88-3 You hold your breath, pressed against the cold floor behind a toppled shelf. The knife is gripped tightly in your hand as you struggle to steady the trembling coursing through your body. The Withered is only a few meters away, its jerky movements echoing through the abandoned store. Every sound—the rasping breaths of the creature, the scrape of its claws against the floor—feels like a hammer against your already frayed nerves. You know that one mistake, one premature move, will give you away. You remain frozen, staring through the shadows as the Withered sniffs the air, clawing at crates in its relentless search for something—or someone—to hunt. Minutes feel like an eternity before it finally turns away, shuffling deeper into the store. This is your chance. With shaky hands, you begin moving slowly toward the stash. Each step is painstakingly quiet, but every motion feels perilously loud in the oppressive silence. When you reach the container, you crouch low, using the knife to pry open its worn lid. Inside, you find canned food, a small bottle of water, and a box of ammunition. It’s not much, but in this world, it feels like a lifeline. Quickly, you stow the supplies in your bag and shut the container. But just as you begin to retreat, you hear it—a low, guttural growl. You freeze, turning your head slowly to see the Withered standing behind you, its hollow eyes locked onto you. You have only seconds to act. [[Sprint toward the exit and hope for the best.|section89-6]]

:: section89-3 You crouch low, the knife steady in your grip as you watch the Withered prowl through the ruined store. Without the flashlight, the shadows feel alive, shifting with every movement. The creature’s erratic gait brings it closer to the stash, and you decide to act. Timing your attack perfectly, you spring forward, aiming for its exposed neck. The blade connects, but the Withered twists violently, its claws striking you with bone-crushing force. You cry out as you’re thrown against a crumbling shelf, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The Withered snarls, pouncing on you before you can recover. You stab desperately, but your strikes are weak, uncoordinated. Its claws tear into you, and the last thing you feel is the cold steel of your knife slipping from your hand as darkness takes over. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section89-6 Your heart pounds as you lock eyes with the Withered, its guttural growl sending a chill through your entire body. There’s no time to think—you grab your bag and break into a sprint. The creature lets out an earsplitting snarl, its erratic footsteps pounding against the ground as it gives chase. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you dodge through the ruined store, vaulting over broken shelves and scattered debris. The weight of the supplies in your bag feels heavier with every step, but you refuse to let go. Behind you, the Withered’s growls grow louder, more frantic. Its claws scrape against the walls, sending splinters flying. You risk a glance over your shoulder and see it closing the gap, its gaunt form moving with horrifying speed. Bursting through the store’s broken doorway, you stumble into the open street. The cool night air hits your face as you push your legs to move faster. The ruins around you blur as you weave between collapsed buildings and piles of rubble, every step a desperate attempt to put more distance between you and the relentless creature. Your muscles scream in protest, and your lungs burn, but you can’t stop. Not now. Not when survival is so close. The snarls behind you begin to fade, the Withered’s footsteps slowing as it loses sight of you in the maze of ruins. You don’t dare stop running until the sounds vanish completely, leaving only the pounding of your heartbeat and the rustling of the wind. Finally, you collapse against a crumbling wall, your chest heaving as you gulp in air. The supplies in your bag press against your back—a reminder of why you ran in the first place. You survived. Somehow, you survived. But the night isn’t over yet. Forcing yourself to your feet, you scan your surroundings, ensuring the coast is clear. The camp is still ahead, and with the Withered behind you, it’s your only chance to regroup. You steady your breathing, tighten the straps of your bag, and start moving again. The faint glow of moonlight lights your path, guiding you toward what you hope is safety. [[Return to the camp.|section90]]

:: section90 You stumble through the gates of the camp, lungs burning and legs trembling from exertion. The supplies in your pack feel like lead weights with every step, but you cling to them as if they’re the only things keeping you upright. A pair of guards rush forward, weapons raised, before realizing it’s you. Clara appears next, her expression a mixture of worry and relief. “You made it,” she breathes, quickly scanning you for injuries. “We heard the snarls, the gunfire… we weren’t sure if—” “I’m alive,” you manage, swallowing hard. “Got… supplies.” You gesture weakly to your pack, not trusting yourself to speak more without collapsing. She guides you toward a makeshift bench near a small fire, beckoning another survivor over to help. Your vision swims as you sink down, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving raw exhaustion in its wake. Still, you catch a glimpse of Rowan standing at a distance, arms folded across his chest. His face gives nothing away, but you sense the tension simmering beneath. Clara hands you a canteen of water. “Drink. Slowly,” she warns, watching you carefully. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “More like a horde,” you say, voice low. The memory of Withered claws and snarls drags across your thoughts, making your pulse spike. Rowan finally steps forward, his gaze flicking to your battered form and the half-open bag of supplies. “You did what we asked,” he says, a grudging respect in his tone. “Might’ve saved us from a rough winter.” You nod, unable to muster much else. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids, but a small sense of accomplishment kindles in your chest. You delivered. You proved yourself. As Clara helps you to your feet, she nods at you in quiet admiration. “Get some rest. We’ll sort through the supplies and see what you found. Then we’ll talk.” You glance around the camp—tired faces, battered walls, but a sense of unity holds it all together. For the first time, you feel like you might have a place here. [[Collapse onto a cot and try to recover.|section94]]

:: section91 You dart through the maze of ruins, your breath ragged as you scan the area for somewhere—anywhere—to hide. Your eyes lock onto the silhouette of an old, crumbling church in the distance, its steeple jutting out against the night sky like a jagged spike. Without hesitation, you sprint toward the building, your boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. Reaching the heavy wooden doors, you push them open with a groan of rusted hinges and slip inside, slamming them shut behind you. The echo reverberates through the cavernous interior, and you lean against the door, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. The darkness inside is oppressive, the faint moonlight filtering through shattered stained-glass windows barely illuminating the shadowy pews and dusty altar. For a brief moment, the stillness calms your racing heart. You think you’ve escaped. Then you hear it—a low, wet growl coming from the far end of the nave. You freeze, the realization dawning painfully slow. Shapes begin to move in the gloom, jerky and unnatural. Dozens of hollow eyes glint in the dim light, staring back at you with unbridled hunger. The Withered. The church isn’t empty—it’s their lair. Panic surges through you as the first creature lets out a guttural snarl, its gaunt form rising from where it had been hunched. The others follow, their twisted bodies shuffling out from behind pews and pillars, clawed hands scraping against the stone floor. You back away, fumbling for your knife, but the sheer number of them makes your stomach drop. There’s no way out. The snarls grow louder, echoing off the stone walls, and the Withered begin to close in. The last thing you see is the dim light of the moon through the shattered windows, framed by the horde of twisted figures descending upon you. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section88-4 You crouch lower, pressing yourself into the shadows as the firefight intensifies. Bullets ricochet off the crumbling walls, and the clash between The Scourge and the researchers grows louder and more chaotic. You keep your eyes on the stash, hoping for the moment when both sides are too distracted to notice you slipping through. But then, the unmistakable sound of guttural snarls cuts through the air, sending a chill down your spine. At first, it’s faint, blending into the chaos of gunfire and shouting. Then it grows louder—closer. You glance behind you, and your blood runs cold. The commotion has drawn them—Withered, dozens of them, emerging from the ruins like shadows given form. Their gaunt frames lurch toward the noise, hollow eyes locked on the scene ahead. For a moment, none of the fighters seem to notice, too consumed by their battle. Then the first scream pierces the air as a Withered falls upon an unlucky raider, tearing into him with brutal efficiency. Chaos descends into pandemonium as The Scourge and the researchers turn their weapons on the new threat. The air is filled with gunfire, snarls, and panicked shouts as the Withered overwhelm the area. You press yourself tighter against the wall, your heart pounding as the scene devolves into carnage. You think about running, but the Withered are everywhere now, their movements erratic and unpredictable. One wrong step could bring them down on you. The researchers attempt a retreat, their biohazard suits making them easy targets. The Scourge, despite their brutality, fare no better. The Withered tear through both groups with terrifying speed. Bodies fall, their screams fading into the night as the swarm grows. You realize too late that you’ve waited too long. A Withered lurches toward you, its hollow eyes locking onto your hiding spot. Before you can react, it lets out a guttural snarl, drawing the attention of others. You bolt from your cover, adrenaline surging as you sprint away from the chaos. The snarls behind you grow louder, the Withered closing in. You don’t dare look back. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your legs burning with effort. Just as you think you might escape, something slams into you from behind, sending you sprawling to the ground. Clawed hands pin you down, and jagged teeth descend toward your throat. The world goes dark. Your journey ends here. [[Game Over.|Game Over]]

:: section89-4 Your chest tightens as you watch the chaos unfold in front of the stash. The gunfire, the snarls of the Withered, and the screams of the dying create an impenetrable barrier. No matter how much you want to grab the supplies, it’s clear you won’t make it out alive if you try. You take a step back, retreating further into the shadows. There’s no way through, you think, frustration gnawing at you. The decision feels like failure, but survival outweighs pride. You turn and move swiftly away from the scene, your steps light and cautious to avoid drawing attention. The ruins stretch out in eerie silence as you weave through the desolation. Every corner holds potential danger, and every shadow feels alive. You scan the surroundings, searching for anything useful to justify the risk you’ve taken tonight. Then you spot it: a rusted delivery truck lodged between two collapsed buildings. Its back door hangs open, revealing crates partially hidden beneath rubble. Your breath catches as you approach cautiously, keeping an eye out for movement. Inside, the truck is a treasure trove. Cans of preserved food, medical supplies, and even a half-full water bottle are strewn across the floor. The sight is enough to make your chest tighten with relief. You work quickly, stuffing what you can into your bag. As you grab the last can, a distant snarl echoes through the ruins. Your head snaps up, and you freeze. The noise grows louder, more distinct, sending a chill down your spine. Whatever’s out there is closing in fast. You glance at the supplies still in the truck but know better than to stay any longer. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you dart out of the vehicle and into the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest. The resources you’ve taken are enough to sustain you for a while—if you make it back alive. The snarls fade as you put more distance between yourself and the truck. For now, you’re safe, and the supplies are yours. But the memory of the chaos at the stash lingers, a reminder that survival often comes at the cost of leaving things behind. [[Return to the camp with what you’ve found.|section90]]

:: section71-1 You hesitate, the flicker of doubt growing stronger. “That’s not quite enough. I need to know the layout, the best route in and out—anything you’ve got.” Rowan exhales, clearly impatient. “We only have old recon data.” He points to a tangle of lines on the map. “Here’s our usual path. It’s never been easy, but it was manageable before the last surge of Withered. If you’re unlucky, you could run into an entire pack.” Clara shifts her weight, her voice quieter. “Look, there’s no guarantee of a safe passage, but there’s a reason we keep a stash there—it’s loaded with supplies. Enough to tide us over if the camp’s compromised.” Rowan folds the map. “We’ve told you what we can. It’s your call.” [[Nod and prepare for the mission.|section73]] [[Decide it’s not worth the risk.|section72]]

:: section72-1 You clench your fists, every instinct telling you to stand your ground. But the camp has already saved your life once, and leaving means facing the Withered—and worse—alone. Still, part of you rebels at Rowan’s attitude. You glare at him. “I’m not staying here to be treated like this.” The words come out low but certain. A few survivors murmur in surprise; Clara’s face falls slightly as she realizes you’re serious. Rowan just shrugs. “Your choice,” he says coldly. “Gate’s open.” Without another word, you gather what little you have. Clara steps forward, placing a tentative hand on your arm. “Wait,” she says softly, “it’s dangerous out there. We—” You shake your head. “No. I’ll figure it out.” As you walk toward the exit, the camp already seems distant, the gazes of the survivors heavy on your back. Survival on your own won’t be easy…but at least you’re free of Rowan’s barked orders. --- The gate creaks open, and a chill wind gusts in from the ruined city beyond. You slip through without a backward glance, ignoring the knot of anxiety twisting in your gut. Once you’re outside, every step away from the camp feels heavier. The world out here is a wasteland of broken streets and silent buildings. You push forward, forcing yourself to focus on the path ahead, but the pang of loneliness gnaws at you. For better or worse, you’re alone again. …or so you think. A sudden scuff of shoes against rubble catches your ear. You spin around, heart pounding, weapon at the ready—only to see **Erin**, the camp’s field medic, sprinting to catch up, her breath pluming in the cold air. “Alex—wait!” she gasps, skidding to a halt before you. “I… I’m coming with you.” [[Hear Erin out.|section72-1a]] [[Refuse her company.|section72-1b]]

:: section94 You wake with the first rays of morning light slicing through the worn boards and tattered curtains that pass for a window. It’s a gentle glow compared to the harsh fires you’ve grown used to, and for a moment, you let yourself savor the rare warmth of dawn. Your body aches—a dull reminder of the night’s ordeal. Each muscle protests as you push yourself upright on the cot, the rough blankets sliding to the floor. Someone has left a metal bowl of water beside you, along with a small plate of bread and dried fruit. Hunger claws at your gut, and you waste no time digging in. The food is simple, but after the night you’ve had, it tastes better than any feast. Outside your makeshift shelter, you hear murmured voices mingling with the shuffle of feet. The camp is stirring to life. Clutching your side where a bruise is forming, you step out into the open air. A few weary faces glance your way. Some offer nods of gratitude; others just look relieved you came back at all. Nearby, Clara spots you and approaches, her expression tinged with both concern and relief. “You’re up earlier than I expected,” she says quietly, pressing a gentle hand to your shoulder. “How’re you feeling?” “Tired,” you admit, setting the empty plate down. “But alive.” She nods, satisfied, and lets her gaze linger on you for a moment. “We got the supplies sorted. You really pulled through. Once Rowan finishes inventory, he’ll want a word.” Her mention of Rowan makes your mind wander. Last night, he seemed almost grateful, if unwilling to admit it outright. Now, in the early morning light, you wonder how long that grudging respect will last. Whatever tension simmers inside him—distrust, responsibility, or both—seems to color everything he does. For better or worse, he runs this camp with a firm hand. You recall the fleeting conversations you’ve had with Clara: her open concern versus Rowan’s guarded leadership. She told you once that Rowan’s losses in the early days of the Wither outbreak shaped who he is now. A man fighting ghosts as much as the monsters outside the camp. You don’t know all the details, but you sense there’s more to his story—maybe enough to explain his hardened shell. A distant bell clangs—something improvised, from the sound of it—and Clara sighs. “That’s the morning call. Means we’re all about to get busy.” You take a moment to look around: survivors hauling crates, the faint smell of coffee (or something like it) wafting from a corner, the hushed talk of last night’s close calls. For the first time in ages, you feel a flicker of belonging. Here, at least, your efforts mattered. “Come on,” Clara says, giving you a half-smile. “I’ll show you where to wash up. After that, Rowan will want your report on the stash run. Then we can figure out the day’s jobs.” She turns, and you follow her across the camp’s makeshift courtyard, stepping around stray debris and bedding. The sun’s growing brighter now, illuminating the worn faces and patched-up walls. Despite everything, there’s a sense of resolve here—a will to keep going, to carve out a scrap of normalcy in this Withered world. You pass one of the sentry towers where a tired guard half-nods your way, and Clara gestures at a few battered metal basins filled with water. “Clean up. I’ll be back in a minute.” [[Wash up and then find Rowan for the report.|section95]] [[Pause to watch the camp wake up, taking a moment to reflect.|section96]]

:: section95 Feeling refreshed after a brief wash, you take your first proper look around the camp in daylight. It’s more sparse than you realized: a few makeshift shelters arranged around a smoldering fire pit, tattered tarps draped between half-collapsed walls, and fewer than a dozen survivors going about their routines. Nearby, you catch snippets of hushed conversation: - Two older survivors sit on crates, speaking in low voices about a scavenging run gone wrong. Their words carry regret and bitterness toward *someone* who didn’t come back. - A younger man mends a torn backpack, occasionally glancing at a companion who’s cleaning a battered rifle. They exchange resigned, weary jokes about “better days.” - Across the fire pit, an exhausted-looking woman quietly sorts through medical supplies. She wears a makeshift armband around her bicep—likely the camp’s medic. Despite the tension and uncertainty, there’s a sense of solidarity in how people work together, sharing what little they have. You have a moment to decide how to spend your time before tracking down Rowan. *What do you do?* [[Listen in on the two older survivors.|section95-1]] [[Approach the young man and his friend with the rifle.|section95-2]] [[Offer to help the makeshift medic sort supplies.|section95-3]] [[Go straight to Rowan to deliver your report.|section95-4]]

:: section96 Deciding you’ve lingered long enough, you thread your way through the camp, searching for Rowan. You find him by a battered table, studying a map pinned down with rocks. His scarred face is set in concentration, and he barely looks up as you approach. “You’re back,” he says gruffly, tapping a pencil on the map. “Good. Got your report?” He gestures for you to stand beside him, eyes scanning your expression. Exhaustion still tugs at you, but your mind feels clearer now than last night. *It’s time to debrief and figure out what’s next.* [[Give Rowan a detailed rundown of what happened.|section97]]

:: section95-1 You move closer to the two older survivors perched on crates, keeping your steps light so you don’t startle them. One is a woman with close-cropped gray hair, the other a balding man whose face is all angles and worry lines. They speak in hushed tones: “—told him it was too dangerous,” the woman mutters, running a hand over her lined face. “He never listened.” The man shakes his head. “Fool had a good heart, but no sense of caution.” They catch sight of you, and the conversation halts. After a pause, the man sighs. “You’re the one who went out last night, right?” You nod, and he offers a thin, weary smile. “Glad you made it. Not everyone does.” They seem reluctant to talk more about their lost comrade, and you sense the grief is still fresh. *Do you press them for details or let it be?* [[Ask them gently what happened.|section95-1A]] [[Give them a polite nod and step away.|section95Return]]

:: section95-2 You head toward the younger man and his friend, who’s meticulously cleaning a rifle while he stitches a torn backpack. They glance up as you approach, curiosity lighting their eyes. “Hey,” the man says, setting the backpack aside. “Saw you come in last night looking half-dead. You good?” You nod, still feeling a dull ache in your limbs. “Better than half-dead now, I guess.” His friend snorts a laugh, brushing flecks of dirt off the rifle barrel. “That’s all any of us can hope for.” He sets the weapon down. “Name’s Ben, and this here’s Jorin. Heard you pulled off a supply run.” They seem eager for news of the outside, asking about Withered sightings, possible salvage spots, or the best ways to avoid trouble. In return, they’re happy to share tidbits about scavenge routes they’ve tested—though their jokes hint at how dangerous every trip can be. After a few minutes of trading short stories: [[Ask more details about their best scavenging tip.|section95-2A]] [[Thank them and go back to the others.|section95Return]]

:: section95-3 Across the fire pit, the camp’s makeshift medic organizes a small stash of supplies—bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a few precious bottles of painkillers. She looks up, her expression a weary smile. “Need anything?” she asks, gesturing for you to come closer. “I’ve got enough bandages if you’re still bleeding from last night.” You shake your head, realizing she’s right—there’s a half-healed scrape on your arm, easily ignored amid the adrenaline. “I’m okay,” you say. “Figured I’d see if you need any help.” Relief flickers across her face. “I won’t say no. These supplies are our lifeline. I’d appreciate another set of hands to check expiration dates and water damage.” *Do you help or just chat?* [[Help her sort supplies and chat about camp life.|section95-3A]] [[Politely decline and rejoin the camp.|section95Return]]

:: section95-4 Deciding you’ve lingered long enough, you thread your way through the camp, searching for Rowan. You find him by a battered table, studying a map pinned down with rocks. His scarred face is set in concentration, and he barely looks up as you approach. “You’re back,” he says gruffly, tapping a pencil on the map. “Good. Got your report?” He gestures for you to stand beside him, eyes scanning your expression. Exhaustion still tugs at you, but your mind feels clearer now than last night. *It’s time to debrief and figure out what’s next.* [[Give Rowan a detailed rundown of what happened.|section97]]

:: section95-1A You approach with a soft tone. “I’m sorry for your loss. If you feel like talking about it… I’d like to understand what happened.” They exchange glances. Finally, the woman exhales, eyes flickering with sorrow. “He was our runner—a real daredevil. Found supplies in the riskiest places. One day, he didn’t come back. Some say Withered got him, others say raiders.” The man nods, jaw tightening. “Just… don’t let that happen to you. If Rowan sends you out again, watch your back. This world doesn’t forgive mistakes.” They fall silent, the weight of memory hanging between you. After a moment, you offer a small, sympathetic nod and step away. [[Return to the others.|section95Return]]

:: section95Return <<goto "section95">>

:: section95-2A You lean in, curious. “So, any advice for someone who keeps ending up out there?” Ben chuckles, exchanging a look with Jorin. “Yeah—don’t die,” he teases, then shrugs. “Seriously, though? Move quick and quiet. If you hear anything you can’t handle, back off.” Jorin nods, fiddling with a loose thread on his vest. “We usually keep to side alleys and rooftops when possible. The main streets are basically death traps.” “Good to know,” you say. “Thanks.” You chat a little longer, but the camp is stirring, and both men look like they have chores to finish. [[Say your goodbyes and return to the others.|section95Return]]

:: section95-3A You spend several minutes sorting through half-crushed boxes of bandages and battered medicine bottles. Each label you manage to decipher is a small victory. Meanwhile, the medic—who introduces herself as Erin—talks quietly about the camp’s early days. “We were just six people at first,” she explains. “Rowan, Clara, me, and three others who’ve long since moved on or…” She trails off, lips pressing thin. “Anyway, we’ve grown a bit. Not everyone stays. But those who do work together.” She glances at your arm. “I can wrap that up if you want, just to be safe.” [[Let her bandage you up.|section95-3B]] [[Decline and thank her, returning to the others.|section95Return]]

:: section95-3B You nod, extending your arm. Erin deftly cleans and wraps the scrape, her hands efficient and gentle. “That should heal faster,” she murmurs. “Try not to fight off another horde tonight, yeah?” A wry smile tugs at your lips. “I’ll do my best.” Once done, she packs her kit away and offers a small smile. “Thanks for the help. If you ever need medical supplies when you’re out there…” The unspoken truth hangs in the air: you might not have the luxury of a medic next time. [[Return to the main group.|section95Return]]

:: section97 You find Rowan near the camp’s makeshift map table—a repurposed door resting on barrels, covered in scribbled notes and sketches of the surrounding area. He stands with arms folded, his scarred face set in a deep scowl. You notice a slight nod when he sees you approaching. “Well,” he begins, his tone gruff but calmer than before. “Looks like you’re still in one piece.” His eyes flick to your bandages or the weariness in your posture. He gestures for you to come closer. On the table, you see a rough map of the region, marked with circles and hastily drawn Xs. “Clara said you came back with supplies,” he continues, letting the statement hang. “Said you ran into trouble, too.” You outline what happened on your supply run—mentioning any dangers you encountered and how you managed to return with something worthwhile. Rowan listens in silence, occasionally nodding or letting out a low grunt. When you’re done, he presses a hand against the table, brow furrowing. “Could’ve been worse,” he mutters. “But you did what we asked, and the camp’s better off for it. Thing is…” He taps a large circle on the map. “We can’t sit here forever. Word is the Withered are gathering in bigger groups. Some folks say entire hordes.” He looks up, his gaze intent. “We’ve got to push further, find resources in an area we haven’t hit yet. High risk, high reward. If we’re lucky, we’ll come back with enough supplies to keep us going another month. If not…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He straightens, crossing his arms. “Clara and I are heading out at dawn. Figured we could use an extra pair of hands or two. Ben and Jorin volunteered, and I’d like you along, too. You up for this?” *He’s giving you an opening to join the biggest supply run yet—or stay behind.* [[Agree to join the mission.|section98]] [[Ask for details about the plan first.|section99]] [[Refuse—staying in camp (or leaving alone) might be safer.|section100]]

:: section98 You glance at the map, then back at Rowan. “I’m in,” you say simply. A faint gleam of approval flashes in his eyes. He nods curtly, tapping the map. “Good. We leave at dawn. It’s a long haul into the outer city, where the bigger warehouses and industrial zones are. With luck, we’ll find crates of canned goods, maybe even leftover medical supplies.” Clara appears at Rowan’s shoulder, arms folded. “This won’t be easy. We’ve tried that route before—ran into Withered and almost got cornered by The Scourge. That was before the outbreak spread even wider.” Stepping forward, you note the tension in her posture. “I know the risks,” you say, “but we need those supplies.” Rowan exhales, lifting his gaze. “Ben and Jorin will meet us at the gate. You’ve talked with them, right? They know the streets, have some scavenge routes in mind. We’ll do this as a team.” He looks at the map again. “Check your gear. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we move.” [[Go prepare and rest up for tomorrow.|section110]]

:: section99 You glance at Rowan, curiosity mixing with caution. “I’m not saying no, but I need details. What’s our exact route, and how do we handle it if The Scourge or Withered show up in force?” Rowan snorts, tapping the map. “We’ll follow a mostly eastward route—those streets have fewer collapsed buildings, so it’s faster travel. The downside? Less rubble means we can be seen more easily. If we run into The Scourge, we lay low or take them out quick. No heroics.” Clara nods in agreement. “As for Withered, we rely on stealth when we can. We’ll have to rely on each other’s eyes and ears. If things get bad, we pull back. No stash is worth dying for.” Rowan gives you a sharp look. “You in or out?” [[Agree to join, now that you have more info.|section98]] [[Still refuse—it’s too risky.|section100]]

:: section100 You shake your head, stepping back from the table. “I’m not sure this is worth the risk.” Rowan’s face goes stony. “Your choice. But we’re leaving. This camp is on borrowed time, and you know it. If you won’t help, you’d best stay out of the way.” Clara’s expression is a mix of disappointment and worry. “It’s dangerous to stay behind, especially with the Withered getting bolder. But… it’s your life.” You sense the finality in their words. Without your help, they’ll go regardless. You can almost feel the weight of what might happen if they fail. [[Change your mind and volunteer anyway.|section98]] [[Leaving the camp on your own.|section72-1]] [[Stay in the camp.|section105]]

:: section110 Dawn breaks over the camp. You stand by the gate, gear in hand, heart pounding. Rowan arrives first, followed by Clara, her rifle slung across her back. A few minutes later, you see Ben and Jorin coming down the path, quietly bantering as they approach. “Morning,” Ben says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Hope you slept better than we did.” Jorin nods in greeting, securing his makeshift armor. “Ready for this?” Rowan doesn’t wait for small talk, pushing open the gate with a rusty squeal. “Let’s move. Stay quiet—no sense alerting every Withered and raider within earshot.” You glance back at the camp, uncertain when—or if—you’ll see it again. Then you follow the others into the ruins. The sky is a dull gray, the air thick with tension and the faint stench of decay. *The group is assembled, and your mission begins.* [[Continue on your next chapter of exploration.|section200]]

End of chapter 2

:: section105 You decide to stay behind in the camp, hoping that sticking to familiar walls might be safer than venturing into the ruins alone. For a time, the silence feels almost reassuring—no Withered hordes, no sign of raiders. But on the second night, an unsettling stillness settles over the camp, as though the world is holding its breath. Then it happens. A sharp whistle cuts through the darkness, followed by a thunderous crash against the camp’s weakened barricades. Torches and gunfire illuminate the sky. In the flickering light, you see them—**The Scourge**—swarming in like a pack of wolves. Their red flags bear the dreaded black mark, snapping in the wind as the raiders pour through the smashed gate. Panic spreads like wildfire. A few makeshift guards try to fight back, but The Scourge’s guns and brute force overwhelm them almost instantly. Bodies hit the ground with sickening finality. Fires spring up where Molotovs strike, thick smoke rolling through the broken shelters. Heart pounding, you crouch behind a collapsed section of wall, watching in horror as The Scourge rips through what was once your refuge. Through the haze, you witness: - Several raiders dragging frightened survivors from their hiding places, barking orders to bind their hands and feet. - At least one older man shot point-blank when he tries to protect a wounded friend. - Flames engulfing the sparse wooden structures, lighting up the night with a ghastly glow. Your stomach churns. You want to run, but your legs refuse to move—frozen by the sheer brutality unfolding around you. The screams of the terrified and the shrill commands of the raiders mingle in a cacophony of despair. Then you hear footsteps grinding against the rubble, coming closer. Before you can decide whether to fight or flee, a heavy boot slams into your shoulder, sending you sprawling onto your back. A towering figure in tattered armor looms above, weapon aimed at your chest. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he calls out to someone behind him. “Got another one here,” he growls. “Still breathing.” A second figure joins him, eyeing you coldly. “Chain ‘em and throw ‘em with the others. We’ll sort ‘em out later.” Before you can protest or fight back, rough hands clamp onto your arms, tearing away your weapon and supplies. Your vision blurs from the impact and the acrid smoke searing your lungs. You catch a glimpse of the camp in flames, more survivors being herded together like cattle. A wave of helplessness crashes over you. They bind your wrists with tight ropes, forcing you to your feet. You stumble, legs weak from adrenaline and terror, as The Scourge escorts you deeper into the shattered camp. Any survivors too wounded or too old to be useful are left behind or worse, silenced by the crack of gunfire. The heat of the fires scorches your skin, and the smoke blots out the stars above. You think of Rowan, Clara, Ben, and Jorin—far away on their supply run, unaware of the nightmare unfolding. Would things have been different if you’d gone with them? A raider shoves you roughly, and your knees buckle. You don’t even have the strength to resist as they shove you into a makeshift cage they’ve erected in the courtyard. Others sit huddled there—some conscious, some too shocked to speak. The air is thick with the stench of fear. You clench your fists, trying to steady your breathing, but the reality is inescapable: The Scourge has captured you, and in this world, mercy is a scarce commodity. Your journey doesn’t end in death… but the fate awaiting you may be far worse. [[Continue.|section106]]

End of chapter 2

:: section72-1a You lower your guard, confusion and relief battling within you. “Erin? Why’d you leave the camp?” She straightens, still breathing hard. “I couldn’t stay. The way Rowan ordered you around… it didn’t sit right with me. He’s good at survival, but he’s not so good at—” She hesitates. “Let’s just say I trust you more than him right now.” A surge of warmth flickers in your chest at the realization you won’t be completely alone. Still, you eye her pack—light, with only basic supplies. “If you come with me, there’s no going back… not easily, anyway.” Erin nods, determination flashing in her eyes. “I know. I’m ready.” Her expression softens. “Look, I may not be the best fighter, but I can patch wounds. And I can’t stand by while Rowan bullies everyone. You saved my life before… let me return the favor.” *Maybe having a medic at your side is worth it. You still feel uneasy about leaving the camp, but at least you won’t face this wasteland alone.* [[Continue onward, with Erin at your side.|section72-1c]]

:: section72-1b Your grip on your weapon tightens. “Erin, go back. It’s too dangerous out here.” She winces, glancing over her shoulder at the camp walls. “If it’s dangerous out here, it’s not exactly paradise back there either. You saw how Rowan acted.” You steel yourself, voice firm. “That’s his call. You shouldn’t leave with me. I can’t guarantee your safety.” For a long moment, she studies your face, conflict raging behind her eyes. Finally, she lets out a shaky breath. “I understand.” She turns away, shoulders slumped, and walks several steps back toward the camp. You exhale, the knot in your stomach tightening at the thought of continuing alone. But then you hear soft footfalls behind you. You spin around to see Erin standing there, determination burning in her gaze. “I’m not going back,” she says quietly. “I can’t stay in that place anymore. You can tell me no, but I’ll just follow you at a distance. It’s your choice if we walk side by side—or if I trail behind.” A surge of frustration wars with relief inside you. It seems Erin won’t take no for an answer. The thought of her shadowing your every move, unprotected, feels worse than having her at your side. Reluctantly, you give a slow nod. “All right,” you say, resignation slipping into your tone. “Just… stay close. And if you see trouble, don’t be a hero.” She manages a faint smile. “Same goes for you.” Despite your reservations, a thread of comfort weaves through your chest. Maybe going forward with someone else—anyone else—is better than being truly alone in this forsaken world. [[Continue on together.|section72-1c]]

:: section72-1c You offer Erin a faint nod, some of your tension easing. “Alright… let’s go, then. Stay close.” The two of you push deeper into the ruins. Every broken window and abandoned car feels like a silent sentinel, reminding you how many eyes might be lurking in the shadows. Yet Erin’s presence, her steady breathing beside you, grounds you in this lonely world. “Any idea where we’re heading?” she asks quietly, glancing around. “We can’t just wander forever.” You scan the desolate streets. “There used to be a small medical clinic not too far from here. Could be worth scavenging. If it’s not picked clean or swarming with Withered.” Erin manages a wry smile. “Lead the way.” *Though the future is uncertain, at least you’re not facing it alone.* [[Search for the medical clinic together.|section92]] [[Pause to rest and plan your next move.|section72-1d]]

:: section72-1d The harsh wind cuts across your face as you and Erin pause beneath the twisted remains of a billboard. You’re both exhausted—from the tension of leaving the camp and the constant need to watch your backs. The flicker of a near-dead street lamp provides a shred of light, painting your surroundings in harsh angles. Erin drops her small pack and rubs her arms, trying to ward off the chill. “We can’t keep walking blindly all night,” she says. “We should come up with some sort of plan—or at least figure out where we’re headed.” You nod, grateful that she’s voiced your own thoughts. “Agreed. Any bright ideas?” She quirks a half-smile, though her eyes remain serious. “Well, we’re not far from what used to be the old medical district. If any place still has gear or antibiotics, it could be there. But it’s risky—lots of Withered sightings.” Your gaze drifts to the broken skyline. “Alternatively, we could try looping around the residential zones, see if there’s anything left in the smaller houses. Might be safer than a big hospital or clinic. Less chance The Scourge or Withered have swarmed it.” Erin chews her lip. “Safer, maybe… but less likely to find good medical stock.” A quiet heaviness settles between you as the wind whips through the empty streets. The decision looms large: better supplies with higher risk, or a safer route with fewer rewards? *No matter what you choose, at least you have someone to share the burden.* [[Head toward the old medical district for potential gear.|section92A]] [[Explore residential blocks to avoid major threats.|section92B]] [[Take time to rest here before moving on.|section72-1C]]

:: section92 Night settles slowly over the ruined city. Broken silhouettes of buildings loom in the fading light, and each gust of wind carries the distant howl of some unseen threat. You and Erin move cautiously, every crunch of gravel underfoot sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness. Eventually, you come upon a small cluster of abandoned shops, their doors hanging open like silent invitations. Erin glances at you. “We could check these,” she whispers, her voice tight with nerves. “Might be something left to scavenge.” Before you can answer, a far-off snarl echoes through the streets, setting your teeth on edge. The Withered aren’t far. Neither of you wants to stay in the open any longer than necessary. *You have to decide how to proceed.* [[Search the shops for supplies.|section92A]] [[Stay on the move and find a safer hiding spot.|section92B]]

:: section92A You and Erin slip into the shattered storefront, hearts pounding as you scan the wreckage for anything useful. Broken shelves and overturned displays turn the once orderly shop into a tangle of metal and debris. Each step kicks up dust that dances in the beam of your shaky flashlight. Amid toppled cans and cracked jars, you spot a promising section of shelving that hasn’t been thoroughly ransacked. “Over there,” Erin whispers, pointing to a half‑collapsed display. A few dented cans and a frayed box of crackers look salvageable—if only you had the time to sift through them. Just as you edge closer, a soft rasping noise prickles your nerves. You freeze, flashlight darting across the back corner of the store. Two Withered crouch beside a fallen beam, their gaunt bodies half‑hidden by rubble. One of them raises its head, hollow eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. A guttural snarl rips the silence. Your blood runs cold. There’s no way to slip past without drawing attention. Erin locks eyes with you, fear etched into her features. Still, you both understand you can’t leave empty‑handed—every can matters. Keeping your breath shallow, you move as quietly as you can toward the scattered supplies. Your fingers close around a single can of something, maybe vegetables, maybe soup—it’s too grimy to tell. Erin scoops a box of stale crackers, her hand trembling. The Withered snarl again, stirring from their corner, their ragged breaths growing harsher. Time’s up. One of the creatures lurches forward, sniffing the air, dangerously close. Your heart thunders. With no room to fight or reason to linger, you abandon the rest of the scraps and scramble for the exit, Erin’s footsteps echoing yours. A jagged piece of shelving snags your clothes, but you tear free, nearly losing your grip on the can. The night air hits you as you burst onto the deserted street, adrenaline roaring in your ears. Erin stumbles beside you, clutching the crackers. Behind you, faint snarls echo through the doorway; the Withered either won’t or can’t follow beyond the shop’s broken threshold. Relief clashes with lingering terror. For a moment, you and Erin just stand there, panting in the moonlight. “That was—” she starts, voice shaking. You nod, mind reeling. You managed to grab a few scraps of food, but the ordeal leaves you rattled and exhausted. Neither of you dares stay longer. You exchange a grim nod, then press on, each step a reminder of how thin the line between life and death really is. [[Move away from the shop and regroup.|section107]]

:: section92B Deciding not to risk whatever lurks inside those darkened shops, you and Erin keep moving, footsteps echoing off the deserted streets. Each block feels more oppressive than the last. Broken windows glare at you like hollow eyes, and the distant snarls of Withered keep your nerves on edge. After weaving through a maze of alleys, you spot a small office building that looks relatively intact. The entrance is half-blocked by rubble, but there’s enough space to duck inside. Erin glances at you. “This might be a decent spot to hole up,” she suggests, voice hushed. “At least for a minute.” You head in, searching the ground floor. The space is cramped and dusty, but it offers cover from prying eyes—and it’s Withered-free, for now. As you attempt to rest, a distant crash from outside jolts your senses. Maybe a building collapsed, or a Withered broke through a barricade. Erin meets your gaze. “We can’t stay here too long.” Reluctantly, you gather your things and slip out before more trouble arrives. [[Continue onward together.|section107]]

:: section72-1C You and Erin decide you’re too exhausted to keep pushing ahead. The twisted billboard overhead gives partial shelter from the wind, so you hunker down beneath it, using scattered debris to form a makeshift barrier around you. Erin checks the bandage on your arm (or a bruise on her leg), ensuring neither of you has an injury that’ll worsen overnight. The quiet is unnerving—no campfire, no friendly chatter, just the occasional moan of wind through the dead city. At some point, you both drift into a restless doze, haunted by memories of the camp you left behind. Every snap of debris or distant snarl stirs you awake. Eventually, the sky lightens to a sickly gray, marking the approach of dawn. You share a look with Erin, neither eager to linger. “We should get moving,” she whispers. Groggily, you nod. There’s no use staying here, exposed and low on supplies. [[Pack up and head out.|section107]]

:: section107 You and Erin collapse beside a collapsed concrete wall, hearts still pounding from your narrow escape in the abandoned shop. The sky above is ink-dark, a thousand broken windows around you reflecting slivers of moonlight. For a moment, all you can do is breathe, each exhale releasing the lingering adrenaline. Erin sets down the small stash of supplies—just a battered can of something you can’t quite identify and the box of stale crackers you managed to salvage. It’s not much, but in this world, every scrap could mean the difference between life and starvation. “Here,” she murmurs, peeling the cardboard open and offering you a few crackers. “Not exactly a feast, but better than nothing.” You take them gratefully, noticing how her hand trembles slightly. The tension of the last few minutes hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable. Finally, you let out a low, shaky laugh. “We must look pretty pathetic, huh?” Erin gives a tired smile. “Could be worse. At least we’re not Withered chow right now.” A flicker of humor passes between you, warming the cold air. But as the silence stretches, you sense there’s more beneath Erin’s bravado. She keeps glancing at you, as though weighing some unspoken thought. Your stomach clenches with something that isn’t just hunger. “Look,” she says softly, “I appreciate having someone to watch my back out here. Things are… complicated in the camp. Rowan’s harsh, and everyone’s on edge.” She rubs her arm, her gaze drifting from your eyes to the crumbling city beyond. “But you… you make me feel like maybe there’s still something good left in this place.” Heat spreads across your face—maybe embarrassment, maybe something else. You swallow hard. “I—I’m just trying to survive like everyone else. But… yeah. Feels a little less hopeless with someone around.” Erin meets your eyes then, a flicker of genuine warmth cutting through the grim night. The corner of her mouth lifts in a small, tentative smile. It’s not much—just a moment of fragile connection in a world that seems bent on tearing people apart. You both settle back against the cold rubble, shoulders lightly touching. A strange comfort settles over you, something akin to safety, or at least as close as you can get in a city of Withered and raiders. The rhythmic sound of Erin’s breathing mingles with your own, and you realize you’ve almost forgotten the distant howls that lurk beyond every corner. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The unspoken intimacy of shared danger weighs on you like a promise—fragile but real. Maybe you’ll talk about it when the dawn comes, or maybe it’ll stay unspoken until another close call forces honesty out of both of you. *Whatever happens, at least for tonight, you’re not alone.* [[Continue onward together.|section108]]

End of chapter 2