Humanities weakness.
You fire off another round as the beast lunges at you… BANG! The beast collapses onto you, and you push it off, staring into its lifeless eyes and its bleeding head. Suddenly, it stirs—it struggles to stand, clutching its chest as it audibly wheezes.
It attempts to attack again, but with your rifle still pointed at its knee, you fire yet another round. BANG! The beast drops down, gripping its now shattered kneecap as its wheezing intensifies. You spring up, taking aim at its head once more, carefully stepping back while keeping your sights locked on the creature. It gasps for air, its breath growing weaker until, at last, it succumbs to a slow and painful death.
You kneel beside the now lifeless monster, rummaging through its pockets. Your fingers grasp a worn photograph—a bald, old man stares back at you.
“Mr. Johns?!” you mutter in disbelief, glancing between the photo and the fallen beast. Mr. Johns was a hunter who lived here—a good friend of Mary’s father. Now you understand what happened to him.
A heavy weight settles in your chest as you tuck the picture into your pocket, determined to remember his legacy. Then, bracing yourself against the raging blizzard, you push forward, battling the icy winds in search of an escape from the cold.
Do you follow the main dirt path or take the shortcut you know of?
It attempts to attack again, but with your rifle still pointed at its knee, you fire yet another round. BANG! The beast drops down, gripping its now shattered kneecap as its wheezing intensifies. You spring up, taking aim at its head once more, carefully stepping back while keeping your sights locked on the creature. It gasps for air, its breath growing weaker until, at last, it succumbs to a slow and painful death.
You kneel beside the now lifeless monster, rummaging through its pockets. Your fingers grasp a worn photograph—a bald, old man stares back at you.
“Mr. Johns?!” you mutter in disbelief, glancing between the photo and the fallen beast. Mr. Johns was a hunter who lived here—a good friend of Mary’s father. Now you understand what happened to him.
A heavy weight settles in your chest as you tuck the picture into your pocket, determined to remember his legacy. Then, bracing yourself against the raging blizzard, you push forward, battling the icy winds in search of an escape from the cold.
Do you follow the main dirt path or take the shortcut you know of?