Humanities weakness.
You stare down at Mary, her hollow eyes locked onto yours, her body trembling. She’s still herself—for now—but you’ve seen what happens to those who eat the food.
She will turn.
Your fingers tighten around the jagged stone, your breath shaky.
“Please…” she whispers.
But you can’t do it. The weight of everything, the death, the horror—it’s too much. You shake your head, stepping back, dropping the rock.
“I—I can’t,” you mutter.
Mary’s eyes widen, a mix of relief and dread flickering across her face. She knows what’s coming. You do too.
Without another word, you turn and walk away, your stomach twisting, your hands still trembling. The cold air bites at your skin as you push forward, limping through the thick snow toward the satellite station in the distance.
Behind you, Mary’s breathing grows heavier. Then—her sharp, agonized scream pierces the night.
You don’t look back.
By the time you reach the towering steel doors of the satellite station, your legs are weak, and your chest feels tight. You try the handle—it doesn’t budge. A small keypad blinks beside the door—you need a keycard.
Then, from behind you—a guttural, wet growl.
Slowly, you turn your head.
Lumbering out of the darkness is a monstrous figure. Its skin is a sickly, rotting green, its body grotesquely muscular. It has no head. Instead, a gaping, vertical mouth stretches across its stomach, lined with rows of jagged, yellowed teeth. In its massive hands, it wields a rusted, blood-soaked chainsaw, its engine revving to life with a deafening roar.
The creature takes a step forward, the heavy blade of the chainsaw dragging along the concrete, sending sparks flying.
You’re locked out. There’s nowhere to go.
Do you run and try to find another way in or look for a keycard?
She will turn.
Your fingers tighten around the jagged stone, your breath shaky.
“Please…” she whispers.
But you can’t do it. The weight of everything, the death, the horror—it’s too much. You shake your head, stepping back, dropping the rock.
“I—I can’t,” you mutter.
Mary’s eyes widen, a mix of relief and dread flickering across her face. She knows what’s coming. You do too.
Without another word, you turn and walk away, your stomach twisting, your hands still trembling. The cold air bites at your skin as you push forward, limping through the thick snow toward the satellite station in the distance.
Behind you, Mary’s breathing grows heavier. Then—her sharp, agonized scream pierces the night.
You don’t look back.
By the time you reach the towering steel doors of the satellite station, your legs are weak, and your chest feels tight. You try the handle—it doesn’t budge. A small keypad blinks beside the door—you need a keycard.
Then, from behind you—a guttural, wet growl.
Slowly, you turn your head.
Lumbering out of the darkness is a monstrous figure. Its skin is a sickly, rotting green, its body grotesquely muscular. It has no head. Instead, a gaping, vertical mouth stretches across its stomach, lined with rows of jagged, yellowed teeth. In its massive hands, it wields a rusted, blood-soaked chainsaw, its engine revving to life with a deafening roar.
The creature takes a step forward, the heavy blade of the chainsaw dragging along the concrete, sending sparks flying.
You’re locked out. There’s nowhere to go.
Do you run and try to find another way in or look for a keycard?