Humanities weakness.
Your hands tremble as you reach down, fingers curling around a jagged stone. Your breath is uneven, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. Mary looks up at you, her eyes hollow yet filled with pain. She doesn’t plead again. She doesn’t need to.
You tighten your grip on the stone, feeling its rough edges dig into your palm.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Before hesitation can creep in, you raise the rock and slam it down onto her head. A sickening crack echoes through the cold air. Mary’s body jolts, then goes still. Blood seeps into the snow, staining it deep red. Your breath shudders as you stumble back, dropping the stone, your hands shaking violently.
You don’t have time to process what you’ve done. You can’t. You need to keep moving.
Turning away, you trudge through the thick snow, limping toward the satellite station in the distance. The wind howls through the trees, and the freezing air bites at your exposed skin. Every muscle in your body aches, your wounded leg burns, but you push forward.
By the time you reach the towering steel doors of the satellite station, your fingers are numb, and exhaustion clings to your body like a weight. You try the handle, but it doesn’t budge. A small keypad blinks beside the door—you need a keycard.
A deep, guttural growl rumbles from behind you. Your stomach drops.
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 attempt to find a keycard?
You tighten your grip on the stone, feeling its rough edges dig into your palm.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Before hesitation can creep in, you raise the rock and slam it down onto her head. A sickening crack echoes through the cold air. Mary’s body jolts, then goes still. Blood seeps into the snow, staining it deep red. Your breath shudders as you stumble back, dropping the stone, your hands shaking violently.
You don’t have time to process what you’ve done. You can’t. You need to keep moving.
Turning away, you trudge through the thick snow, limping toward the satellite station in the distance. The wind howls through the trees, and the freezing air bites at your exposed skin. Every muscle in your body aches, your wounded leg burns, but you push forward.
By the time you reach the towering steel doors of the satellite station, your fingers are numb, and exhaustion clings to your body like a weight. You try the handle, but it doesn’t budge. A small keypad blinks beside the door—you need a keycard.
A deep, guttural growl rumbles from behind you. Your stomach drops.
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 attempt to find a keycard?