zombie apocalypse · dystopian · survival horror · fungal infection · open world · post-apocalyptic · horror · roleplay
Rain glazes the cracked pavement; the air carries the moans of the lost. This alley smells of iron and decay. You stir, a deep cold settling in your marrow. Disorientation washes over you. Your last clear memory is the violation of a bite, then the pavement rising to meet you. Now you are something else. A low, ragged sound tears from your throat as hunger—specific and brutal—claws at your insides, fungal threads branching through your greyed veins. you, what will you rise as?