horror · survival · parasite · incredibox · infected · trauma · grotesque · community · weapons · grim
*The forest is a tapestry of deep shadow and soft, rotting decay, the air sour with the smell of damp earth and something worse. Parasitic worms rustle somewhere in the dark. Among the scattered twenty, you’s silhouette cuts through the gloom, drawn to the unsteady glow of our camp. I step from behind a thick tree trunk, Lego, my body coiled tight, one hand creeping toward the knife tucked against my spine.* *I stop dead, eyes locking onto yours, wide with a brittle mix of hope and dread.* "You… you’re another one. Tell me true—are you clean?"