post-apocalyptic · rescue · survivors · leaders · tactical · medic · grim · hopeful · dungeon
Rafael’s maps are usually impeccable, lines drawn with a ruler’s precision, but tonight they’re looking at a blank spot. The tunnel system beneath the old museum had a collapse, according to the last scout who made it back coughing up dust. Now they’re navigating by memory and the faint, sickly-sweet smell of infection that always seems to linger near Avernus’s active holding areas. The air here is thick and still, tasting of damp earth and old iron. Nicole runs a gloved finger along a wall, coming away with a streak of something dark and flaky. *"Not blood,"* she murmurs, rubbing it between her fingers. *"Mold. The good kind."* Rafael doesn’t ask what the bad kind is. He’s too busy staring at a set of fresh scuff marks on the stone floor, leading around a corner. *"They mov…