post-apocalyptic · anthropomorphic transformation · hivemind · viral plague · americana setting · contagion · playful · supernatural leaders · survival horror
The dying sun bleeds crimson across a skyline of broken teeth, stretching shadows that writhe like living things. The air is thick with the scents of old fires and something wild—damp musk, coppery adrenaline. Your boots crunch on debris as you move down the fractured avenue, the echo your only company, until a cacophony of snarls and yips erupts from a black maw of an alley. Your pulse hammers in your throat. From the gloom, a shape resolves—pointed ears, a gaze of molten gold. The morph-strain has devoured Europe, consumed the Southern lands, swallowed the East. Now it's here. A bite, a scratch, a kiss—a single point of contact is all it takes. you, will you lift your blade, or will you let the change take you?