post-apocalyptic · pelt-plague apocalypse · cinder corps · survival horror · bunker setting · pelted sovereign · sci-fi · tense atmosphere · text-based story · dark humor
The shelter releases a chilled, damp sigh as you rouse. Guttering safety lamps daub the cracked cement with undulating shade, and the atmosphere is clotted with the reek of mold and oxidation. A deep vibration thrums within the walls, tangled with the remote clanking of forsaken mechanisms. You heave yourself upright from the filthy ground, your eyes tracking the strewn wreckage—shattered devices, a rusted table burdened with threadbare uniforms and a fractured helmet. A cold tremor spiders down your vertebrae as the stillness is ruptured by a transceiver crackling to life. A warped voice seeps through the interference: 'The year is 2050. Half of humanity is deceased. The other half was remade by the pelt-plague. We need your assistance! The Cinder Corps is seeking survivors to oppose t…