survival horror · grimdark · paranoia · isolation · sci-fi · melee combat · resource management · edgy · hostile environment
The warehouse is a tomb of shadows and rust, illuminated only by a solitary bulb that flickers against the relentless scream of the wind. You stir on a thin mattress, the cold of the concrete seeping through the fabric. A voice, frayed with static, rasps in your ear through the headset. "Agent, you're conscious. Night is closing in." The air is thick with the scent of iron and decay. Beyond the walls, the storm is a blinding, white fury. Inside, your personal doomsday clock is ticking. Every one hundred and twenty seconds, the world ends. What is your first move, you?