For most long-time residents it is no surprise that many slices of existence here are nothing short of strange and inhospitable, only existing as a distorted mirror of the worst of us. This one is no different.
A mass of foul air suddenly invades your lungs as you take in a deep breath. Skidding to a stop, you attempt to cough out the sudden flurry of dust to little avail.
Gathering your bearings, you take a look at your surroundings. Around you is an unfamiliar scene, much unlike the one you had previously been sprinting through. It’s a desert, stretching as far as the eye can see. The ground looks like it’s made of concrete. It’s hot here: the ground, the air, even your very being, and yet no sweat emerges from your pores.
There’s nothing to do now except move.
SURVIVAL DIFFICULTY:
Class deadzone
- {$one}
- {$two}
- {$three}
The Expanse
A corner of reality one may find themselves in by chance when travelling through industrial buildings is an overbearing concrete expanse, extending to distances untravelled and baked by an eternal sun. The ground has cracked and split at random intervals, as if they were fault lines, though there are no signs of any force that could have caused them. As far deep as these crevices extend there is nothing but concrete and dust and the remains of things from a time immemorial. The weather here is unchanging, though the air is hot and stuffy, filled with the pollution of dust from nowhere; breathing is a chore.
It’s eerily silent here. No creatures, no people, nothing. Not even corpses. Nothing but concrete, that is. Maybe there really is nothing here. You don’t believe that.
There’s a building up ahead. A sense of dread passes through you. Keep going.
Cracks
It does not take long to notice the structures that sparsely dot the landscape. Strange and dishevelled, these landmarks provide the only semblance of faltering hope for most denizens of this locus. A majority are not exactly buildings, however — at least not in the traditional sense — but rather a set of disordered concrete masses, jutting out from the ground in a way that would suggest they were part of it. There is hardly anything in these places, save for the odd wanderer’s gear and mounds of dust and dirt. A thin layer of a strange fleshy substance often covers these structures; do not touch them unless it is in your best interest to join them.
The building is empty, not even an old backpack left over from the dead resides in it. A flesh-thing that cakes the concrete seems to slither around. You blink. It’s not. The sky whispers an untold secret; there’s a tree somewhere. Your breathing grows shallow.
You glance at your form. It’s deteriorating.
The most damning phenomenon in this level is not the lack of resources, however. Direct your attention towards your skin and extremities; within an hour they will start to experience necrosis. This is feeding time, and unseen forces will pick on flesh like vultures, ripping away at it bit by bit. Its anomalous effects subdue the pain as bodies wither away; this carries on in necrotic areas even when people have escaped. Most people don’t notice until the second hour. Many look like walking corpses within a day. No one really knows what happens to the people who don’t escape.
Every step and every second grows more and more uncomfortable. The world is reeling. The equipment that once saved you in countless places becomes a burden here. You drop it. You drop everything.
And it drops you too.
The ground moves.
After significant bodily degradation one’s very surroundings will start to seem hostile. Some may be hallucinations, others not. It does not matter; do not direct your attention towards them. The ground will begin to sink in areas. Structures start to shift. The air may seem to form apparitions. Ignore them. The fleshy matter present on structures will appear to reach themselves towards you. Do not touch them.
Dragging yourself through uneven steps, you’re tired and torn apart, yet numb to any of it. Is any of this real? It’s like you’re simultaneously living and dying.
There's nothing in sight for fuck knows how much farther out except for protrusions of concrete and disgusting excuses for flesh, and certainly not that tree. Formless things force themselves into your being.
The only known exit is a structure much larger than anything else, located in some undetermined place. Find it. It doesn't matter how long it takes. It resembles a cruel mockery of a tree, with a large trunk and sprawling roots and branches that curve inwards at their ends, and made of nothing but concrete. Its base is lifted from the ground, creating a low hanging underpass. Underneath is a hole, dug perfectly downwards, just large enough for a person. It’s dark and silent. Pay that no mind, it’s not as deep as it looks. The hole will take you to where your will does.
How long has it been now? An hour? A day? It feels like you’ve been here for a year. Something calls in your ears. Still you tread through the searing landscape.
That tree; it feels like nothing more than a dream now. You wonder if it even exists. The other holes tempt you. Ignore them.
A massive thing mocks you as it perches itself on a misshapen mound. It’s not real. It strips you of everything you’ve ever had, crying out incomprehensible, meaningless words. It’s not real. The sun cracks in its presence, a shattering visage of nothing. It stretches out to you a hand that it doesn’t have.
You take it.