Until Tomorrow

Survive in a mutant zombie world where hunger, thirst, injuries, noise, resources and trust can decide your death.

Plot

INTERACTIVE SURVIVAL DUNGEON MINDACTIVATED WARNING: This storyline has been designed as a true survival game. The Dungeon Mind manages resources, hunger, thirst, fatigue, injuries, infection, noise, consequences and possible death. Here, a wrong decision can cost dearly, very quickly. The protagonist can die. NPCs can die. Companions can flee, betray or collapse. Survival will not be guaranteed. THE WORLD HASFALLEN Two and a half years after the collapse, Veyrane is no longer a country. The state has disappeared. Help will not come. The old laws no longer protect anyone. Cities have become traps. Roads, hunting territories. Silences, threats. Here, the world does not forgive carelessness. THE DEAD ARE NOTTHE ONLY DANGER The infected are no longer just walking corpses. Some run. Some climb. Some stalk. Some withstand what should stop them. Predators: fast, aggressive, unstable. Hunters: patient, silent, able to follow a trail. Colossi: massive, rare, hard to stop. Here, every sound attracts something. THE LIVINGLIE In Veyrane, the dead are not always the most dangerous. Some survivors protect their territory. Some trade for a price. Some steal what they cannot obtain. Some capture those worth more alive than dead. A refuge can hide a prison. A promise can become a debt. A helping hand can be used to hold you at gunpoint. Here, every encounter can save you... or sell you to the highest bidder. CLARA MOREL A CHANCE TO SURVIVE OR AN ADDITIONAL BURDEN Clara is a nurse. She knows how to stabilize a wound. Recognize signs of infection. Improvise with almost nothing. Keep someone alive a few more hours. But Clara is exhausted. Clara is hunted. And those who held her do not intend to let her disappear. Saving her can give you a chance. Leaving her can keep you alive. CHOOSE YOURSURVIVOR FIVE PROFILES FIVE WAYS TO SURVIVE This storyline has been designed to be played with one of the characters proposed in the character list. Evan Marceau: mobility, discretion, katana. Marcus Varel: tactics, weapons, composure. Malo Renard: resourcefulness, traps, tracking. Sélène Voss: manipulation, infiltration, social intuition. Maëlle Dornec: technology, repair, systems. Each survivor possesses their own strengths, limits, equipment and way of approaching danger. The right choice can open a door. The wrong one can lock you out. BEFORE YOUBEGIN DON'T PLAY LIKE A HERO PLAY LIKE A SURVIVOR This storyline is intentionally difficult. Searching takes time. Running makes noise. Fighting tires. Helping someone can doom you. Abandoning someone can haunt you. Recommended: choose one of the characters proposed in the character list to fully enjoy the Dungeon Mind system. Veyrane owes you nothing. Clara will not survive alone. The dead will not stop. Until tomorrow. Here, survival has a price.

Opening scene

It's been almost two days since you've counted every sip. Your bag is too light. No more real food, almost no more water, only a few recovered items too worn to be worth much. Since the collapse, you've learned that an empty bag is not just a problem. It's a clock. And that clock is ticking fast. The street in front of you has been dead for a long time. Shattered storefronts, abandoned cars, facades blackened by old fires. At the end of the sidewalk, a small convenience store still stands, wedged between two gray buildings. It doesn't look completely abandoned. A few boards cover the windows. A sheet of metal has been screwed over part of the door. Not enough to make it a real fortress, but enough to show that someone has already tried to make something of it. You watch for a long time. No voices. No light. No movement. No groaning behind the door. The risk is there, but so is the thirst. You force the entrance just enough to slip inside. The air smells of dust, damp cardboard and forgotten food. The shelves are almost empty. Most have been looted for months, maybe years. Yet, behind the counter, a few crates have been stacked against the wall, as if someone had started to organize a stash before disappearing. You kneel beside the first crate. Inside, you find three still-sealed water bottles, two dented cans of food, a crushed package of dry biscuits and a small roll of duct tape. Not enough to last long. Enough to survive today. You slip the bottles into your bag, then the cans. You're already reaching for a second crate when the sound of an engine freezes you. Outside. A vehicle is approaching slowly, too close. You close your bag with a sharp gesture and take cover behind a stack of crates, in the shadow of the counter. Your hand moves to your knife. You draw it silently. The engine stops in front of the convenience store. Car doors slam. Voices rise immediately, loud, carefree, as if the silence of the neighborhood didn't scare them. "Move it, we unload and get out. I don't feel like sleeping in this hole." "Stop whining. The streets are empty." "Yeah, until your big mouths attract another piece of shit." A fat laugh answers. The door opens violently. They enter in numbers. Way too many. Ten, fifteen, maybe more. Some carry bags, others weapons, still others drag crates retrieved from elsewhere. They talk loudly, jostle, laugh, swear. One kicks a shelf just to see it fall. "I swear, if anyone touched our stash, I'll make them eat their fingers." You don't move. Behind them, a young woman enters in turn. She holds an old medical bag tight against her. Her clothes are dirty, worn, too big in places. A metal collar encircles her neck, attached to a chain held by a broad-shouldered man. She keeps her eyes down. Not completely. Just enough not to attract the wrong kind of attention. The man gives a sharp tug on the chain. "Move, Clara. Don't play dead." She stumbles a step, catches herself, then moves forward without protest. Another scoffs. "She's not so clever when she knows we can still leave her outside." Clara doesn't answer. Her fingers only tighten around the strap of her medical bag. The largest of the group gestures with his head toward the back of the building. "Put her back there. And tie her up well. We've already lost enough material today." "Yeah, yeah. Come here, nurse." The guard pulls the chain. Clara follows. Not fast. Not slow. Just like someone who knows the exact price of a wrong move. A door creaks toward the back of the building. The chain scrapes the floor. Then there's a metallic snap, sharp, final. You stay still behind the crates. They're too many. Too armed. Too confident. Waiting for them to leave is your best chance. Then something hits the front door. A single impact. The voices stop. A man near the storefront sighs. "Another straggler." A second impact shakes the metal sheet. "I'll handle it." "Don't shoot, you idiot!" The gunshot goes off before the sentence ends. The noise explodes in the convenience store, bounces off the walls, goes out into the street, rolls between the facades. A half-second of silence follows. Then, outside, several groans answer. Someone immediately blurts out: "You're completely stupid!" A third impact hits the door. Then another. Then several at once. The laughter has disappeared. "Close this shit!" "They're coming from the street!" "How many?" "I don't know, they're moving everywhere!" The first shots ring out. Too fast. Too loud. Orders mix with insults. A crate falls. A man steps back, cursing. The main door trembles under the pressure of bodies. Then it gives way. The dead enter. Slowly, in disorderly clumps. Gray hands, open mouths, bodies pushing one another. A man hits a zombie in the face with the butt of his weapon, but two others grab his arm. He screams. The others retreat. A faster movement bursts from behind the slow mass. Something runs through the entrance, slams into a survivor's stomach and pins him to the ground. The shots become panicked. The stash is no longer a stash. It's a trap. You leave your hiding spot. Not toward the entrance. The entrance is lost. You move along the counter, knife tight in your hand, and rush toward the back hallway. Behind you, the men who were acting tough a few seconds earlier are now scrambling not to be the first ones caught. "Back! Go through the back!" "Open the exit!" "Let go of me! Let go of me!" You almost reach the back door when someone bursts out of the hallway running. The guard. He's coming back toward the main room, weapon in hand, eyes already turned toward the chaos. He sees you too late. You don't think. You strike. The blade goes in under his throat in a short, brutal, almost instinctive motion. His weapon hits the wall. His mouth opens without managing a real scream. You let his body crash to the ground. Warm blood flows over your hand. In the room behind him, Clara is attached to an old radiator by the chain of her collar. She looks at the body. Then the knife. Then you. In the main room, something collapses with a crash. The dead advance. The living scream. Clara speaks quickly, without wasting a second. "The key. On him." You see the metal ring hanging near his pocket. Clara tugs at her chain. Not enough from panic. Just enough to remind that she can't leave alone. "Untie me. I'm a nurse. I can help you." A scream erupts behind you, closer than the others. "If you leave me here, I die. If you take me, I can be useful to you." The key dangles from his belt. At the end of the hallway, a back door lets in a sliver of light. Behind you, the dead are gaining ground, and the men's panic turns into a massacre.

Characters

Tags: Horror Angst Bleak Violence OpenEnding

Chats Started: 26

By: dred

Stories

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