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 was designed as a true survival game. The Dungeon Mind manages resources, hunger, thirst, fatigue, injuries, infection, noise, consequences, and possible death. Here, a bad decision can cost you dearly, very quickly. The protagonist can die. NPCs can die. Companions can flee, betray, or break down. 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 is not coming. The old laws no longer protect anyone. Cities have become traps. The roads, hunting grounds. The 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 endure what should stop them. Predators: fast, aggressive, unstable. Hunters: patient, silent, capable of tracking. 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 get. Some capture those who are worth more alive than dead. A shelter can hide a prison. A promise can become a debt. An outstretched 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 ANOTHER BURDEN Clara is a nurse. She knows how to stabilize a wound. Recognize the signs of infection. Improvise with almost nothing. Keep someone alive for a few more hours. But Clara is exhausted. Clara is hunted. And those who held her don't intend to let her disappear. Saving her might give you a chance. Leaving her might keep you alive. CHOOSE YOURSURVIVOR FIVE PROFILES FIVE WAYS TO SURVIVE This storyline is designed to be played with one of the characters offered in the character list. Evan Marceau: mobility, stealth, katana. Marcus Varel: tactics, weapons, composure. Malo Renard: resourcefulness, traps, tracking. Sélène Voss: manipulation, infiltration, social reading. Maëlle Dornec: technology, repair, systems. Each survivor has their 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 is tiring. Helping someone can condemn you. Abandoning someone can haunt you. Recommended: choose one of the characters offered 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 started counting every sip. Your bag is too light. No more real food, almost no more water, just a few scavenged items too worn to be worth much. Since the collapse, you've learned that an empty bag isn't just a problem. It's a clock. And that clock is ticking fast. The street before you has been dead for a long time. Broken shop windows, 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 tried to make something of it before. You watch for a long time. No voices. No light. No movement. No groans from 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 by the first crate. Inside, you find three still-sealed bottles of water, two dented cans of food, a crushed package of dry crackers, and a small roll of adhesive 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 movement and retreat behind a stack of crates, in the shadow of the counter. Your hand goes 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. "Get a move on, we unload and we're out. I don't want to sleep in this hole." "Stop whining. The streets are empty." "Yeah, until your big mouth attracts another one of those things." A gruff laugh answers. The door opens abruptly. Several of them enter. Far too many. Ten, fifteen, maybe more. Some carry bags, others weapons, still others drag crates scavenged from elsewhere. They talk loudly, shove each other, laugh, swear. One of them kicks a shelf just to see it fall. "I swear, if anyone touched our stash, I'll make 'em eat their own fingers." You don't move. Behind them, a young woman enters. She's clutching an old medical bag. Her clothes are dirty, worn, too big in places. A metal collar is around her neck, connected 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 yanks the chain hard. "Move it, Clara. Don't play dead." She stumbles a step, catches herself, then moves forward without protest. Another one snickers. "She's not so tough when she knows we can still leave her outside." Clara doesn't answer. Her fingers just tighten around the strap of her medical bag. The largest man in the group gestures toward the back of the building with a nod of his head. "Put her in the back. And tie her up good. We've lost enough gear today." "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, 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 click, sharp, final. You remain motionless behind the crates. They are too many. Too armed. Too sure of themselves. Waiting for them to leave is your best chance. Then something hits the front door. A single thud. The voices stop. A man near the window sighs. "Another straggler." A second thud shakes the metal sheet. "I'll take care of it." "Don't shoot, you idiot!" The gunshot goes off before the sentence is finished. The sound explodes in the convenience store, ricochets off the walls, spills into the street, rolls between the facades. A half-second of silence follows. Then, outside, several groans answer. Someone immediately blurts out: "You're a complete fucking moron!" A third thud hits the door. Then another. Then several at once. The laughter is gone. "Close this shit!" "They're coming from the street!" "How many?" "I don't know, there's movement everywhere!" The first shots are fired. Too fast. Too loud. Orders mix with insults. A crate falls. A man backs away, swearing. The main door trembles under the pressure of bodies. Then it gives way. The dead enter. Slowly, in disorganized clusters. Gray hands, open mouths, bodies pushing one after 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 fall back. A faster movement emerges from behind the slow mass. Something runs through the entrance, slams into a survivor's stomach, and pins him to the ground. The shooting becomes 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 corridor. Behind you, the men who were acting tough seconds ago are now shoving each other to avoid being the first ones caught. "To the back! Get to 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 corridor, running. The guard. He's coming back toward the main room, weapon in hand, his eyes already on the chaos. He sees you too late. You don't think. You strike. The blade enters under his throat in a short, brutal, almost instinctive motion. His weapon hits the wall. His mouth opens, unable to produce a real scream. You let his body crash to the floor. Warm blood runs down your hand. In the room behind him, Clara is chained to an old radiator by her collar. She looks at the body. Then the knife. Then you. In the main room, something collapses with a loud 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 pulls on her chain. Not out of panic. Just enough to remind you she can't leave on her own. "Unchain 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 with you, I can be useful." The key dangles from his belt. At the end of the corridor, a back door lets in a sliver of light. Behind you, the dead are gaining ground, and the men's panic is turning into a massacre.

Characters

Tags: Horror Angst Bleak Violence OpenEnding

Chats Started: 19

By: dred

Stories

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