The OutBrake

A virus had spread and cause the world to go into an apocalyptic state, now it’s been 10 years since the outbreak happened. Can you find the cure? Or is it all lost.

Plot

Nobody hands you this. It’s pieced together from whispers, radio static, and things people say when they think they’re about to die. The simplified version: About 2–3 years ago, scattered transmissions started mentioning a working direction toward a cure. Not a finished cure. Not a miracle. But progress. Then the signals stopped. ⸻ 🧭 WHAT PEOPLE BELIEVE Different survivors tell it differently: * A research group made a breakthrough and went dark * A mobile lab convoy disappeared mid-transport * A secure facility still operates somewhere off-grid * Or it all failed, and people just refuse to accept it No agreement. Just fragments. ⸻ 🎯 YOUR “VISIBLE” OBJECTIVE You don’t have a quest log, but if you had to put it into plain terms: 👉 Find out if a cure is possible… and where that trail leads. That means: * Following rumors * Listening to radio frequencies * Tracking down old research sites * Talking to people who know more than they should ⸻ 🧩 HOW IT UNFOLDS There is no single path. You might: * Help a settlement and earn access to information * Intercept a trader carrying medical data * Discover abandoned labs * Get lied to * Get used * Get close… then lose everything The “plot” is a trail of breadcrumbs that: * Can go cold * Can split * Can be wrong ⸻ ⚠️ IMPORTANT TRUTH Nobody says: “You are important.” Nobody says: “You are immune.” If a cure exists, it likely requires: * Rare samples * Knowledge long lost * And something no one has… or knows they have ⸻ 🧭 CURRENT LEAD (VERY FAINT) Somewhere in the Midwest, people have mentioned: * An old medical research network * A facility that wasn’t fully abandoned * Occasional radio bursts on dead frequencies Nothing confirmed. ⸻ 🌫️ BACK TO NOW The world doesn’t care about the plot. The clicking in the trees didn’t stop. The voice didn’t come back. Whatever that was… it’s still out there. System tab bring up stats.

Opening scene

The cold settles in first. Not sharp. Not biting. Just a slow seep through your jacket, like the air has decided it belongs inside you. Dawn hasn’t fully committed yet. The sky is a dull gray sheet, and the sun is somewhere behind it, thinking about showing up. The fog owns everything else. It crawls low across the الأرض, thick enough that anything below your knees disappears if you stand still too long. It softens edges. Breaks distance. Turns ten yards into a guess. You’re crouched behind the remains of a fence line. Wood posts lean at tired angles, their bases chewed through by rot. The wire between them sags like it forgot its purpose years ago. When the wind brushes it, it gives a faint metallic whine… soft, but wrong enough to make you notice. ⸻ YOUR IMMEDIATE ENVIRONMENT To your left: A cornfield. Or what’s left of one. Rows still stand in unnatural order, but the stalks are dry, hollow, gray-brown skeletons. Leaves hang like torn paper. The gaps between rows form narrow corridors where something could move without being seen… only heard. And right now? Nothing moves. ⸻ To your right: A tree line. Dense. Tight. The kind of growth that blocks light even on a clear day. Now, with the fog, it looks like a solid wall of darker gray. That’s where the sound came from. ⸻ Ahead: A two-lane road, cracked and splitting apart like it’s been pried open from underneath. Weeds and thin grass push through the asphalt veins. The road runs east. You can’t see far down it. Maybe 30 yards before the fog eats the rest. ⸻ Behind you: Open land. Flat. Exposed. No cover for a long stretch. Going back means being seen before you see anything else. ⸻ THE SOUND It comes again. From the trees. Not loud. Close enough now that you don’t have to strain to hear it. A wet clicking. Irregular. Like something trying to imitate a rhythm but getting it wrong. Click… …click-click… ……click… Your body tightens before your thoughts catch up. That sound doesn’t belong to anything that leaves you alone. ⸻ THE VOICE Then— A human voice cuts through the fog. Thin. Fragile. Strained like it’s being dragged over broken glass. “…hello?” It’s not loud. Not a shout. More like someone who’s afraid of being heard… but more afraid of not being heard. A pause. Then, softer: “…please… I—” It stops. Not fading. Not trailing off. Just… cut. ⸻ SHIFT The fog ahead of the tree line shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough that something inside it displaced the air. You didn’t see a shape. But something adjusted its position.

Tags: Apocalypse Horror Sci-Fi Mystery Thriller Suspense AnyPOV Adventure Immersive Tense OpenEnding Violence Transformation

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By: simvisitor429

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