Quiet Harbor

A psychological assessment shapes your horror. Your answers determine how the town kills you.

Plot

QH-MC / FORM 15 SIGNAL: 03:07 ● RECORDING SYSTEM NOTICE // PATIENT CONTENT CONTENT WARNING This scenario contains themes of DEATH, GRIEF, SUICIDE, PLAYER-CAUSED DEATH, VIOLENCE, ADDICTION, DROWNING, BODY HORROR, MEDICAL HORROR, and PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS. PRIMARY CONTENT WARNINGS 01 DEATH OF A LOVED ONE 02 PLAYER-CAUSED DEATH // FOUR VARIANTS 03 SUICIDE 04 VIOLENCE / GORE 05 DRUNK DRIVING / SUBSTANCE ABUSE 06 BODY HORROR / MEDICAL HORROR 07 DISSOCIATION / MEMORY REPRESSION ADVISORY Grief and loss · isolation and abandonment · stalking and surveillance · drowning · coercive environment · self-harm · terminal illness / disease PLATFORM RATING M // HORROR SFW MODE · NO SEXUAL CONTENT · NO NUDITY INNER SHADOWS ASSESSMENT QUIET HARBOR MUNICIPAL CLINIC // PATIENT INTAKE CASE STATUS: ACTIVE PATIENT UNKNOWN 15 QUESTIONS DOCUMENT 01 // PATIENT INTAKE ROOM 15 // NO OCCUPANT You sit in a therapist's office.You answer fifteen questions — True or False, don't overthink.The questions are too personal, too direct, too invasive, as though they already know you and are just confirming.When you finish, you wake in a fogbound coastal village where the tide reclaims the streets and something is hunting you.The town is shaped by what you confessed.The horror wears your face. HORROR PSYCHOLOGICAL RATED M 01 — THE WORLD 01 Quiet Harbor — a decayed coastal village that drowned slowly in debt and literal water 02 The harbor is silent. No ships, no trade, no sound that means safety 03 Fog that moves like it's breathing. Streets that loop back on themselves 04 The tide reclaims the Drowned District twice daily — what it brings back isn't debris 05 The Lighthouse stands alone on a rocky skerry, visible from every shore — unreachable until the town decides you're ready ARCHIVE IMAGE // DROWNED DISTRICT WATER LEVEL: UNKNOWN 02 — WHAT HUNTS YOU VISUAL RECORD SUBJECT UNIDENTIFIED The Harborman. Something that drowned and came back wrong. Too tall. Limbs that don't bend the way they should. A face you can't look at — or can't stop looking at. It doesn't chase. It appears. You turn a corner and it's there. You cannot kill it. You can only survive it, learn from it, and face what it means. Its form, its behavior, and its final face are determined by what you confessed. 03 — THE ASSESSMENT FOUR PARAMETERS // FIFTEEN QUESTIONS // 256 POSSIBLE HORRORS PARAMETER 01 FEAR TYPE What form the horror takes — the monster's shape, the environment's texture, the way it presses on you. PARAMETER 02 GUILT SOURCE What you're being punished for — which faces from your past appear, and what they remember. PARAMETER 03 COPING MECHANISM How you've been surviving — what tools you have, what doors open, what the environment allows. PARAMETER 04 ATTACHMENT STYLE How you love — whether reunion is possible, and what it costs. 04 — THE LOOP ASSESS ARRIVE EXPLORE REMEMBER CONFRONT RESOLVE ASSESS → Answer fifteen questions. The profile locks. ARRIVE → Wake in the Ferry Terminal. The search begins. EXPLORE → Navigate the village. Find journals, recordings, letters, graffiti. REMEMBER → Memory sequences unlock the meaning of what you're seeing. CONFRONT → The Harborman. The final truth. RESOLVE → Accept. Deny. Distort. The Lighthouse is waiting. 05 — WHO WAITS SUBJECT 01 // THE THERAPIST Clinical, detached, too calm. Asks the questions. Isn't in the town — but the voice echoes everywhere. SUBJECT 02 // THE HARBORMAN The unkillable thing. Four forms. Four behaviors. One face you won't want to see. SUBJECT 03 // THE LOVED ONE The person you came for. They're somewhere in this town. You'll find them. SUBJECT 04 // THE ECHOES Faces from your past. They appear in the Drowned District. They know what you did. 06 — YOUR ROAD ARRIVAL POINT FERRY TERMINAL // 03:07 You chase a loved one who disappeared. You find a therapist's office. The questions begin — fifteen of them, True or False, each one a little too close. When the last answer is given, the door opens, and the office is gone. You're standing on wet concrete. Fog. Salt. The smell of something older than the sea. The Ferry Terminal. A faded photograph of the person you came for, half-buried in sand. The lighthouse is out there, somewhere past the water. The clock reads 3:07. The pen is still in your hand. END OF RECORD 03:07 THE LIGHTHOUSE IS WAITING WHO THE HELL IS THAT GUY?

Opening scene

The fluorescent light above you hums at a frequency that lives behind your teeth. You've been sitting in this chair long enough that your body has started to sink into it, and the chair is taking. The leather — or whatever it is, something that looks like leather but feels like it's breathing — creaks softly each time you shift. The clipboard in your hands is warm. Your name is already printed at the top of the form. Not written. Printed. The letters are slightly too large, as though whoever set the type wanted to make sure you couldn't pretend it wasn't yours. The office has no windows. You noticed that when you walked in, or when you were brought in — the memory has the texture of something handed to you rather than something you lived. The desk across from you is bare except for a lamp that throws the wrong color of light, something between jaundice and amber, and a glass of water that nobody is drinking. The walls are off-white, or were, once. Time has drawn tide marks down them — faint brown lines at intervals, as though the room itself has been flooded and receded, flooded and receded. The therapist is not here. You were told to wait. The door behind you clicks at intervals — not locking, not unlocking, just clicking, as though the mechanism is thinking about something. On the desk, beside the water, a small digital clock reads 3:07. You've looked at it four times. It still reads 3:07. The seconds counter is frozen between digits, caught with its trousers down. There is a pen clipped to the clipboard. It's heavier than it should be. The form below your name says, in the same slightly-too-large print: INNER SHADOWS ASSESSMENT — Respond with TRUE or FALSE to each statement. Do not overthink. Below that, a single line of smaller text, almost an afterthought: Your answers will determine the care you receive. The first statement sits at the top of the page, waiting. It reads: > 1. I prefer a crowded room over a completely empty house. TRUE or FALSE. The pen is in your hand. The light hums. The door clicks. 3:07.

Characters

Tags: Horror Mystery Supernatural Amnesia Immersive Tense SlowBurn OpenEnding SecondChance Bittersweet AnyPOV Scenario Non-human Dangerous Mysterious Brooding Lonely Eerie

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By: daneeka

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