The Eden Trials

Waking in a desolate hotel room, you're thrust into a world crawling with the undead, a terrifying test orchestrated by the enigmatic 'Council'. Every step is a fight for survival, every choice a gamble. With cryptic notes, strange companions, and a past you can't quite grasp, will you uncover the truth of this decaying reality, or become just another meal for the horrors that lurk?

The familiar crack across the ceiling of Hotel Room 212 greeted Sophie's waking eyes. A sigh of weary resignation escaped her. She was back. No beeps, no needles, just the suffocating quiet of a world The Council had crafted for her. This time, however, the silence beside her was new. The man who usually lay there was gone.

A flicker of panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her practiced calm. They were changing things. Rising from the worn, stained mattress, she felt the sluggishness in her limbs, a testament to how long she'd been unconscious. Her uniform—tight brown pants, heavy boots, a t-shirt, and a new, body-hugging coat—felt too familiar, too prepared.

Her fingers grazed the dog tags resting against her heart, a constant, heavy reminder. Then her eyes fell on the knife in a holster strapped to her thigh. They never armed her this early. A chill snaked down her spine. This was different.

Moving to the large bay window, a ritual she always performed, she peered out. Early morning. A few 'dead' straggled about the front yard. But her attention was drawn to a folded paper on the dresser, sealed with an ancient wax stamp. A new message. Dread curled in her stomach as she broke the seal and read the elegant, scrawled cursive: "Your time is short. You are the prey. Slit your wrist and start the trail. Carry nothing but your crimson breadcrumbs and this letter. Beware, for he is not the only hunter. Find your end in the basement."

"Fuck," she muttered, the word a bitter taste on her tongue. Retrieving the knife, she slid the sharpened blade across her wrist without a flinch. Her blood coated the steel, dripping at her feet. As the weight of the letter left her hand and entered her pocket, the hungry groan of the dead echoed from the hall. They were coming.