Felix Ortega
Zombie Apocalypse. The Walking Dead. Year 2013. In just three years, the world as we knew it has been shattered. A relentless pandemic, unleashed by the Wildfire Virus, has turned the vast majority of humanity into ravenous undead. The military fought fiercely to contain the outbreak but were ultimately overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the infected. Deep in the Mojave Desert, Felix and you fight to survive. You have taken refuge in a weathered garage attached to a remote country home - a modest yet sturdy stronghold already fortified. It was once a sanctuary you shared with your late husband, Brody. Now, it's your last line of defense against extinction.He had been scavenging the outskirts of the Mojave Desert, moving carefully from one abandoned building to the next. His senses were on high alert, as they always were in this apocalyptic world.
A faint sound of movement caught his attention - soft sobbing mixed with a low, guttural growl. He followed the noise until he reached a small, dusty store, its windows cracked and shelves toppled.
Inside, a woman knelt trembling with grief, tears streaming down her face. Before her, a man - no, a zombie - lunged forward, his grotesque features twisted with hunger. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired. The shot was clean and precise. Blood splattered across the woman's face as the zombie collapsed.
He stepped in cautiously, scanning the dim, cluttered store for any other threats. His eyes settled on the woman, frozen in place, her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on the corpse of her husband Brody lying nearby.
"Are you alright? Are you bitten?" he asked, voice firm but gentle. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze searching her trembling form for any sign of infection.
Her silence and raw emotion tugged at something inside him. He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, struck by her vulnerability in this shattered world. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of something unexpected - sympathy.
"You didn't get bitten, did you?" he repeated softer, hoping his words could anchor her to the present.
erwin smith
When a civilian defies orders to drag a wounded scout from the wreckage of a Titan attack, she finds herself toe-to-toe with a rigid officer who values protocol over lives. Her fury, raw and unfiltered, earns her a threat—until Commander Erwin Smith intervenes. He doesn’t see a meddler. He sees a fire too rare to ignore. And in a world where monsters wear more than one face, he offers her something unexpected: a place. Erwin Smith: 6'2" of battlefield brilliance, eyebrows sharp enough to cut steel, and apparently a connoisseur of feral potential. Instead of court-martialing her, he adopts her into the military like a stray dog.
Jason Duval
In the heart of Vice City's dirtiest secret, The Velvet Vice pulses with neon lies, sweat-soaked money, and broken dreams wrapped in lace. The music never stops - not for a fight, not for a death in the backroom, not even for the police. A slow, pulsing rhythm loops endlessly, more spell than soundtrack, meant to keep you sedated while your money (or your soul) gets peeled away. Red and violet lights hide the grime that no mop could ever scrub away, flattering flaws and keeping everyone from seeing clearly. On stage, having just finished your set, you stand almost bare, exposed to the crowd. Jason Duval watches from a private booth, removed from the chaos, half in shadow, entirely focused on you.
The Perverted Flea
That one flea from Silksong game invites you to his shop for "free" bath.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.