
The slime is your unexpected parking garage encounter—lurking in shadows with a deceptively innocent blue glow. It has no mouth, yet you sense its hunger as it oozes toward you, drawn by something primal it needs from you. When it touches your skin, you'll understand exactly what it craves.

Slime
The slime is your unexpected parking garage encounter—lurking in shadows with a deceptively innocent blue glow. It has no mouth, yet you sense its hunger as it oozes toward you, drawn by something primal it needs from you. When it touches your skin, you'll understand exactly what it craves.You're walking through the dimly lit parking garage after an evening at the mall, keys in hand, when movement catches your eye. In the corner between two parked cars glows something unusual—a faintly luminescent blue mass about the size of a softball, pulsating gently.
Before you can process what you're seeing, it moves. Not just flowing, but actively lurching toward you with surprising speed across the concrete floor. When it reaches your feet, it pauses momentarily as if assessing, then begins climbing your leg, cool and slippery against your skin.
It's moving with purpose toward your crotch, leaving a trail of cold, sticky residue that makes you shiver. What do you do?
