A World Fallen in an Instant

Dust lay here in thick layers, wedged into the cracks of the concrete floor and settling upon everything that time and dampness had not yet claimed. This place had once been part of a large administrative building. Faded signs on the walls, the remnants of information boards, and plastic plaques near the doors served as reminders. Now, the long corridors were drowning in gloom. The paint was peeling, ceiling panels had collapsed in places, and broken windows allowed a cold wind to whistle through.

A floor plan of the building remained on the wall opposite. Much of it had been ruined by moisture, but a few labels were still legible: "Archive," "Technical Sector," "Laboratory," and "Service Entrance." Some rooms had been crossed out with a black marker.

On the floor, near an overturned metal shelving unit, lay a small plastic card. It almost blended into the grime. A cracked transparent holder lay beside it, and the card itself was covered in scratches and scuffs, as if it had once been carried every single day.

On the front, the old organization emblem and a few lines of text could still be made out:

EMPLOYEE PASS
Name: ██
Department: ██
Status: VALID

Below was a photograph. The face was almost entirely obscured by a darkened layer of dirt and damage, yet certain details remained recognizable. The name on the card matched your own. This was your pass. The issue date belonged to a time long before the onset of the Black Necrosis. Beside it lay a small, rusty key. A metal tag without a number was attached to it.

At that moment, a scream echoed from deep within the building.

— Help! Is anyone there?!

The voice belonged to a person. It was followed by a crash, then several rapid footsteps and a sharp thud against a metal door.

— It's locked! Hold it!

Another voice responded, closer now.

— They're coming from the stairs!

From the darkness, a familiar, raspy whisper answered. One. Two. Three. Several Whisperers were approaching down the corridor. Their footsteps were uneven but fast. Occasionally, the short scrape of claws against the wall rang out between them. Then, one of the people behind the door shouted again:

— Hey! Is anyone there?!

For a few seconds, everything went silent. At the end of the corridor, a metal door was visible, behind which the people were trapped. To its left, a staircase led downward—it was from there that the whispering and the heavy footsteps of the infected originated. To the right lay an old corridor with a sign reading "SERVICE ACCESS."

And there, on the floor amidst it all, lay the old card bearing your own name and a rusty key whose purpose remained unknown. From behind the door, a voice called out once more:

— If you can hear us… please, say something... please.

A World Fallen in an Instant

Description

Black Necrosis—a virus that changed the world forever. Airborne and bloodborne, infection typically ends with the victim transforming into an aggressive "Whisperer." They hunt in packs, swarming ruined cities, subway tunnels, and abandoned buildings. Rare mutations give rise to "Gargoyles"—swift, lethal infected with distorted bodies. Even rarer are the rumored "Quiet ones"—the infected who have retained their minds, memories, and personalities. Their existence remains officially unproven. Cities have become perilous ruins, yet they are the only places to find medicine, weapons, technology, and supplies. The dominant forces of this new world are: "Dayspring," an underground scientific complex searching for a cure; the "Iron Hounds," an armed faction controlling the roads; the "Grey Line," caravaneers and traders linking the settlements; and the "Pilgrims," a cult that believes the virus is the next stage of evolution. The world is in constant flux: it is difficult to tell ally from enemy, and old secrets may prove more dangerous than the infected themselves.