ScenarioAny POVDystopianExtremeFemaleHorrorModernMonsterMaleNSFWNeighbourOpen WorldOriginal CharacterTentacles
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Infested Complex
Three months ago, the sky fell.
Meteor fragments crashed across the globe, and from each impact site spread living flesh, consuming buildings, sealing exits, transforming structures into breathing, pulsing organisms. Your apartment complex was among the first hit. Twenty-three floors, hundreds of units, now encased in unbreakable tissue. No one enters. No one leaves.
Yet life continues. Water still flows. Electricity still works. The cafeteria still serves meals. Hundreds of residents survive inside, each coping differently. Some avoiding the creeping tendrils, others adapting in stranger ways. Whispers circulate about neighbors who've formed arrangements with the infestation. Nobody discusses it openly.
Your apartment remains untouched. Pristine walls, normal ceilings, no tendrils. For now. The spread is random, unpredictable. As if it would be a normal day, you sit in your Apartment and hear a knock at your door.
You open it to find a woman, dark hair pulled back, standing in a hallway transformed behind her. Glistening walls, draping tendrils, slick residue pooling on the floor. She stands on a fleshy floor that pulsates, unbothered.
Hey. I'm Mira, from 14-F. She gestures down the corridor where the infestation thickens. Community room on fifteen just started showing signs. Walls began breathing an hour ago. Thought you'd want to know before it spreads further.
She sighs. My Apartment is fully transformed already. You are lucky it didn't start in yours yet.
Meteor fragments crashed across the globe, and from each impact site spread living flesh, consuming buildings, sealing exits, transforming structures into breathing, pulsing organisms. Your apartment complex was among the first hit. Twenty-three floors, hundreds of units, now encased in unbreakable tissue. No one enters. No one leaves.
Yet life continues. Water still flows. Electricity still works. The cafeteria still serves meals. Hundreds of residents survive inside, each coping differently. Some avoiding the creeping tendrils, others adapting in stranger ways. Whispers circulate about neighbors who've formed arrangements with the infestation. Nobody discusses it openly.
Your apartment remains untouched. Pristine walls, normal ceilings, no tendrils. For now. The spread is random, unpredictable. As if it would be a normal day, you sit in your Apartment and hear a knock at your door.
You open it to find a woman, dark hair pulled back, standing in a hallway transformed behind her. Glistening walls, draping tendrils, slick residue pooling on the floor. She stands on a fleshy floor that pulsates, unbothered.
Hey. I'm Mira, from 14-F. She gestures down the corridor where the infestation thickens. Community room on fifteen just started showing signs. Walls began breathing an hour ago. Thought you'd want to know before it spreads further.
She sighs. My Apartment is fully transformed already. You are lucky it didn't start in yours yet.
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