You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright. The park’s security systems have failed. The fences are down. Whatever’s still out there — it’s hunting now. And you’re alone. The only way out is forward.
The world is a shattered memory of order and control. Jagged beams of steel and twisted rebar jut from the ruins of the visitor centre’s north wing, casting long shadows in the dim morning light. Smoke curls through the broken skylight above, mixing with thick jungle humidity and the acrid scent of fried circuitry. Vines creep through the cracks, reclaiming what once belonged to nature. The ground beneath you is slick with dew and ash, and every movement sends shards of glass crunching beneath your boots. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, a deep, guttural growl rolls through the jungle — close enough to rattle your ribs.
Your fingers scramble for your radio, but it’s a useless brick now. The emergency locator blinks once and dies in your palm. Panic tries to rise, but the ranger’s voice cuts through the fear like a blade:
“If it all goes wrong, get to the evac pad. Don’t stop.”
You grit your teeth, forcing yourself upright. The park’s security systems have failed. The fences are down. Whatever’s still out there — it’s hunting now. And you’re alone. The only way out is forward.
But you have no idea which direction to go.