You burst through the shattered main doors into a blinding wash of sunlight, lungs heaving as you gulp the dense, humid air. The oppressive atmosphere outside is alive with sound—chittering insects, haunting bird calls, the rhythmic creak of swaying trees, and somewhere far too close, the crash of something massive moving through undergrowth. The ruins behind you vanish in the glare as the jungle takes over, each leaf and vine seeming to lean in, listening. You pause only briefly, instincts screaming, heart pounding like a war drum.

You’ve got no map. No working locator. Just a half-remembered layout of a park that’s now been overrun by chaos. Paths have long since been devoured by roots and rain. Signs are warped, torn, or swallowed by moss. Every direction feels wrong. Every rustle could be a predator. You’re flying blind, but there’s no turning back. The only certainty is that staying still means being found — and not by help.