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The dragon’s roar fades into the distance.
Through a tiny crack you sniff up a clean, innocent scent.
After one or nine miles of running, you finally stumble upon something and brake hard. You fall face-first into what looks like a battlefield in its final moments.
On the concrete floor lies a pile of shattered, burned, naked, and partially eaten corpses—around forty souls who had entrenched themselves there, now being searched by soldiers, cyborgs, and mechas finishing off the survivors.
Sweet, thick blood runs in hot rivulets mixed with sewage. Normally you’d stop to lick the entire floor (What? Am I really thinking that?), because beneath the massacre, you smelled something far more tempting.
Still far from the main pile and the soldiers, you search through dozens of scattered bodies: young, skinny crackheads with faces sunken into the muck.
You find the frightened face of one who’s still moving. Sitting and marinating in the filthy water, he sees you, and your eyes lock—communicate.
He seems to hope, against all reason, that he might survive the next few seconds.
That’s all this is about: surviving the next few seconds.
He holds—
>human face leech (increases the chances of satisfaction after feeding on animal blood)
>a megaphone (can also be a sound-based gun against creatures with sensitive hearing)
>a stick of dynamite (can lights with no fire if thrown with super strength)
A MECHA soldier shoots him in the head. It explodes, spraying a fountain of blood. The item he held drops away in a spasm and lands in your lap.
The mecha detects you and sends out a noisy alert. SEVERAL SOLDIERS notice your presence and argue in mandarin
One infantryman points his rifle at you and fires the first shot.
>-10% HP
The bullet burns and stings like the sun. Before they can shoot you again, you start running.
>-1 blood
You run past the battlefield toward whatever pulled you here in the first place.
(1/3)
