Chapter 2 - The Start of Your Choices

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This time, the red light was gone. Instead, the blazing glare of reality hit you like a sledgehammer—raw, unrelenting, like a newborn thrust into the blast of consciousness. You lurch from the waters of the pod, gasping.

“Easy, Isaac, give him some space to breathe,” Demarcus said, his tone sharp but calm.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “The first thing he needs is to get his shit together.” From the corner of your hazy vision, you caught Isaac pacing, scanning the room. Everything else was a blur of black and molten shapes.

Your hands flailed instinctively, desperate for something solid. “I—I can’t see!” you blurted, panic rising in your throat.

Demarcus groaned. “It’s sleeper sickness,” he muttered, the irritation evident in his voice. “Didn’t think you’d be one of the unlucky ones.”

“Oh my God… a-am I fucking blind?” you stammered, your voice cracking, tears threatening to spill.

Isaac’s laughter cut through the air, sharp and humiliating. “Relax, you’ll be fine,” Demarcus said, shooting Isaac a glare. “But for the next few minutes, keep your hands on the walls and don’t go staring at the damn sun.”

“Speaking of the sun,” Isaac added, his voice more measured now, “it was nighttime when we fell asleep. It’s practically morning.”

Demarcus nodded. “Yeah, but the real thing you should be thinking about is how long we were sleeping.”

Isaac made a face, though you couldn’t see it as you groped your way around. Rising on wobbly legs, you nearly collapsed again, only for Isaac’s hands to catch you. “Easy, buddy. Take your time,” he said, his tone softening.

It took a few minutes, like Demarcus had said, but your vision began to clear. Shapes sharpened, light returned, and the fog in your head lifted. You wiped the fatigue from your eyes, blinking as the world came into focus—and what you saw left you speechless.

The family home, once your haven, was a shadow of its former self. The beautiful, aged wood that had been your father’s pride and joy—the wood your mother had carefully picked out—was now warped and cracked. Before, your father had nurtured this house, maintaining it even during the chaos of the apocalypse. It had been a fortress of sorts, worn but sturdy.

Now? The pristine veneer was gone. The walls were weathered, jagged with cracks. Plant life spilled through the fractures, exposed to the sunlight that now bathed the interior. You lingered as your eyes absorbed every painful detail, the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

Demarcus and Isaac exchanged uneasy glances as they walked ahead, their voices low but not low enough.

“Jesus Christ,” Demarcus muttered, mindful not to let you hear. “How long do you think we were in there?”

Isaac shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “Ten... maybe twelve months.”

Demarcus spun on his heel, glaring. “Man, are you retarded or something?” he sneered, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s obviously been years. I...”

He hesitated, the words faltering. Isaac raised an eyebrow, his voice cutting through the silence. “Come on, bro. Spit it out.”

Demarcus sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe... maybe we were in too much of a rush. Even now, it’s hard to piece it together. All I remember is the infected breaking in, rushing into the garage, and then...”

“Here,” Isaac finished, his tone flat. Demarcus nodded along, the memory lingering like a bad taste.

“Are we going through the same sickness?” Isaac asked, his gaze narrowing as he studied Demarcus.

Demarcus paused, then nodded slightly. “Sleeper tech is still new. Say what you want about Senior, but the old man knew enough to cook these things up. Problem is, they weren’t exactly the high-end, rich-politician-type pods.”

His voice trailed off, and an uneasy quiet settled between them. Isaac glanced down at the cracked floor, his brow furrowed. “All I remember is him throwing us in, slamming the console, and then... freezing. Sleeping.” He gulped, his voice trembling as if the memories had just resurfaced, raw and vivid. “Are you honestly telling me it could’ve been...”

“Shh,” Demarcus cut him off. “It’s just a hunch. We don’t know anything. All we do know is it’s a new day, and we’re not hearing any infected.”

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They exchanged tentative nods, their uneasy agreement folding the conversation into silence as you caught up to them. You moved through the basement, its disarray mirroring the chaos of the garage. Then, stepping into the living room, you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Oh my God...” The words slipped from your lips as you fell to your knees, the truth bearing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The living room was a ruin—the house, the broken windows, everything. You stumbled toward the nearest window, your hands trembling as you gripped the frame. Outside, the other houses on the street were in shambles. The roads were cracked, overgrown with weeds and littered with debris—a silent testament to society’s collapse.

“Holy shit,” Isaac muttered, his voice wavering. “It’s like a fucking movie.”

Your fists clenched, anger surging through you. “This isn’t a movie,” you spat, the words sharp enough to cut.

“Gee, man, I’m—” Isaac began, but his voice faltered as your hands pressed harder against the window’s edges. Across the street, a small family of birds had built a nest on the roof of a neighbor’s house. They stared at you, their beady eyes blazing with something you couldn’t name, before flapping away into the sky.

“What are we going to do now?” Demarcus asked, his voice quieter, the words more of a lament than a real question. No one answered. No one had a clue what came next.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you say, running your hands through your hair, the motion frantic, almost soothing. “Listen—old rules still apply, right?”

Demarcus and Isaac exchange glances, their expressions mirroring each other’s confusion.

“Old rules?” Demarcus asks, his tone skeptical.

Isaac squints at you, his brows furrowed. “Right?”

You roll your eyes and raise three fingers. “Food, water, shelter,” you say, ticking them off like gospel. Then, jutting your thumb toward the floor, you finish, “Priorities.”

Isaac snaps his fingers, a grin breaking across his face. “That’s a smart plan.”

Demarcus, however, stays quiet, wrapping his arms around himself like he’s bracing against something unseen.

You press on, unwilling to lose momentum. “The town’s still here, right? We can break into homes, grab supplies—whatever’s left.”

Demarcus sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, whatever wasn’t already taken. God knows how long we were out for. But we’ve got a better shot heading deeper into town—see what’s still around.”

“Are you mad?” Isaac interjects, his voice climbing. “The infected could still be out there. And those... furry things.”

“Anthros,” you correct sharply, your eyebrow lifting. The word hangs in the air, heavy. Isaac’s face pales slightly, a cold sweat breaking along his brow.

“Sure, whatever,” Isaac mutters, brushing it off like the word itself might bite. “But the infected are still out there. Remember how they were practically banging down the doors before?”

Demarcus nods, his gaze distant. “I remember. But think about it—it’s been quiet. Silent, even. We used to see them in droves, but now? Nothing. If we’re careful, if we stay mindful, we could find something useful. This was always a small town, anyway.”

Isaac clicks his fingers, his lips curling into a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Here’s the issue with your little plan, buddy—that long walk to get supplies? That’s gonna take half a day. And we’ve got no wheels to get there.”

He turns to you now, his grin widening like he’s passing the buck. “What do you think, man?”

Demarcus shifts his weight, his eyes locking onto yours. “I say we head into town. He says we loot around here. It’s your call.”

A tingle sparks at the back of your mind, like the faint hum of something ancient stirring awake. This is a moment—a crossroads. All choices carry unseen consequences and rewards, and whomever you side with will remember it. Relationships will shift, the threads of trust and loyalty either strengthened or frayed. The weight of your decision presses down, demanding an answer.

You sigh, the room around you suddenly suffocating. “We should grab some stuff from around here,” you say, shrugging your shoulders as your gaze drifts to the cracked wood and the plants snaking their way through the gaps. Everything feels wrong—this place, this moment.

Your eyes catch on matted family photos clinging stubbornly to the walls, heirlooms tarnished and abandoned, thrown like rags to the dirt. You look away, swallowing the knot building in your throat.

Demarcus and Isaac exchange a glance, but it’s Isaac who speaks first. “Agreed. Your dad’s gotta have tools around here somewhere,” he says, his green eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the broken windows. “I mean, we could’ve been asleep for months—or years—but not everything would’ve degraded. Right?”

Demarcus nods, though his gaze lingers on you. “From what I remember, your dad took the guns when he put us in the pods. Two shotguns, boxes of shells—those are going to be lifesavers out there. You got any idea where he might’ve stashed them?”

You feel your chest tighten as your eyes drift to the staircase, its wooden planks warped and splintered. The steps lead into a yawning darkness that stretches endlessly upward, swallowing the hallway beyond. Your stomach churns as your gaze lands on the slightly ajar door to your parents’ room, the shadowed interior beyond just visible.

“I—I have an idea,” you manage to say, your voice barely a croak. The words feel like lead on your tongue.

Demarcus steps forward, his tone softening. “Listen, man, I remember how your dad got bit before he shoved us into those pods. Me and you both know what happens when someone gets nicked by one of those things.” He pauses, then sighs heavily, like the weight of his words is breaking him. “I—I can’t blame you if you can’t go in there. These were your parents. God, I can’t even imagine what’s going through your head right now…”

His hand rests on your shoulder, steady and firm. “I’m here if you need me. But I’ve gotta ask—do you think you can do this?”

The air around you feels heavy, your thoughts muddled. Flashes of memory come unbidden, faint and fragmented, like beams of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

You’re faced with two choices. Neither is easy, but the path you take will shape you.

Choice 1: Allow Demarcus to face the darkness for you. He’ll be quicker, and you’ll be spared the sight of your parents’ rotting corpses. +1 Sanity.

Choice 2: Confront the darkness yourself. Face your fears and the demons within the room. Strength comes from hardship. +1 Strength.

What will it be, Templar?