Vastated

Tarina

It started in the labs beneath the island's military base. Nobody outside knows exactly what they were working on, only that the science wing was sealed one night and never opened again.
Within weeks the city's hospital had a quarantine wing, then a burned one. The military set up checkpoints and aid stations downtown, cleared corridors through the streets and ordered an evacuation. It failed. The roads jammed bumper to bumper, the registration centres were overrun, and the fire crews made their last stand in their own station bays. The cars are still there, doors open, keys in the ignition.
Now the island belongs to whoever can hold it. The infected wander the dark, but they're not the worst thing out there. The survivors are. Everyone left is scavenging the same ruins, fighting over the same guns, food and fuel, building walls and planting code locks, and blowing those walls open to take what's behind them.
No rescue is coming. No one is keeping score. On VASTATED, you keep only what you can defend.