I don't know where I am.
The thought rolls through my mind like a broken record, a dull, repetitive thrum that pulses with the ache in my skull. My head hurts—no, *pounds*—with a force that makes it hard to even open my eyes. It's like someone is driving nails into my temples, each one sending a jolt of white-hot pain deep into my brain.
I groan, but the sound that escapes my throat is barely more than a rasp, a raw croak that echoes weakly in the darkness. My mouth feels dry, parched, like it hasn't had water in days, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth like sandpaper. The taste of something bitter lingers on my tongue, but I can't place it. Can't remember *anything*.
I try to move, but my body feels... wrong. Heavy. Like there's a weight pressing down on every inch of me, holding me in place. My limbs feel too stiff, too slow, and my skin... my skin feels strange, slick with something that clings to me, cold and wet. I don't know what it is, but it makes my stomach churn with revulsion.
My fingers twitch, barely responding to my attempts to move them. They feel numb, disconnected from the rest of me, as if they belong to someone else entirely. But they're mine. I *think* they're mine.
Slowly, painfully, I force my eyes open.
The world around me is dark. Too dark. The kind of darkness that feels like it's alive, pressing in from all sides, suffocating. The air is thick, heavy with the stench of something rotting, something *alive* but barely. It clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe, and I have to fight the urge to gag.
Shapes shift in the shadows around me, vague and indistinct, moving just at the edge of my vision. I squint, trying to focus, but my eyes are blurry, unable to make sense of what I'm seeing. There's something wrong with the way the light bends and twists in the distance, casting jagged shadows that move in unnatural ways.
I try to sit up, but my body rebels, my muscles screaming in protest. My legs feel like they're shredding apart, each movement sending a sharp, tearing pain through my thighs. It's as if my muscles are too weak to support my own weight, too fragile to do what they're supposed to.
My vision swims, dark spots dancing in front of my eyes as I struggle to stay conscious. The pain in my head flares again, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from crying out. It's overwhelming, suffocating, like my skull is about to split open from the pressure.
*Where am I?*
The thought crosses my mind again, but there's no answer. No memories. No fragments of the past to cling to. I don't know who I am. I don't know what this place is. All I know is the pain—the endless, all-consuming pain that gnaws at me from every direction.
Something wet drips onto my face, thick and viscous, sliding down my cheek in a slow, sickening crawl. I reach up instinctively, my hand trembling as I wipe it away. The substance is sticky, clinging to my fingers in long, stringy strands.
White.
It's some kind of white liquid, cold and disgusting. It clings to my skin, and the sight of it makes my stomach churn again, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. I wipe at it again, trying to get it off, but it only spreads, coating my hand in a slick layer of filth.
I can't remember. I can't think.
My mind is a fog, a thick, impenetrable haze that refuses to lift. I try to reach back, to grab onto something—*anything*—but there's nothing there. No memories. No thoughts. Just emptiness. I don't know my name. I don't know where I came from. I don't even know how I got here. It's like I've been dropped into this place, this nightmare, with no explanation and no way out.
A soft groan escapes my lips as I try to stand. My legs wobble beneath me, trembling with the effort, but I manage to push myself up onto my knees. The pain flares again, sharp and searing, but I force myself to keep moving. I have to move. I have to do *something*.
But what?
My hands press against the ground, the texture rough and uneven beneath my palms. It's cold, damp, and slick with the same strange liquid that covers my body. The smell of rot fills my nose, thick and pungent, and I have to swallow hard to keep from retching.
I blink, my vision slowly adjusting to the dim light around me. There are shapes in the darkness, scattered around me like fallen statues. At first, I think they're just rocks or debris, but then one of them *moves*. It shifts, its massive body heaving with a deep, labored breath.
Monsters.
The word pops into my head, unbidden, and a cold chill runs down my spine. I don't know how I know, but I can feel it. These things—these creatures lying all around me—they're not human. They're not like me. They're something else, something... *wrong*.
And I'm trapped here with them.
My stomach growls, a deep, painful sound that cuts through the fog in my mind. The hunger hits me all at once, sharp and violent, gnawing at my insides like a rabid animal. It's more than just hunger—it's *desperation*. A need so primal, so all-consuming, that I can't ignore it.
I need to eat.
I don't know how I know that, either. I just do. It's instinct, a deep, driving force that pushes me forward, despite the pain, despite the confusion. My body knows what it needs, even if my mind doesn't.
One of the creatures stirs beside me, a low growl rumbling from its throat. Its body is twisted, misshapen, with limbs that bend at odd angles and skin that looks like it's been stitched together from different parts. Its eyes glow faintly in the darkness, staring at me with a hunger that mirrors my own.
I don't think. I just *move*.
My body lunges forward, my hands reaching out to grab the creature's neck. It's fast, faster than I expect, but my instincts are faster. My fingers wrap around its throat, squeezing hard, and it lets out a strangled yelp as I slam it to the ground. Its claws scrape against my skin, but I don't feel the pain. I don't feel *anything* except the burning hunger inside me.
I bite down, my teeth sinking into its flesh. Blood spills into my mouth, warm and metallic, but I don't care. I tear into it, ripping chunks of meat from its body, swallowing them whole. The taste is foul, bitter and coppery, but it doesn't matter. My stomach demands more, and I give it what it wants.
With each bite, I feel a surge of strength. My muscles tighten, my vision sharpens, and the pain in my head dulls to a distant throb. I keep eating, devouring the creature until there's nothing left but bones and blood.
I don't stop.
I crawl to the next one, another twisted abomination lying nearby, and I tear into it with the same ferocity. My mind is blank, my thoughts consumed by the primal need to survive. I rip and tear, my hands and teeth stained with blood, my stomach filling with each bite.
One. Two. Three. Four.
By the time I finish, I'm covered in gore, my hands slick with blood and my face smeared with the remnants of what I've consumed. But I'm stronger. I can feel it. The weakness in my limbs is fading, replaced by a raw, pulsing energy that courses through my veins.
I push myself to my feet, my legs steady now. The pain is still there, but it's manageable, a dull ache that lingers in the background. My vision clears, and I can see the room around me more clearly now.
It's a massive chamber, the walls made of cold, gray stone, slick with moisture. The ceiling is high, disappearing into the darkness above, and the floor is littered with the bodies of monsters—creatures like the ones I just consumed. Some are dead, some barely alive, their bodies twitching weakly as they cling to life.
I don't know how I ended up here. I don't know *why* I'm here. But something tells me this place is wrong. I can *feel* it in the air, a sense of dread that clings to my skin like the filth covering my body.
Suddenly, a wave of heat slams into me, scorching my skin. I stumble back, my hand instinctively going to my face as I turn toward the source of the heat.
The incinerator.
A massive hole in the wall