Where are we, you ask? This is Cult Noir, kiddo. Some kind of gritty, cruel, desaturated dimension in which everything has gone horribly wrong. Hang around here long enough and you'll forget what red looks like.
These streets were once filled with cultists just like you, probably. But things got out of hand. Not caring wasn't good enough. Someone wanted control - to make us care, make us governable - to make us lose sight of our divine apathy. Infected with a modified strain of the highly contagious covoid virus, cultists started caring... way too much. Their artificially ardent cares consumed them. They turned into zomboiis (yep, that's what we call them). And they'll consume you too, champ, if you're not careful. And armed. Time to look for some guns.
Oh yeah, that's The Science you're looking at. Very big deal in this place. No, he's not going to solve this one for us. Folks around here don't trust The Science, see. We're pretty sure he's behind it all. Oh no, don't worry - you can definitely still trust The Science where you're from.
Anyway... truth be told, sonny, you're toast. No one survives here for long. The most we can ask is that you take some zomboiis out with you, and let the record of your glory speak for itself. We'll be watching.
Death is part of the deal. The score is how big of a dent you make on your way out. Stay alive for as long as you can and rack up the biggest kill total possible before the street finally claims you.
Cultists get by with a little help from modern ballistics! If you want anything better than a pistol, you'll have to find it yourself.
This is you in black-and-white. Armed, mortal, and one bad decision away from becoming evidence. Your powers of apathy are useless here, champ, and indestructibility is not a thing in this universe. If a zomboii touches you, it's lights out. Respawning IS a thing, though, so it could be worse.
Brainless airborne nuisances by normal standards, but they've got strangely good instincts for getting you out of the fray just when you think you're done for. Are they on your side? Are they even capable of making decisions? Who can say, but they had either enough will or dumb luck to escape the laboratories.
Your baseline shambling menace. Hard to believe it was one of us, once... shuffling around, pushing papers, drinking coffee by the water cooler... now it has teeth in places you'd never- well, no time to think about that. They pile up faster than you think.
It probably didn't have this many heads before. Extreme covoid mutations were a statistically insignificant side-effect, right? Right... well, we hope so, because these take a couple of hits to kill, and you can only fire so fast.
These guys retained slightly more of their senses in exchange for the loss of a couple of limbs. You can ditch most zomboiis with a flying leap, but jump over this one and it will remember that you are the problem.
Highly motivated (ugh). Is this a mutation? Are there more legs under there than before? Did you ever see a cultist run this fast if they weren't on fire or something?
Weirdly small and hard to explain. Probably the disembodied hood of a robe, we suppose. Anklebiters are easy to miss in the chaos. By the time you notice it, it may already be entangled with your lower extremities. When in doubt, jump!
Tall. Committed. Deceptively slow. Imagine spending your life cultivating apathy so restrained that you fade into literal obscurity, only to be infected with the unquenchable drive to give a damn. It does something to a cultist. Something horrible. These things can take a lot of damage, which is surprising to begin with given that they aren't especially corporeal. They know you're here, and the longer you spend in the streets, the more often you'll run into lurkers.
