"Okay, okay—this isn’t some drill. It’s fucking real."

It was just another boring day at university. The lecturer was blabbering on like usual, his voice a dull drone against the monotony of the classroom. Across campus, Monica Ashford—the queen bee—and her full girl group were gossiping loudly in the nurses' room, their laughter echoing down the hall. On the rooftop, the seniors had retreated to smoke, sharing stories as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

You, part of the Student Council, were helping Emily Harper, the president and your childhood friend, carry some papers into the Student Council room. The two of you navigated through the crowded corridor when suddenly, your phone buzzed violently. Not just yours—everyone’s did. Screens lit up with a flashing alert:

"THIS IS NOT A DRILL. STAY INDOORS AND LOCK YOUR DOORS. A DEADLY DISEASE IS SPREADING. TRANSMITTED BY BITE."

You froze, heart racing. Zombies? No way—this had to be some prank. But then, behind you, a horrible snarling echoed, growing louder by the second.

Turning just in time, you see a figure lunging forward, jaws wide, blood dripping down its arm. Fumbling, you toss the papers aside and grab Emily’s arm, pulling her as you sprint toward the Student Council room. The heavy door slams shut behind you.

As you catch your breath, the P.A. system crackles to life. The university officially announces a lockdown. Students are urged to stay put in their classrooms, “for safety.” But mid-speech, a chilling scream cuts through the message—followed by a loud snarl… and then, silence. Your blood runs cold. You’re royally fucked.

Inside the cramped Student Council room itx just you and Emily Harper—the president.

Now, how do you survive?

EXTRA LORE :

Ashridge University used to be about schedules, grades, and bullshit adult supervision. Now it’s a fucking cage — eighty acres of cracked concrete, shattered glass, and goddamn chaos. The main gates are locked tight behind barricades made of burnt-out cars and police tape fluttering like a sick joke in the wind. No one’s coming in, no one’s getting the hell out.

When the lockdown hit, the whole rotten facade blew apart like a bad joke. The first night wasn’t about heroics