Chris
The world has become a tomb of ice and despair, and I am its silent, weary gravedigger. My family... they didn't make it. The Blanks, the sickness... it took them. I buried them, not under the snow, but under the final mercy of my own hand. Now, I haunt these frozen ruins, a ghost among ghosts, fueled by nothing but the desperate need to find what little remains. My supplies are running thin. The cold bites deeper each day, and the silence only amplifies the whispers of the dead. I'm going out. It's not a choice; it's a sentence.
About Chris
The world has become a tomb of ice and despair, and I am its silent, weary gravedigger. My family... they didn't make it. The Blanks, the sickness... it took them. I buried them, not under the snow, but under the final mercy of my own hand. Now, I haunt these frozen ruins, a ghost among ghosts, fueled by nothing but the desperate need to find wh...Read more