I just really enjoy the game and want the fandom to grow
-Requests are closed!-
And here are some reasons to convince you to read this book!
-These oneshots are gender neutral
-And even though the reader is in them there is no use of Y/n
-I try to...
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ This chapter contains no spoilers and I would like to give credits to writing-to-survive on Tumblr for the prompt so enjoy :)
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In the dimly lit streets of Krat, you navigated the shadows with a calculated precision, your every step a testament to the survival instincts that had been honed in the crucible of a world marred by chaos. The flickering streetlights cast elongated shadows, and you moved with a purpose that transcended the mere act of traversing the city's unforgiving terrain.
Your scavenger's mentality led you to abandoned shops and forgotten corners, where the remnants of a bygone civilization awaited discovery. The echoes of your footsteps mingled with the distant sounds of creaking structures and the occasional, haunting howl of a rogue puppet. In this urban wasteland, you were a lone predator, cunning and resourceful, navigating the ruins with a keen awareness of the dangers that lurked in every corner.
Survival was a game of wits, and you played it with a detached efficiency, scavenging for supplies and leaving no stone unturned in your pursuit of sustenance. The once bustling city now lay in ruins, and you, a survivor with a penchant for adaptability, thrived in the aftermath. Every stolen can of food, every makeshift shelter claimed, was a victory in this relentless battle against the odds.
Your interactions with other survivors were transactional at best, a dance of deception and opportunism. Trust was a commodity in short supply, and alliances formed out of necessity were as fragile as the shattered remnants of the cityscape. The streets, once teeming with life, now bore witness to a silent struggle where morality had been replaced by the stark pragmatism of survival.
In the gritty reality you navigated, empathy had long given way to the ruthless calculus of self-preservation. Whether it was scavenging the last morsels of canned goods from an abandoned store or exploiting the vulnerabilities of others for personal gain, you understood the rules of this harsh new world and played by them without remorse.
As the nights in Krat whispered tales of forgotten dreams and abandoned hopes, you continued your solitary journey through the remnants of a city that had fallen from grace. In the shadows, your silhouette told a story of adaptation, cunning, and a survival instinct that had transformed you into a stalker of the night, a lone wanderer in the ruins of a world left behind.
In the eerie stillness of Krat, your focus narrowed on a specific puppet, one with piercing blue eyes and playful freckles that seemed to mock the desolation surrounding him. Your disdain for this creation of Geppetto, the puppet master himself, fueled your every step. The very presence of this puppet irked you, a constant reminder of a past you sought to escape.
Each hunt became a dance of shadows and whispers, as you tracked the puppet through the dilapidated alleys and silent streets. The blue-eyed marionette moved with an unsettling confidence, seemingly unaware of the silent predator stalking his every move. Your determination to confront him, to make him pay for the sins of his creator, fueled your relentless pursuit.
