SANATORIUM NI LUNINGNING

Sa bawat laro, may katapusan. Sa bawat loop, may nababawasan.

​The bitter, metallic tang of poison was supposed to be Elias's final exit. Instead, it became his entrance into a nightmare that smells of formaldehyde and rotting sampaguita.

​He wakes up within the infinite, shifting corridors of the Sanatorium of Saint Luningning. A grand mansion where the wallpaper feels like skin and the hallways breathe with a rhythmic, wet thud. He is not alone. Beside him are other "patients," all suspended in the fragile space between life and death, caught in a coma they cannot break.
​Presiding over their "recovery" is a doctor who defies logic: a seven-year-old girl in a blood-stained lab coat, clutching a clipboard and a sharpened bamboo sulo. She has one rule: To wake up, you must play.

​From the lethal lines of Patintero to the jagged heights of Luksong Baka, the childhood games of the Philippines have been twisted into visceral, anatomical trials. Every time the loop resets, the stakes get higher. Every time someone fails a task, they don't just lose, they vanish, only to be found in the mansion's dark corners as hollowed-out monuments of bone and bamboo.

​As the headcount drapes toward zero, Elias realizes that the games aren't random. They are a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a dark, historical secret buried beneath the mansion's floorboards. To escape the loop and reclaim his life, he must survive the final game of Tagu-taguan.

​But in a house built on grief and governed by a child, the greatest horror isn't the game itself, it's discovering who is actually "It."

​[Pinoy Gothic / Psychological Horror]

Enter the mansion. Follow the rules. Don't be the last one found.