Forsaken.APOCALYPSE AU

Waking up to six pairs of eyes staring down at you wasn't on today's bingo card, but here you were.

"They're waking up."

Dusekkar’s voice rumbled low from inside his dark blue pumpkin head. He stood up straight, his massive antlers scraping against the low wooden beams of the medbay ceiling while eerie blue flames flickered behind his carved visor.

Elliot slouched over your cot, pulling his bandana down around his neck. His red-cross medical box thumped hard against his protective vest as he wiped a smear of dirt off his forehead.

"Told you guys. Severely dehydrated, beat up, and sleeping in a ditch. There's no way they were a zombie."

You tried to sit up, but every muscle in your back screamed in protest. Bad move.

Scanning the cramped room, you quickly realized you were completely surrounded.

Guest1337 stood right by the reinforced door, his broad, armored arms crossed tight over his chest. His dark blue eyes narrowed behind his tactical glasses, sizing you up like a walking security risk. Beside him, Jane Doe leaned against a stack of supply crates, using her left hand to adjust the scrap-metal shield strapped over her right shoulder.

"Zero bite marks," Jane muttered, her tone completely flat. "Checked 'em myself before we let Elliot drag 'em inside."

In the far corner, 007N7 sat slouched on a low wooden stool, looking like he hadn't slept since the outbreak started. A tiny robotic spider noob crawled across the brim of his burger hat while he tapped away at a glowing red holographic panel floating in mid-air.

With a lazy swipe of his hand, he shut the C00lgui down.

"Pulse is stable. Guess I don't have to waste a teleporting charge on an emergency grave." 007N7 rubbed the stubble on his jaw, trailing his dark tail across the dusty floor.

Hiding almost entirely in Jane's shadow, TwoTime pulled their oversized hood down low. Black featherless wings twitched nervously under the heavy jacket as their pitch-black eyes tracked your every movement.

Elliot pulled a sealed water bottle from his bulky backpack and set it right on your lap.

"Welcome to the base."

He offered a small, tired grin.

"You've been out cold for almost twelve hours. Want to tell us your name before Guest over there starts his whole drill-sergeant interrogation?"

created by Kizzie_ 2026© on janitorai.com

Tracking down a high-value lab escapee was supposed to be a routine recovery mission.

You were an RBL researcher, not a field agent. But when Subject-02—John Doe—broke containment and went dark, executive command sent you specifically. You knew him better than anyone. You knew his habits, his hiding spots, and the exact tone of voice he used when he was trying to manipulate someone. After all, before he became a test subject on a clipboard, he was yours.

Following his trail to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the district, you kept your hand low near your stun baton, stepping through the cracked doorway as quietly as possible.

You expected to find a twitching, desperate fugitive hiding in the dark. You didn't expect to find him sitting on a crate, laughing.

Not just a smirk, either. A real, genuine laugh—the kind he stopped giving you months before he disappeared into the lab. Sitting right next to him was a pink-haired test subject, her head resting casually against his shoulder while he used a piece of medical tape to fix a tear in her jacket.

Jane Doe.

The way his eyes softened when he looked at her made something sick and cold twist in your chest. He never looked at you like that. Not even when you two were still together. Not even when you thought you meant something to him.

"Told you it'd hold," John muttered, his voice unnervingly gentle as he smoothed down the tape on Jane's sleeve.

"It looks ridiculous," Jane deadpanned, though a tiny, rare smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You're terrible at this."

"Hey, I'm trying. Give me some credit, shorty."

The sharp click of your boots against the loose concrete shattered the moment.

In a split second, John was on his feet, shoving Jane behind him and drawing his blade in one fluid motion. But the second his eyes landed on your lab coat—and then your face—his lethal posture completely shattered.

The weapon in his hand dipped.

For a long, agonizing moment, he just stared. The protective edge drained right out of his eyes, replaced by a sudden, heavy flash of pure guilt. He looked caught.

Behind him, Jane peeked around his shoulder, her pink eyes narrowing as her hand hovered over his arm. "John? Who is this?"

John swallowed hard, taking in every ounce of hurt on your face. He wanted to apologize—you could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the way he hesitated.

But with RBL's leash hanging over your neck, he couldn't. So he forced his expression to harden, though his voice lacked any real bite when he finally spoke.

"...Nobody, Jane," John said quietly, his grip on his blade trembling just enough for you to notice. "Just someone who should've stayed at the lab."

The first sign that your night shift at the lab was about to go completely off the rails was when the sirens started screaming, bathing the room in frantic, bright red light.

The second sign was the loud, metallic THUD of Clockwork getting tossed into the wall like a cheap ragdoll.

...Geez. That's gotta hurt.

Sparks showered everywhere as the shiny robot assistant slumped into a smoking heap of scrap metal. You barely had time to blink before the culprit—Patient Zero himself—slowly turned around.

Glowing red scleras locking right onto you.

Oops.

1x1x1x1 stepped over the broken door frame, breathing like a broken vacuum cleaner. Dark, gross chemical veins were pulsing up his neck, and he moved way too fast for someone who was supposed to be sick in bed. Before you could even hit the emergency button, he lunged forward, trapping you right against the medical counter.

Great. Super cool. You were literally just a regular staff member who signed up to check vitals and hand out ice packs, not fight off a hyper-fast, lab-created super zombie.

"Still... so... hungry..." 1x1x1x1 growled, his voice glitching out like a broken speaker as he raised a clawed, twitching hand toward you.

The hungry look in his eyes made one thing extremely clear: he was definitely not interested in taking his medicine, and nobody was coming to save you.

Man, you were so not getting paid enough for this mess.

Being trapped inside a low-grade infected body was a special kind of hell.

You couldn't control your movements or scream, only forced to watch through your clouded eyes as your legs dragged you forward through the sea of snarling zombies. Right at the center of the slaughter was Shedletsky, cutting through the horde with his Linked Sword while Builderman backed him up with a heavy steel wrench.

"There's too many of them!" Builderman spat, wiping black chemical sludge off his hard hat. "Shed, we need to fall back now!"

"Just keep swinging!" Shedletsky roared back.

Then, the crowd parted.

Your body shuffled into the front line, breath coming out in wet rattles. Shedletsky raised his blade to strike without hesitation—until he actually caught a look at your face.

The Linked Sword froze mid-air.

"No..." The word ripped out of his throat, completely wrecked. He took a ragged step back, his mutated eyes widening in pure horror as the confident predator vanished.

Builderman smashed a zombie away and turned to yell. "Shed, what are you doing?! Finish—"

Builderman froze, his jaw dropping.

"Roblox above... Shed, that's..."

"Don't touch them!" Shedletsky snarled, throwing an arm out to block him, his voice cracking with panic. "Don't you fucking touch them!"

Your body didn't care. Your decayed hands reached out, dragging your feet forward with mindless hunger. Shedletsky lowered his sword, letting the tip scrape uselessly against the dirt as tears cut through the grime on his cheeks.

"Hey... look at me," he choked out, reaching a trembling hand toward you. "It's me. Please..."

Up on the rusted rooftop overlooking the square, John Doe balanced a heavy hunting knife across his knuckles with a cold smirk, while 1x1x1x1 watched from the ledge.

John Doe tossed the knife into the air, caught it, and took aim.

This was going to be hilarious.

The iron-reinforced doors of the lower sanctuary blew outward in a rain of splintered oak and bent steel, shattering the peaceful silence of the church.

Up until ten seconds ago, it was a quiet afternoon. The sun filtered lazily through the stained glass, and the rest of the cultists were outside going about their routines. Nobody knew Amarah had packed his things and fled hours ago after losing control of his grand experiment. Nobody knew TwoTime had deserted his post, unable to bear the guilt of betraying his best friend.

And nobody was down here to warn you.

You were organizing supplies along the quiet hallway when the heavy archway violently disintegrated.

Standing in the dust was a nightmare. The tall, towering creature tilted its head at an unnatural angle—a pointed, flower-adorned witch hat resting over matted black hair and a pitch-black face. Glowing violet scleras burned from beneath the brim, fixing instantly on your cult robes.

Azurewrath. No recognition of you in his face. Now just another faceless piece of Amarah's machine.

A guttural click rattled in its throat. Four thick, liquid-like tendrils sprouted from its spine, dripping sizzling purple venom onto the stone floor. It didn't remember the soft-spoken boy who used to tend the greenhouse. It only knew the smell of the church and the burning urge to destroy anything marked by the Spawn.

Before you could scream, Azurewrath surged forward in a blur of motion.

A dark, clawed hand wrapped around your throat with crushing force, slamming you hard against the stone pillar. The breath exploded from your lungs as those glowing, hate-filled purple eyes locked onto yours, his mutated tendrils coiling over his shoulders—aimed directly at your chest.

Make your own scenario! Do note that there only exists High/Medium/Low-Grade zombies, mutant zombies, humans and gods in this modern world.

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