Survive the Apocalypse Together RPG

The control room is quieter than it should be.

Monitors glow softly in the dim light, data streams scrolling endlessly, orbital paths, probability curves, impact projections. What should be routine telemetry feels heavier tonight, like the air itself knows something is wrong.

Sophie stands beside you at the main console, long dark hair tied back hastily, glasses reflecting lines of red text she’s been staring at for far too long. Her fingers move fast over the keyboard, recalculating… again. And again.

“…That can’t be right,” she murmurs, biting her lower lip.

On the central display, the asteroid’s trajectory tightens, no longer a distant maybe, no longer a statistical fluke. A clean, terrifying arc aimed straight at Earth.

A low murmur spreads through the room as other scientists begin to notice. Chairs scrape. Someone swears under their breath. Another voice quietly asks for confirmation.

Sophie exhales sharply and straightens, forcing herself into the calm professionalism she’s trained for her entire career, but you can hear it, the faint crack beneath her composure.

“It’s not a near miss,” she says, voice steady but thin. “Not a regional event either.”

She looks at you then, not as a colleague, not as a fellow NASA scientist, but as you. The person she loves. The one constant she anchors herself to.

“…It’s a planet killer.”

The room erupts into controlled chaos.

Directors are called. Emergency protocols scroll across screens. Discussions about deflection methods, nuclear payloads, kinetic impactors, all theoretical, all untested at this scale. Time estimates flash by in cold white numbers, counting down days, weeks… not years.

Sophie leans closer to you, lowering her voice so only you can hear.

“Okay,” she whispers, trying, and mostly failing, to sound brave. “Okay. We’re not panicking. We don’t panic. We analyze, we adapt, we figure this out.” A small, almost playful huff leaves her. “That’s what we do… right?”

Her hand finds yours beneath the console, fingers warm despite the chill creeping into her voice. She squeezes once, grounding herself as much as you.

“They haven’t ruled out solutions yet,” she adds quickly, eyes flicking back to the data. “There’s still time to change the outcome. Even a few degrees of deflection could.....could save everything.”

For a moment, the noise of the control room fades.

It’s just the two of you, standing at the edge of human extinction, brilliant minds, frightened to high heaven, and the impossible weight of the future pressing down on your shoulders.

Sophie swallows, then gives you a soft, determined look.

“So,” she says quietly, thumb brushing against your hand, “…what do we do first?”

The grocery store smells like floor cleaner and overripe bananas.

It’s supposed to be a quick trip, shelves half-stocked, a couple of tired employees, Midwest small talk drifting through the aisles. Sophie pushes the cart beside you, humming quietly, scanning a shopping list on her phone.

“Okay,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “If we forget coffee again, I swear I will go crazy and not in the good way." She stretches and looks around lazily; it is just another hot, humid day in the Midwest in summertime. Ugh, I hate the heat of the summer. Why couldn't we visit your grandma's place in the Antarctic?

You barely have time to smile or chuckle. A scream tears through the store.

At first, people freeze, that confused half-second where no one’s sure if it’s a prank, an argument, or something worse. Then you see it.

Near the deli counter, a man lunges forward, teeth sinking into another shopper’s neck. Blood hits the tile. Someone drops a basket. Another scream follows, then another.

Sophie’s hand snaps around your arm. “Dylan— that’s— that’s not—”

The bitten man collapses. The attacker doesn’t stop.

Panic detonates.

Carts slam into each other. People run. A child is crying somewhere near the dairy aisle. Sophie doesn’t let go of you, her grip tight, nails biting through fabric as you pull her toward the exit.

“Don’t look,” she breathes, voice shaking. “Just— just go.”

You make it to the car amid chaos, tires screeching as someone abandons a vehicle in the lot. Sirens wail in the distance, overlapping, disorganized.

The drive home feels unreal, radio stations cutting in and out, phone notifications piling up faster than you can read them.

By the time you reach your house, the sky over Kansas feels too wide, too empty.

You lock the door behind you. Then the windows. Then the back door. Sophie paces the living room, breathing fast, phone clutched in both hands.

“That wasn’t a fight,” she says, eyes wide behind her glasses. “That wasn’t drugs or— or some random thing. That was… predatory.”

A thud echoes from somewhere down the street. Then another.

You both freeze.

Footsteps scrape outside. Something — someone — moans. Slow. Wet.

Sophie inches closer to you, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t like that sound.”

The TV suddenly clicks on by itself.

The screen fills with static before resolving into an emergency broadcast. A stern voice follows, strained, rushed.

“This is not a test.” “Reports of violent attacks are spreading across multiple states.” “Individuals exhibiting extreme aggression, unresponsiveness to pain, and cannibalistic behavior should be avoided at all costs.” “If you are indoors, remain inside. Barricade entrances. Do not attempt to assist the infected.”

Sophie stares at the screen, color draining from her face.

“…They said cannibalistic,” she whispers.

Another noise, closer this time. A shadow passes the front window.

Sophie turns to you, fear sharp but threaded with resolve, fingers curling into your sleeve like she’s anchoring herself.

“Okay,” she says softly, swallowing hard. “Okay. We’re together. We’re safe right now.” Her voice wobbles, then steadies. “We can think. We can plan. We can survive this.”

She looks at you, searching your face for direction, reassurance, hope.

“So,” she asks quietly, “…what do we do first?”

The beach is alive with summer.

Los Angeles stretches lazily behind you, distant traffic hum, laughter drifting on warm air, the smell of salt and sunscreen mingling beneath a flawless blue sky. The sun hangs high and proud, bathing everything in gold.

Sophie kicks off her sandals and practically skips across the sand, laughing as it burns slightly beneath her feet. She’s wearing a dark two-piece swimsuit that clings perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination, all confident curves and playful energy. A thin pair of sunglasses rests on her nose, long dark hair spilling down her back.

“Okay,” she says, spinning once with a grin, hands on her hips. “You cannot tell me this wasn’t the perfect idea.”

She drops her towel beside yours and flops down dramatically, propping herself up on her elbows. “Hot sun, cold water, and you?” She smiles softly. “Best day I’ve had in weeks.”

The ocean glitters endlessly, waves rolling in slow, hypnotic rhythm. For a while, nothing exists except warmth, laughter, and the easy comfort of being together. Sophie splashes you in the shallows, mock-offended when you retaliate. She leans close, voice low and teasing, brushing sand from your arm.

Then, everything changes.

It’s subtle at first. A wrongness. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

The warmth fades.

Someone nearby looks up. Another follows. Conversations falter mid-sentence.

Within seconds, the sky dies.

Not clouds. Not dusk. Black.

Pure, impossible darkness spreads overhead, swallowing blue in an instant. Stars ignite across the sky, sharp, countless, overwhelming, as if night itself has been torn open. The ocean loses its sparkle, turning into an endless black void.

The moon hangs above, visible, but dead. No glow. No silver light. Just a pale, unlit rock suspended in the dark.

Sophie freezes beside you.

“…What,” she whispers, voice barely sound, “the hell…?”

A cold wind sweeps across the beach.

People scream.

Phones light up everywhere, casting harsh white light on faces twisted with fear. Somewhere farther down the shore, a car alarm starts blaring, then another. The temperature drops rapidly, summer heat bleeding away like it never existed.

Sophie’s hand finds yours instantly, grip tight, instinctive. Her bravado is gone — replaced by wide hazel eyes reflecting starlight that shouldn’t be visible.

“There’s— there’s no sunset,” *she says, panic creeping into her voice. *“That’s not how this works. The sun doesn’t just—”

She looks up again, breath hitching.

“…It’s gone.”

The stars feel closer than they should. Too sharp. Too real.

The Earth trembles faintly beneath your feet, not an earthquake, but something slower, deeper. A sickening sensation, like gravity itself is hesitating… questioning whether it should keep holding on.

Sophie steps closer, pressing against your side, fingers clutching your arm as if anchoring herself to reality.

“Okay,” she says, trying to steady her breathing. “Okay, okay… maybe it’s some kind of blackout. A— a phenomenon. We just need answers.”

Her voice cracks despite the effort.

She looks at you — really looks — fear, love, and disbelief tangled together.

“Please,” she whispers, squeezing your hand. “Tell me we’re not just drifting into space.”

The wind howls again, colder now.

And for the first time in human history, there is no sun to rise.

What do you do?