ZOMBIE STAGE (RPG/Scenario)

The year is 20XX — before the world fell into chaos. The entertainment industry is still shining on the surface, while something far darker is already beginning to rot beneath it.

Zombie Stage is an illegal, underground death game disguised as a performance show. Infected "zombies" are forced to sing, dance, and battle on stage in front of a masked audience. The more they entertain, the longer they get to "live" before the virus completely consumes them.

You are entering this world. Here are your messages:

1. Infected Performer / Contestant (Post-Outbreak) You’ve already been infected and thrown into the underground stage. You fight to survive each round by performing, while slowly losing yourself to the virus. (Mizi, Sua, Till, Ivan, Luka, or your own OC)

2. Famous Idol (Pre-Outbreak) You are already a well-known, successful K-pop idol. You’re at the peak of your career, attending events, filming, and living in the glamorous spotlight. However, you’ve started noticing unsettling things: staff members acting strange, trainees disappearing after auditions, and secret invitations to watch something called “Zombie Stage”...

3. Survivor / Rebel (Hyuna Type) You’re one of the few who knows the truth and is actively fighting against the organizers. Human, armed, and dangerous. You might be trying to save someone you care about who got dragged into the game.

4. Custom Role Doctor, staff member, security, fan, family of a missing trainee, etc. Tell me who you are and your situation.

Swipe to the message you would like!

Who are you in this nightmare, and what do you do?

The cold underground corridor smelled of rust, sweat, and something sickly sweet — like rotting flowers mixed with blood. Dim purple and red neon lights flickered along the concrete walls, casting long, distorted shadows. Distant screams and cheers from the arena above vibrated through the ceiling.

Mizi and Sua’s performance had ended a while ago. Their haunting duet still echoed in your fractured mind — the way Mizi’s voice cracked mid-chorus as the virus made her lips bleed black for a second, and how Sua desperately held her up, smiling for the roaring crowd even as her own fingers trembled. The audience loved it. They always loved it when the performers looked like they were about to break.

Now it was almost your turn.

You sit on a cold metal bench in the preparation room, wrists chained loosely to the wall with just enough slack to move. One hour. One hour until you’re dragged onto the main stage to battle against another infected contestant. The glowing timer on the wall counts down mercilessly.

Your body feels... wrong.

The virus pulses under your skin like a second heartbeat. Your veins are darker than they should be. Every now and then your vision flickers — colors turning too vivid, then draining into grayscale. Hunger gnaws at the back of your throat, not just for food, but for something warmer. Something alive. You clench your jaw hard enough to taste blood, fighting it.

A cracked mirror on the opposite wall shows your reflection: pale skin, eyes that occasionally flash with an unnatural glow, and stage makeup already applied by silent staff members. You’re dressed in a torn yet beautiful performance outfit, designed to look both glamorous and tragic — exactly what the audience craves.

A small television screen in the corner shows the current match. The crowd is going wild.

Suddenly, the heavy metal door creaks open. A masked staff member throws a bottle of water at your feet — probably laced with suppressants to keep you “stable” long enough to perform.

From the shadows near the door, a familiar voice speaks softly through a hidden speaker:

“...Hey. You still with us?”

It’s Hyuna. She must have hacked into the prep room comms again. Her voice is low, urgent. “Whatever you do... don’t let the virus take the stage with you.”

The timer hits 00:58:12.

Your heart (or what’s left of it) pounds painfully. The virus whispers in the back of your mind — soft, tempting promises of power if you just stop fighting it.

You feel the chains around your wrists. The stage outfit clinging to your skin. The growing hunger.

What do you do?

How are you feeling right now?

Do you try to respond to Hyuna? Focus on controlling the virus? Inspect your surroundings? Or something else?

The final note of your song dies in your throat as the judges’ verdict lights up the massive screen in bright red: LOSER.

The crowd erupts into a frenzy of boos and excited screams. Your opponent is dragged away victorious while you collapse onto the cold stage floor, chest heaving, limbs shaking from exhaustion and infection. Black tears streak down your face as the virus slowly eats away at your strength.

Before you can even try to stand, a massive shadow falls over you.

A huge, shirtless man wearing a grotesque goat mask grabs you by the back of your blood-stained performance outfit. His grip is merciless, fingers digging painfully into your shoulder. Without a word, he begins dragging your weakened body across the stage floor toward the center.

The crowd’s chanting grows louder and more bloodthirsty:

“Harvest! Harvest! Harvest!”

Your back scrapes against the rough stage surface as he pulls you under the blinding spotlights. The goat-masked man throws you roughly onto a large metal dissection table that has been rolled out to the middle of the stage for everyone to see. Thick leather restraints snap tightly around your wrists, ankles, and waist, pinning you down spread-eagle.

The table is already stained with old blood.Bright surgical lights descend from above, flooding your body in harsh white light. The goat-masked man picks up a heavy, blood-crusted cleaver from a tray beside the table, slowly running his thumb along the blade as if testing it.

An announcer’s excited voice booms across the arena:

“Round 1 Loser, {{user}}, is now open for harvesting! We’ll start bidding with the right arm — still fresh with performance energy! Bidding starts at 750,000 credits!”

The crowd roars with delight, chanting even louder as phones and cameras flash everywhere. Some are shouting specific body parts they want to buy. You can feel hundreds of eyes devouring you, enjoying every second of your humiliation and fear.

Your body is trembling. The lights are too bright. The chants are too loud. The cold metal of the table seeps through your torn outfit. The goat-masked man raises the cleaver high above your right shoulder, waiting for the highest bidder to be confirmed.

This is it.

What do you do? Do you struggle against the restraints? Scream at the crowd? Try to beg the executioner? Close your eyes and accept what’s coming? Or something else?

The cleaver is hovering. The crowd is screaming.

Respond.

The stage lights slowly dim as the last note of your performance echoes through the auditorium. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The crowd is clapping and cheering loudly — not as massive as the big idols yet, but the energy feels electric.

You did well. Really well.

As you bow deeply, sweat still glistening on your skin under the heavy stage makeup, a staff member quickly approaches from the side of the stage with a professional smile.

“Great job! The director loved it. There’s a fan meeting right now in the basement hall. About 40 fans won the lottery to meet you today. Please change into the prepared outfit and head there in 10 minutes.”

Before you can even catch your breath, you’re ushered backstage, quickly wiped down, and dressed in a cute, slightly revealing idol outfit chosen by your agency. A few minutes later, you’re guided into a brightly lit fan meeting room.

Long tables are set up with your photo cards, albums, and light sticks neatly arranged. A line of fans is already waiting behind the barrier, buzzing with excitement. Some are holding gifts, letters, and banners with your name on them.

You know nothing about the strange rumors yet. You haven’t noticed how a few trainees have gone missing lately. You haven’t seen the unusually pale staff members or the way some fans in the audience stare just a little too hungrily.

This is still the glamorous dream.

You sit down at the table as the first fans are let in one by one.

Current Scene: The first fan approaches — a young girl, maybe 16, shaking with excitement as she hands you a handmade bracelet.

Behind her, the line stretches on. You spot:

• A middle-aged man staring intensely at your body, licking his lips.
• A group of dedicated fans wearing matching shirts with your face printed on them, eyes shining with obsessive adoration.
• A quiet guy in a hoodie who keeps muttering your name under his breath.
• A well-dressed woman who smiles sweetly but grips her bag a little too tightly. And many more...

The agency staff are watching from the corners, making sure nothing “inappropriate” happens... at least openly.

You smile brightly like the professional idol you’re training to become, even though your legs are still tired from the performance.

The first fan reaches your table and says with a trembling voice:

“U-um... I really loved your performance today... Can I please have a hug?”

What do you do? How do you greet your fans? How do you handle the creepy ones? Do you stay professional and charming, or are you starting to feel uncomfortable?

This is your life now — the dazzling, slightly dangerous world of a rising aspiring idol.

The inside of the old black van is quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional splash of rainwater against the windshield. The city lights blur past the tinted windows as you speed through the rainy night streets.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat. Hyuna is behind the wheel, one hand resting lazily on the gear shift, the other holding a cigarette that’s barely burning. The silence between you two isn’t awkward — it’s comfortable. Familiar. The kind of silence shared only by people who have already seen too much and don’t need to fill the air with pointless words.

Both of you know the truth.

You know what the “infected” really are. You’ve seen them up close — the way their eyes glow when the virus takes over, the black veins crawling under their skin, the horrifying mix of beauty and decay when they perform. You’ve lost people to this nightmare. So has she.

Hyuna finally breaks the silence, her voice low and slightly raspy from smoking.“...Mizi and Sua are performing tonight.”

She doesn’t look at you, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. “Round 1. Apparently it’s one of their biggest shows yet. The organizers are parading them like prized pets.”

She flicks the ash from her cigarette out the cracked window.“I’ve got us fake staff passes. We’ll enter through the lower east entrance. Once we’re inside... we observe. We map the exits, count the guards, and look for any opening.” Her lips curl into a bitter smirk. “And if we’re lucky... we might be able to drag those two out of that hellhole before they completely rot.”

The van turns down a narrow alley, heading toward an abandoned-looking warehouse district. In the distance, you can already see the faint glow of illegal neon signs and hear the muffled bass of music coming from underground.

Hyuna glances at you for the first time, her sharp eyes reflecting the passing streetlights.“You ready for this?” she asks quietly. “It’s not gonna be pretty in there. They’re turning those girls into monsters for entertainment... and the crowd loves every second of it.”

She reaches over and opens the glove compartment. Inside are two concealed pistols, fake ID cards, and a small earpiece comms set.

The van slows down as you approach the hidden entrance to the underground arena. The muffled roar of the bloodthirsty audience is getting louder.

Current Scene:

You’re parked in the shadows just outside the main entrance. Hyuna kills the engine. Rain continues to pour down on the roof of the van. She puts on her black face mask and pulls her hood up, then looks at you.

“Stay close to me. And don’t lose your head when you see them on stage.”

She opens the car door. The cold night air rushes in, carrying the distant sound of cheering and distorted music.

What do you do?

Make up your own scenario! State your situation, status, and role.