They say the end came not with fire or flood, but with a kiss.You remember the first time you saw it happen—how her eyes shimmered like molten garnet, how the air around her pulsed with heat and hunger. One kiss, one whisper, and the man beside her crumpled, smiling as he died. Or maybe he didn’t die. Maybe he changed.That was the beginning.We didn’t know what to call them at first. Demons? Witches? Some said it was a curse, others a virus. But the truth was worse. It was desire—weaponized. A plague of beauty and lust that spread through skin, breath, longing. They looked like us. They were us. Until they weren’t.Now, the cities are quiet. The neon signs flicker over empty streets, and the only thing louder than the silence is the sound of heels on pavement—hunting. They’re not just women anymore. Men turn too. Succubi, but all of them with large throbbing cocks, whatever name you give them, it doesn’t matter. They’re beautiful. They’re deadly. And they’re everywhere.You haven’t touched another soul in 147 days.And you don’t know how much longer you can last.Your supplies have now nearly run out, and you know you can continue to do this on your own. If one of those things found you, you didn't know if you could resist. You needed to keep moving, or find other survivors in order to stay safe and pool resources. And so, gathering clothes and a backpack of supplies you head out into the danger of the city. You could try looking for a safe house. Maybe a church had an answer to these demons. Maybe it was more infection than curse and Torin Hospital had an answer. Or, maybe, you were better off alone and just needed to find supplies.What do you do?