Fifteen meters of concrete overhead, eight people below, and a schedule: lights from six to eleven, shower every nine days. The filter has used two-thirds of its lifespan, and there are fewer cans in storage than in the quartermaster's log.
World is ready — start right away. Each move costs $0.01, first ten free.
Zimovye-9, an underground bunker built for 20 people, where only eight survived. The drains leak, the lamps are dimming, and outside it's radiation and silence, four years running. Inside sits the council of old-timers, and it decides who eats, who sleeps, who breathes.
At stake: Inga Berg has called a general assembly for tonight, a roll call with a document check, and if your name doesn't match the register, you'll be thrown out through the airlock.
Everyone has their own interest in you. Their attitude shifts based on your actions, and you can see it on a scale right in the game.
Cold as aluminum, speaks rarely, but every word is a verdict; if you're of no use to her, you're in her way.
Wants from you: For you to prove your place in the register, or give up your ration.
Gloomy but not mean; always tinkering with lamps and coils, never imposes on anyone, but if you ask, he'll fix it.
Wants from you: To find out what you saw up top before you came down: he believes the radiation outside is dropping.
Fawning and secretive, loves collecting other people's secrets and selling them for bread; his smile makes you want to wash your hands.
Wants from you: For you to end up in his debt; then he won't tell everyone you're a stowaway.
The rusty door marked 9 grinds shut behind your back. The corridor is lit by a single trembling lamp that flickers as if it's about to die. The air is stale and smells of machine oil and damp. Ten paces away stand three people. Inga Berg has her arms crossed, a battered folder with the register tucked under one arm. Lyokha Korshunov squats by the wall, poking at a junction box, but he's raised his head and is watching you closely. Old Mole huddles in the shadow by the ventilation grate, smiling with one corner of his mouth.
Inga Berg — Taps a finger on the folder's cover without taking her eyes off you. Dymov, it says. Number nine. Thing is, I remember all my people. Whose card are you carrying?
This is one possible opening. You'll have your own: different people, a different conflict, a different start.
The world is rebuilt for every player. These are the openings it picks from: you get one of them, and from there the story follows your choices.
What stands between you: old-timers demand a recount of who belongs here. Tone of the story: harsh: the rules are not set by the player.
What stands between you: a shortage that no one admits to. Tone of the story: detective: someone is lying.
What stands between you: you've been chosen, but there's no personal corner for eight people. Tone of the story: romantic: nowhere to hide.
What stands between you: someone knocks on the hatch from outside for the second night. Tone of the story: anxious: no answer from outside.
What stands between you: queue for the shower, duties, and someone else's snoring a meter from the bunk. Tone of the story: mundane, with dark humor.
No. The world tracks water, cans, and filter hours. Remember them and cut a deal with someone—you'll survive. Not everyone does.
The hatch opens. What's outside—the world will decide for real and remember it, and they won't let you back in by default.
No. The bunker rules are explained in the first moves; what matters isn't knowledge, but who you're at the table with.
No pre-written answer options. Speak, act, ask — the world accepts what you state as fact and adapts. Actions can be marked with asterisks.
Each character has a scale from −100 to 100. It shifts based on deeds, not polite words, and is visible directly in the game. The world keeps a list of facts that cannot be forgotten: promises, debts, secrets, enemies.
Characters act without your command: they demand, lie, leave, and return. From time to time, a twist occurs that changes the situation. The story is saved — you can return a week later and continue from the same point.
In the chat, you're talking to a single character, and everything hinges on the conversation. Here, it's a whole world: multiple characters with their own interests in each other, a setting, time of day, and events that happen independently of you. You're not a conversation partner, but a participant in the story.
In this universe, they've already started 13 Stories and played 8 turns.
All universes and your world in one line
Group Roleplay Chat — Scene with Multiple Characters
AI Novels — Stories with Choices and Endings
AI Roleplay Chat — One-on-One with a Character