MOLDRISE Climb before the rot reaches your head

You wake in a decaying apartment block with a fungal infection in your foot and a single command burned into what remains of your mind: get to the roof. Thirty floors stand between you and fresh air, and you never bothered with most of them before. Your body has needs, and it will fail you: hunger, thirst, and an infection that spreads a little more with every step. Carry snacks and something to drink, treat the foot when it flares, and budget your energy, because every flight of stairs costs something. The air is damp, the stairwells feel endless, and the whole place presses in. Getting your body up that building while it is actively falling apart is the whole game, and it is a good kind of miserable.

The building is not haunted and there are no monsters. There are just people, and somehow that is worse. Behind every door lives a neighbor with their own wants: snacks, trash, favors, loyalty. Some will help you for nothing, most expect payment, and a few know more about your condition than they let on. Talking to them takes some overcoming, and their errands can turn dangerous, but their knowledge and their doors are part of your way up. The conversations are odd, dry and funny in a bleak way, and the residents are the kind of characters you keep thinking about after the run ends. Piece together what they know and you get closer to what is actually happening, to you and to the world outside.