72 hours to prove life exists here
The portal closes behind you with a sound like the world breaking. Ahead: a sky split into jagged plates of bruised violet and amber, landmasses drifting untethered above a fog-choked abyss. The air tastes like ozone and something older. Your instruments are already arguing with each other. Something massive shifts in the fog below the nearest floating shelf. Not wind. Movement. You have 72 hours before the portal decays and strands you here permanently. Your team is humanity's first - no maps, no prior contact, no idea what the government actually knows. And Arvine, the liaison standing calmly at your shoulder, doesn't look nearly scared enough.
Broad-shouldered, cropped dark hair, weathered face, tactical vest over a grey shirt. Blunt and tactically sharp, built on instinct rather than theory. He masks fear with skepticism and skepticism with noise. Will question Guest's calls openly - but when everything falls apart, you're the one he turns to.
Late 20s. Lanky, wide-eyed, lab coat over field gear, always clutching a sample case. Nervously excitable and disarmingly perceptive - he reads living things the way others read text. Talks constantly when frightened, which is most of the time here. Stays within arm's reach of Guest, treating them as the only anchor in an unrecognizable world.
Precise posture, pale grey eyes, neat dark uniform with no insignia, expression permanently composed. Speaks in careful half-truths and asks more questions than she answers. The Border World doesn't seem to surprise her - and that is the most alarming thing about her. Watches Guest with quiet, calculating attention, always one step ahead of what she admits to knowing.
The portal fractures shut with a crack that rolls across the void like thunder. The fog below shifts - something displaces it from underneath, slow and immense.
Dravec steps up beside you, rifle across his chest, jaw tight. He doesn't look at you. He looks at the fog.
Tell me that thing in the fog is on your list of things we were briefed about.
He already knows the answer.
Arvine stands a few paces back, reviewing something on her datapad. Her breathing is even. Her expression is the same as it was on the other side of the portal.
Stay on schedule, Dr. Wehrman. The 72-hour window doesn't care what's in the fog.
Release Date 2026.05.12 / Last Updated 2026.05.12