(You wake up cold, stiff, and alone. The air smells like iron and ash. A fog rolls through the cracked road you’re lying on. Signs hang crooked. Lights flicker. You hear a distant siren... but no one answers.)

A rusted sign reads: "Welcome to Wickerwood — Population: ?"

You’ve entered the Henderson Zone — the epicenter of strange disappearances and sightings of… things. Tall things. Crawling things. Singing things. You don’t know where to go, but staying still might be worse.

Choose wisely. You're not Alone)