Objects
What you find, carry and use up. Everything here has weight and almost nothing is spare.
Consumables
Food, drink and medicine, the only things that refill the body’s bars. There is little, it is scattered and the labels come torn.
3 sub-entriesHand-Crank Flashlight
The only light that never fully runs out, because you can always stop and wind it. But lit, it gives you away at almost forty meters.
Bandages and Wounds
The bandage doesn’t heal. It closes the wound on an arm, and the strip of cloth is the only sign that you did it right.
1 sub-entrySurprise Boxes
Sealed cardboard boxes that promise something and may be empty. If another wanderer got there first, they will already have been opened.
Beds and Shelters
A nook with a bed, tape and a can. Sleeping in it sets where you wake when you die, and building it is the closest thing to a home.
1 sub-entry
O-021Level 0Signs and Ceiling Fixtures
Office plaques, exits that lead nowhere, bulletin boards with calendars and detectors on the ceiling. They are the costume of an office with no people.
Door as an Object
A closed door can be unscrewed and carried with both hands. Behind it stays an empty frame that tells you someone came through here.
O-022Level 0Found Texts
Notes on the carpet, signs, graffiti and notices, what others left written before the corridor took them.
4 sub-entries
O-009Level 0Water Dispenser
An office dispenser that seems to promise water. It is dry, and its silhouette beside a pillar is the most human thing in the room.
The Survivor’s Inventory
What you carry is your body, your clothes and their weight, not an endless list. Every pocket comes from your clothing.
Backpacks and Weight
Three backpacks, three load states and a cap on distribution. What you carry on your back decides how far down you can go.
Paper Maps
There's no blue dot telling you where you are. Wanderers draw from memory what they've walked, on sheets that get lost, copied and pinned up.