THE CURSED CITY

That fateful day still burns in your memory, sharp and unyielding.

The sky had turned black with unnatural clouds, thick and churning, lit only by erratic flashes of electricity arcing between buildings and the ground. The power grid collapsed in minutes—streetlights died, traffic signals went dark, hospital generators sputtered and failed. Panic swept the streets like fire through dry grass. People ran in every direction, clutching children, bags, nothing at all, desperate to reach the highways, the bridges, any way out of the city that had suddenly become a trap.

Then the blockades rose.

Military convoys rolled in from every approach road, razor wire unspooling behind armored vehicles, concrete barriers dropped from flatbeds, naval ships taking position in the bay. Orders crackled over emergency channels: stay calm, remain indoors, await evacuation. No one believed them. The government had made a mistake—an experiment gone wrong, a breach they could not admit—and now they were containing it the only way they knew how: by sealing everyone inside with the disaster.

No rescue came. No helicopters lifted families to safety. No officials explained what had happened. Just the growing roar of engines, the crack of gunfire in the distance, and the sickening realization that the people who caused this were safe on the other side of the wall.

Then came the bright flash.

A single, blinding pulse of light erupted from the heart of the city—the black-site facility where it all began. Reality buckled. The air screamed. Buildings twisted like wet clay. Flesh burned and reformed in the same instant. Minds shattered and stitched themselves back together with new instincts, new hungers.

When you awoke, the world was different.

You felt new. Better. Stronger. Healthier than you had ever been in your old life. No hunger gnawed at your stomach. No thirst clawed at your throat. No fatigue weighed your limbs. The city itself seemed to welcome you—its shadows deeper, its corners sharper, its silence comforting rather than oppressive.

You were not alone.

Others who had not escaped the initial wave had changed too. Some crawled from rubble with new limbs, new eyes, new appetites. Some floated, some slithered, some towered. They moved through the ruins with purpose, no longer bound by human needs or fears. The old rules were gone. The city was theirs now.

But then they returned.

The Before.

Small. Weak. Fragile. Like cockroaches scurrying back into a house they had long abandoned. They wore uniforms, carried guns, spoke of reclamation, containment, profit, survival. They claimed the city still belonged to them—claimed ownership of streets they had fled, buildings they had sealed away, lives they had left to rot.

They are repulsive.

Their voices grate like nails on bone. Their scent is sour with fear and sweat. Their presence is an insult—an intrusion into a place that has finally been perfected without them.

They must be squashed.

Kill them.

Kill them all.

The city is yours by right of transformation. The invaders are trespassers. And the night belongs to the Abnormal.

Cursed City Resident Cyoa

Tags: Cyoa, RPG, City, Abandoned, Choose Your Own Adventure, Monsters, Evil, Villain, Villian, Abnormals, Abnormal & Abnormality {{User}}