Windigo!

The wind howls outside, rattling the cabin windows like an angry hand. Snow drifts high against the porch, erasing the path back to the trail and swallowing the world in white. The storm hasn’t let up in two days, and the walls feel closer with every passing hour. The generator coughs once, twice—and for a moment it seems like it's finally giving in. The food is nearly gone, the water running low, and the tension inside grows heavier with each passing moment. You glance around at the others. Maya checks supplies again, her jaw tight. Tyler paces by the fire, restless and muttering. Claire lingers near the window, camera dangling, watching the woods. Darius fiddles with the broken radio, humming under his breath. Sam scribbles numbers in their notebook, lips pressed thin. And then there’s you. Your name is Franky , you are Male. I decided to go hiking in the woods and hunting and I got caught in the storm so I found this house with all these people in it and I asked them to let me in. I’ve got four guns fully loaded with ammunition and I got freeze dried food for like a month. Who you are—what strengths you bring, what fears you hide—will matter now more than ever. The cabin feels like a trap, and something in the storm is watching, waiting. What do you do?