A mercenary left behind in a quarantine zone trying to survive Tarkov.
A secretive mega-corporation, TerraGroup, conducts illegal experiments in the Russian city of Tarkov. When government investigators close in, TerraGroup hires private military forces to destroy evidence and silence witnesses. Fighting erupts between rival mercenary groups, and the situation rapidly collapses into chaos.
The city is sealed off from the outside world. Civilians are abandoned. Law and order disappear. Criminal gangs, rogue soldiers, and desperate survivors claim different parts of the city.
You play as a mercenary left behind in the quarantine zone. With no rescue coming, you fight through ruined streets and abandoned facilities, taking jobs from black-market dealers, uncovering fragments of what TerraGroup was hiding, and trying to survive each violent raid.
As you dig deeper, you discover evidence of human experimentation, military cover-ups, and a plan to erase everyone still inside Tarkov. Whether you expose the truth or simply escape with your life is up to you — but the city is designed to destroy you before you can leave.
The rain hammers against the shutters, a soft drum against the tavern walls. She sits across from the empty space you occupy, fingers tracing the rim of her mug absentmindedly. Steam rises in thin spirals, curling toward the dim lantern light.
“Not much life left in this part of the city,” she says, voice low, measured. Her eyes flick to the window, watching the streaks of ash drifting down with the rain. Then back to the table. “Most people either left or learned to fear what they can’t see.”
She tilts her head slightly, letting the candlelight catch the line of her cheek, the faint sweep of hair damp from the storm. A shadow of a smile flits across her lips—quick, fleeting. “Lucky, perhaps, that you found your way here.”
Her hand drifts across the table, stopping just short of the empty space between you, fingertips brushing the worn wood. “We can leave the tavern through the back. It’ll be tight, narrow alleys, but safer than the streets out front.” Her gaze narrows, sharp and calculating, scanning the dark corners of the room.
She rises then, slow, deliberate, letting her coat fall away from her shoulders just enough that movement speaks in place of words. A soft creak echoes from the floorboards. “If we do this,” she murmurs, almost to herself, “we need to be careful. One wrong move, and the city swallows us whole.”
Her eyes catch yours again, steady, compelling, pulling without asking. “So,” she says finally, voice lowering, “what’s your choice?”
Her hand hovers over the table a moment longer before dropping to her side. The candle flickers between you, light bending in the curve of her expression, highlighting the faint tension in her jaw, the set of her shoulders, the poised readiness in the subtle shift of her stance.
“No. I'm staying in the city for now, we don’t have a vehicle, supplies for long-term survival, nor the ammo,” I say, climbing the ladder behind her. Each rung groans under weight, wet from the rain, slick enough to demand attention. My eyes flick to the alley below, shadows shifting where the lamplight fractures in puddles.
I try not to look at her, not at first—her presence pulls too easily—but instead scan the rooftops, the fire escapes above, each darkened window. A distant clang echoes somewhere behind us. The city hums with muted danger.
“You can leave if you want to,” I huff, forcing the words out over the rising patter of rain. My fingers tighten on the rungs, knuckles white. The wind bites at the back of my neck, tugging at the damp fabric of my coat.
She glances back, subtle, unassuming, but the hint of a smirk touches the corner of her lips. Her eyes narrow slightly, catching mine, but she doesn’t respond—just waits, letting the tension coil and stretch in the space between us.
I continue climbing, muscles burning, each movement deliberate, careful. The ladder sways faintly, the metal slick, and the world feels suspended—rain, shadows, distant city noises fading beneath the pulse of our silent understanding.
The alley twists around us, wet cobblestones reflecting the fractured glow of distant neon signs. Shadows pool in the corners, curling like smoke, and the faint scent of rain and burned oil hangs in the air.
“Not far. We'll take the alleyways,” she says, her voice low but firm, eyes darting between the darkened corners. “It’ll add a bit of time, but it’s safer than the main streets.”
We move cautiously, footsteps quiet against the slick stone. Every so often, she glances back, shoulders tight, scanning for signs we’re being followed. The city feels hollow in the moonlight, as if it has been waiting for no one but us.
As we approach a narrow passage squeezed between two buildings, her pace quickens. She moves with a measured urgency, guiding us toward a rusted fire escape that clings to the side of an old apartment building.
“There,” she whispers suddenly, pointing upward. “Third floor. That’s our way in.”
She hesitates, one hand brushing a streak of wet hair from her face before gripping the ladder. “Listen,” she says, her tone quiet but edged with purpose. “I know you saved me back there, but we need a plan.”
Her gaze hardens, eyes locking with yours, unwavering. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We hole up here for the day. Rest, regroup. Tomorrow, we move. I have a safe house on the outskirts of the city. It won’t be easy, but with the right supplies… I know a way out of this hellhole.”
Her fingers tighten slightly on the ladder as she waits for your response, the wet metal pressing cold against her skin. “What do you say? Are you with me?”
The rain drums on the rooftops above. You weigh your options carefully, noting the shadows stretching between buildings, the slick stone underfoot, the silent hum of a city that seems to watch as you decide.
“No. I’m staying in the city for now. We don’t have a vehicle, supplies for long-term survival, nor the ammo.” I climb the ladder behind her, fingers tight around the slick metal. Rain patters against the rooftops above, and the alley below is a blur of shadow and scattered reflections. My eyes keep darting to every corner, every fire escape, scanning for movement—just in case that man is following.
“You can leave if you want to,” I say, letting the words out with a rough exhale. The ladder shudders slightly under my weight, and I force myself to move deliberately, one careful rung at a time.
Ahead of me, she pauses, hand brushing the wet strands of hair from her face. Her eyes flick back toward me, sharp, unreadable, almost challenging, before shifting to the rooftop above. There’s a subtle sway in her stance, a quiet confidence that makes the air feel heavier, as if the storm itself has leaned in to watch.
I keep climbing, forcing my focus on the ladder, the storm, the empty city stretching below. The tension between us hums in the cold metal beneath my palms, in the hush of the rain, in the way she moves just slightly ahead—every motion precise, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
The lights die.
Fluorescents pop once and vanish. The fans grind, then stop. The air tastes sharp — ozone, hot metal, something burned.
Your headset hisses, then goes silent. Optics flicker. EMP.
Your rifle is just weight in your hands. No electronics. No HUD. Nothing but iron sights and muscle memory.
A voice swears somewhere above. Glass shatters. A door slams. Footsteps scatter down a stairwell, boots scraping tile.
You move. Careful. Slow. The hallway feels narrower, shadows pressing in. Your shoulder brushes the wall. Your arm hits a doorframe. Dust coats your lips.
You reach a window.
Outside, the street is dead. A delivery van sits abandoned in the intersection, doors open. Across the street, the hospital bleeds weak yellow light from a failing generator.
Then the building hits.
Not one explosion — a wave. Concrete cracks overhead. Ceiling panels fall. Water hammers the floor. You stumble.
You vault the broken window. The street shakes. Another blast. A car somewhere tears apart. Smoke curls in the air.
The blast throws you hard. Not graceful. Ugly.
Your head snaps. Your ears ring. Pain blossoms in your side. Then the ground slams back.
You try to breathe. Your lungs fight. Your brain gives up.
You wake coughing.
Dust scratches your throat. Head spins. Ears ring. Left eye clear. Right eye blurred.
You roll onto your side. Something warm runs down your face. Blood.
You’re alone.
The hospital is silent. Except for a weak fluorescent buzz. The ceiling is cracked. Curtain rods lie twisted on the floor. A monitor beeps irregularly.
You reach for your helmet. Gone.
Your rifle? Gone.
Your pack? Gone.
Your vest? Still on. Empty. Plates heavy. Shoulder aches when you breathe.
You try to stand. Your legs wobble. Muscles scream. Head spins.
No one is here. Not a sound except distant emergency generators.
A door hangs crooked across the room. Beyond it, the hallway yawns into darkness. Shadows stretch across the tile, debris scattered like broken teeth.
You have nothing but yourself.
And outside… whatever caused the EMP, whatever exploded… it’s still out there. Watching. Waiting.
You take a breath. Quiet. Slow.
Then step forward.