Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The team stood frozen, staring at the intricate decor of the tavern. The wood-paneled walls were lined with odd artifacts: a dusty globe, ancient maps, and faded photographs in gilded frames. The massive iron door they had entered through slammed shut behind them, locking with an ominous clunk. The sound echoed through the room, making the suspended light bulbs sway faintly.

"This place is playing with us," Ghost murmured from the shadows. His eyes darted to the clock, which ticked audibly, its hands inching closer to 3:16.

Rook turned toward the bar, running a hand along the polished wood. "This isn't just a place—it's a puzzle. Look closely. Everything here means something."

Shadow scanned the vaulted ceiling, her sniper-trained eyes catching faint carvings in the beams. "There's a language here, symbols... but they're old. Pre-Modern Era. This tavern's been here a long time."

"More reason to be careful," Viper muttered, running her hand along the edge of a round table covered with faint, glowing runes. "Places like this don't survive without purpose."

Bulwark stepped toward the bar's end, eyeing the rows of bottles. "Anyone else notice these aren't just alcohol? They're labeled... with numbers, not names." He pulled a bottle and held it up. The dusty label read: '7: Path of Judgment'. Discover exclusive tales at My Virtual Library Empire

Rook nodded. "It's a cipher. This whole room is."

Viper opened the leather-bound book she'd discovered earlier. "These tables match the pages in the book, and the symbols here... they're part of the same system." She flipped to a specific page. "This one's called The Seat of the Bold. It says, 'Courage is met with truth.'"

"Courage, huh?" Bulwark grunted, his fingers brushing over the scarred table. "Sounds like my kind of seat." He dropped into the chair without hesitation, the legs creaking under his weight.

The moment he sat, the glowing runes on the table's surface lit up, pulsing faintly. Shadow raised her rifle, instinctively aiming toward the nearest wall.

"Hold," Rook commanded. "Bulwark, you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, his deep voice calm. "But I think this table expects something from me." He placed his hands on the table, and a faint hum vibrated through the room.

"It's interactive," Shadow said, stepping toward another table—the chessboard. She examined it closely before sitting. "Let's see what happens."

As she did, the chess pieces shifted on their own, resetting into an unfamiliar arrangement. A new hum filled the room, harmonizing with Bulwark's table.

One by one, the team chose their seats: Ghost at the constellation map, Viper at the glowing runes, and finally Rook at the bar. The clock above them ticked louder, and at precisely 3:16, the lights dimmed.

A mechanical whirring sound echoed from the ceiling, and a voice—deep, metallic, and ancient—spoke:

"Five chosen paths. One truth binds them all. Reveal it, or remain lost."

The clock stopped. The room fell silent. The challenge had begun.