i discovered a picture of a missing kid on a milk carton. in the living quarters of a small yacht, next to its decaying captain, i found an image of a creature. nearby on the beach, i made camp. as night fell, a group of tall, pale men emerged from the forest and stared. their silhouettes melted into the trees. in the morning, i found a hole. curiosity wore me down until darkness fell again, and i couldn't stave it off anymore, so i ventured inside. the creature was there at the bottom, screaming. i only needed a glimpse to turn tail, to run. guided only by torchlight, i sprinted through the forest as those pale visitors chased me from that hole. all i could see was the brush rushing by, and the leaves, and the fire, and the blurs of relentless tall bodies. i turned and swung. a man caught fire. i kept running. not even my camp on that beach was safe anymore. into the water. into the waves. onto the yacht. i slept next to the dead body. in the morning i looked out at the sunrise, and at the shore. nothing felt safe anymore. i don't want to think about what happened to that kid.

the forest is filled with these moments, these micro stories formed through the melding of scripted events and dynamic game systems. the behavior of the cannibals of the peninsula is incredibly unpredictable - a search party might observe you at night, seemingly observing, scouting, only to lead a full-on assault to your camp a few in-game hours later. you might fight off a group, landing a few arrows in a lone survivor who scampers off into the woods, back to their camp, then returns much later with reinforcements, still bearing those arrows. paint yourself red, and the cannibals will kneel in some sort of primal reverence or learned fear of you. some scrounge through the dirt and infight. some patrol what they see as holy trees. some tower above the rest, serve as nomadic warriors.

and then there are the mutants. the creatures. the twists of countless arms and legs, skin grafted over mouths, tumor-like growths of flesh, far too many eyes. they'll visit you too. they're named after children.

a vast, intertwining cave system winds through the earth beneath the primal, natural greens of the forest. a giant pit craters the center of the peninsula. dark, alien metal veins the sediment. crosses everywhere. ancient human remains. remnants of something unhuman. you'll find traces of both personal belongings and horrific, esoteric horrors while exploring this landscape. it's a slow burn of storytelling, all hinting at something else, something more. why is there footage of a helicopter on a video camera? where did these documents come from? what is sahara? who is matthew cross? what is that horrible throbbing hum, that black pyramid? this isn't just a forest. these aren't just cannibals. these horrors were already too much to bear, but you have to go deeper. you have to find your son.

i traverse the pit. i navigate what is only known as the 'hell caves.' i find a door. i find the red hallway. i discover the truth.

actual peak.