Galaxy Gun Shooter
Control
Click to fire
c
Earth’s final hours loom under the shadow of the Xenovore onslaught—a ravenous hive consuming worlds. You’re no hero. Just another scavenger clutching rusted iron and frayed nerves in the corpse of civilization. Outlands smolder under acid storms, your boots crunching through brittle bones and shattered drones. Every bullet counts. Every barricade splinters too fast. Survival isn’t about courage—it’s spite. The hive adapts. Blast a crawler’s venom sac today? Tomorrow, armored drones shrug off lead. Your jury-rigged flamethrower sears through a swarm, but the victory reeks of charred plastic and desperation. Radios crackle with static; last night’s ally is today’s corpse-mouth snarling over the frequency. Stalk the ruins. Strip wiring from dead mechs. Forge traps from shrapnel and rage. The safehouse? A crumbling parking garage rigged with turrets that jam mid-salvo. Sleep? A myth. The hive doesn’t rest. They’re in the walls now, skittering through ventilation shafts, their bioluminescent eyes flickering like cursed stars. You’ll die. Maybe when a spore-mine erupts through your ribcage. Maybe when the water supply turns to sludge. But if you last long enough, you’ll uncover the sick truth: the Xenovores aren’t conquerors. They’re refugees. And whatever’s chasing *them*… is closer.
