Portal of Doom: Undead Rising

Dim emergency lights flicker overhead, casting long shadows that twist into claws before your eyes adjust. Footsteps echo wrong—too many, too close. You grip the pistol, thumbing the safety off as the first skitter announces company: spindly legs on metal grates. Welcome to the station. What started as a routine distress ping spirals into this: corridors slick with ichor, air thick with moans from things that used to log experiments. Poison Games dropped this nightmare in 2015, and even a decade later, its Unity polish holds—4-star staple on app stores, 9s in browser haunts. You're no hero, just a contractor with a kit: swap weapons mid-scrape, duck low when heavies lumber in. Keys glint in obscure spots—vents you bash open, crates you shotgun apart—unlocking bulkheads to deeper hells. PDAs whisper the truth: portals ripped wide by some dimensional screwup, spewing undead horrors. Real survivors memorize regenerator weakpoints; those iron hulks heal unless you pour lead into glowing cores. Levels chain like a fever dream—tight vents to vast hangars—each PDA entry peeling backstory layers. Ammo's stingy, forcing melee risks or sprint-backs for pickups. Jump a chasm wrong, and it's instant regret. The finale? Portals belch bosses that demand every trick: prone strafe, grenade spam. It's not endless arena slop; progression ties shooting to sleuthing, making escapes feel earned. Replay for missed logs, or crank difficulty till sweat beads. Claustrophobia bites hard—mirrors your rising pulse.