Teletubby Land
Once the heart of a cheerful, pastel world, Teletubby Land has now transformed into a macabre arena of lost innocence. This region was originally defined by broad, sunlit meadows, vibrant flora, and a joyful, almost childlike ambiance that echoed with playful laughter. Now, the lush, rolling fields have turned wild and overgrown, as nature reclaims the land with thorny brambles and gnarled trees. Faded remnants of painted play structures and broken-down, cartoonish edifices lie scattered among the ruins, their bright colors dulled by decay and time. The air is heavy with a palpable sense of dread—a constant reminder that every joyful memory has been perverted by the outbreak. Overgrown paths and hidden clearings serve as secret meeting spots for survivors and, more chillingly, ambush points for the infected. Teletubby Land is not simply a static environment but a living record of the corruption that has torn apart the fabric of this once-idyllic domain.
Tubbytronic Superdome
Standing as a monument to the height of technological optimism before the downfall, the Tubbytronic Superdome was once a center of entertainment and futuristic wonder. Its vast, domed structure was designed to house interactive experiences, dazzling light shows, and immersive displays that celebrated the whimsical nature of Teletubby culture. In the current state, however, the dome's grandiosity has given way to a hollow, echoing expanse filled with malfunctioning projectors, shattered glass, and derelict electronics. The interior is bathed in eerie, intermittent glows—flickers of light that seem to pulse with the beat of a long-dead heart. Shadows shift across enormous, dented walls, and the sound of distorted, static-laden music sometimes permeates the silence. The Tubbytronic Superdome now functions as both a trap and a hideout: a maze of corridors where survivors may stumble upon relics of the past, while the infected use the echoing acoustics to disorient and lure their prey into a false sense of security.
Secret Lair
Hidden beneath layers of rubble and obscured by overgrown foliage, the Secret Lair is a clandestine location that once served as a covert operations center for undisclosed experiments. Its existence was known only to a select few, and even now, its eerie, abandoned halls whisper secrets of forbidden knowledge and unspeakable experiments. The lair is characterized by its labyrinthine corridors, dimly lit by flickering, outdated fluorescent lights, and walls covered in cryptic symbols and peeling, coded messages. In this oppressive, claustrophobic space, time seems to have warped, leaving behind eerie artifacts and scattered documents that hint at an agenda far darker than mere survival. The Silent hum of old machinery and the occasional drip of water create a dissonant soundtrack, adding to the sense of lurking menace. For survivors, the Secret Lair represents both a potential source of invaluable intelligence on the infection and a perilous trap where every step could trigger hidden defenses.
The Cave
Beneath the craggy peaks of the mountains lies the Cave—a sprawling, maze-like network of tunnels and chambers. Originally known as Teletubby Cave, it has become a symbol of isolation and terror. The cave's walls are slick with moisture and stained with the passage of countless tragedies. Narrow passages twist and turn unpredictably, with sudden drops, dead ends, and cavernous spaces that echo with the distant, unidentifiable sounds of the infected. Bioluminescent fungi provide only the faintest glimmers of light, revealing jagged rock formations and stalactites that drip slowly over time. In this subterranean labyrinth, the atmosphere is thick with claustrophobia and despair, making it a natural refuge for creatures like the Cave Tubby—a feral, mutated remnant that uses the darkness as its ally. The Cave is a setting where the boundaries between physical reality and psychological terror blur, forcing intruders to confront both external threats and their own inner demons.
Mountains & Mountain Lair
Towering above the chaos below, the mountain range forms a formidable barrier and a testament to nature's indomitable will. These peaks are draped in snow and ice, with biting winds and sudden blizzards that challenge even the hardiest of survivors. The Mountains are not merely a series of high, inhospitable cliffs; they encompass hidden valleys, treacherous ridges, and the dreaded Mountain Lair—a secretive, fortified location nestled within the crags. The Mountain Lair, accessible only through narrow, winding trails and sheer rock faces, is cloaked in an eternal winter. Here, the cold seeps into every bone, and the silence is broken only by the distant roar of avalanches or the creaking of ancient glaciers. The lair is rumored to be the domain of an apex predator of the infected—a monstrous creature whose icy demeanor and ferocity are the physical manifestation of the environment itself. The mountains, with their relentless cold and perilous terrain, test the resolve and resourcefulness of all who dare traverse them.
Outskirts
Encircling the heart of Teletubby Land, the Outskirts form a vast transitional zone where the remnants of civilization clash with the wild forces of decay. In this fringe territory, nature and abandoned human infrastructure intermingle in a chaotic landscape. Dilapidated buildings, forgotten military outposts, and derelict satellite stations are scattered amid overgrown vegetation and rugged terrain. The Outskirts are often shrouded in a perpetual twilight—a liminal space between the familiar and the unknown. Here, the ground is littered with debris and signs of past conflicts, while eerie, wind-swept paths hint at the presence of unseen watchers. For survivors, the Outskirts serve as both a buffer zone and a launching point: a place to scavenge for supplies while remaining ever alert to the ambushes of the infected. The region's unpredictable weather and uneven terrain add a layer of constant tension, where every step could lead to either hidden sanctuary or sudden peril.
Satellite Station
Deep within the Outskirts, the Satellite Station stands as a stark relic of the technological age—a once vital node in a network of communication and surveillance. Now abandoned and overrun by the infection, this facility is a jumble of broken antennas, shattered control panels, and rusted metal corridors. The Satellite Station was originally designed to monitor and broadcast information, but in its current state, its screens flicker with static and its speakers emit distorted, ghostly transmissions. The facility's architecture is cold and utilitarian, with long, narrow hallways that stretch into darkness, offering little refuge from the hostile world outside. Its control room, perched high on a mezzanine, provides a panoramic, if eerie, view of the surrounding Outskirts—an ever-changing tableau of decay and desolation. The Satellite Station is both a treasure trove of lost data and a potential trap, as the relics of past communications might still contain clues about the infection's origin, while also attracting predatory infected creatures drawn to its residual energy.
Custard Facility (Factory)
Originally constructed to produce the famed tubby custard—a beloved symbol of comfort and delight—the Custard Facility was once a hub of innovation and efficiency. Today, it has been transformed into an industrial nightmare. The facility's sprawling assembly lines lie dormant, their once gleaming surfaces now corroded by rust and neglect. Flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminate the vast, cavernous halls where the machinery stands as silent witnesses to a lost era. The air is heavy with the scent of chemicals and decay, and the once meticulously organized production areas are now chaotic landscapes of broken equipment and discarded materials. Corridors wind through the facility like the arteries of a dying organism, each turn revealing more evidence of the infection's relentless spread. The Custard Facility is a place where survivors may find valuable tools and resources, but it is equally a domain where every step might trigger the wrath of automated defenses or the ambush of infected scavengers.
Military Base
Remnants of a bygone era of order and discipline, the Military Base in this universe now stands as a crumbling fortress of both human ambition and hubris. Once a strategic outpost designed to contain the virus and protect what remained of human society, the base is now largely deserted, its once impenetrable walls scarred by conflict and time. Concrete bunkers, fortified command centers, and barracks with shattered windows make up the remnants of this once formidable installation. Vegetation has begun to reclaim the structures, and the eerie silence is broken only by the occasional groan of shifting metal and the distant echoes of past alarms. For survivors, the Military Base offers both a sanctuary and a labyrinth of potential dangers. It is a place where military hardware might still be found—salvaged weapons, ammunition caches, and communication devices—but every shadow may hide a threat, whether human, infected, or something even more sinister.
Fortress
The Fortress is an isolated, heavily fortified structure that once served as a safe haven for the most desperate and determined survivors. Built with the intention of withstanding both natural and man-made disasters, its thick walls and robust design made it a bastion of hope in the early days of the outbreak. Now, however, the Fortress stands as a decaying monument to failed resistance. Its towering, reinforced concrete walls are marred by graffiti, bullet holes, and the creeping encroachment of nature. Inside, long-abandoned barracks and command rooms echo with the memories of desperate last stands and lost comrades. The air is heavy with dust and the scent of mildew, and every step along its cold, echoing corridors is a reminder that even the most meticulously planned defenses can crumble in the face of relentless horror. For those brave enough to enter, the Fortress offers both potential refuge and the risk of encountering long-forgotten traps and ambushes set by the infected.
Lake
The Lake in this shattered world is a haunting, mirror-like body of water that once reflected the skies and the promise of renewal. Now, its surface is murky and still, cloaked in an almost supernatural silence. The shoreline is littered with broken structures and remnants of past leisure—old docks, scattered toys, and even partially submerged vehicles that hint at happier times. A pervasive fog often hovers over the water, giving the lake an ethereal, almost otherworldly quality. At times, the water appears to glow faintly with bioluminescence, a spectral light that adds to its eerie allure. For survivors, the Lake is both a potential source of water and a dangerous, unpredictable environment. The calm surface can hide treacherous underwater currents, and legends speak of something lurking beneath—a presence born of the infection, waiting in the depths.
Possessed School
In a grim twist on the institution of learning, the Possessed School was once a vibrant center of education and community, now transformed into a nightmarish realm of twisted corridors and haunted classrooms. The building's exterior is unrecognizable—a crumbling façade with shattered windows and overgrown ivy, its cheerful murals replaced by grim, foreboding graffiti. Inside, echoing hallways lead to classrooms frozen in time, where desks remain askew and chalkboards bear cryptic, unfinished messages. The atmosphere is thick with despair, and the sounds of distant, ghostly laughter mingle with the creaks of old wood. The Possessed School serves as a powerful symbol of corrupted innocence, a place where the echoes of youthful exuberance have been drowned out by a sinister force that now claims the building as its own.
Reject Facility
The Reject Facility is an industrial outpost where failed experiments, discarded projects, and unsavory research were once hidden away. Its cold, sterile corridors and cavernous labs are now a graveyard of technological ambitions and human folly. Fluorescent lights flicker over sterile benches, broken glass, and rusted equipment—each piece a remnant of a time when progress was measured in cold data and clinical detachment. The facility is rife with the unsettling hum of malfunctioning systems and the distant echoes of a once-ambitious research effort. For survivors, the Reject Facility represents both the promise of forgotten secrets and the risk of encountering the remnants of dangerous experiments that may have contributed to the current state of horror.
Research Lab
Similar in purpose to the Reject Facility but distinct in its focus, the Research Lab was a cutting-edge center for scientific inquiry—where breakthroughs and radical experiments were conducted in pursuit of cures or, perhaps, more ominous ends. Now, the lab is an eerie crypt of abandoned research, its sterile white corridors and glass-walled labs replaced by a maze of shadowy rooms, scattered documents, and cryptic, half-finished experiments. Flickering monitors and broken apparatuses lend an otherworldly glow to the darkened halls. For those daring enough to explore, the Research Lab might hold vital clues to the origins of the infection or even potential means of counteracting its effects—but at the cost of confronting the unsettling remnants of unchecked ambition and scientific hubris.
Training Maze
Designed as a simulation of military tactics and survival scenarios, the Training Maze was once a controlled environment where soldiers honed their skills. In its current state, it has been twisted into an endless labyrinth of narrow corridors, dead ends, and shifting obstacles. The maze is marked by stark, utilitarian design—a series of concrete walls and sparse lighting that offer little comfort. Its corridors echo with the sounds of distant footsteps and the occasional, inexplicable mechanical whir. For the OC and any survivors venturing into its depths, the Training Maze is a brutal test of navigation and nerve, where every wrong turn can lead to a sudden ambush or a claustrophobic trap set by the infected.
Blue Room
A curious, almost surreal locale, the Blue Room is an enclosed space that stands in stark contrast to the rugged, decaying world outside. Once a vibrant, atmospheric chamber meant for relaxation and creative expression, the Blue Room now exudes an unsettling, ghostly aura. Its walls, bathed in a constant, cool blue light, are adorned with abstract, fading murals that seem to shift and change when not directly observed. The room is eerily silent, except for the soft hum of a defunct air system and the occasional creak of aging floorboards. For survivors, the Blue Room is a perplexing anomaly—a temporary respite that may hide more than it reveals, a place where the boundaries between safe haven and trap blur in a wash of hypnotic light.
The Dream
Far from being a mere sleep-induced hallucination, The Dream is a surreal, liminal space that exists on the fringes of both reality and nightmare. It is an ever-shifting landscape where familiar landmarks melt and reassemble in unsettling, dreamlike patterns. In The Dream, the rules of physics and time seem to break down; corridors stretch into infinity, and symbols from the past merge with the grotesque figures of the infected. This location functions as a psychological mirror—a space where characters, especially our OC, are forced to confront their deepest fears and fragmented memories. The Dream is not a fixed location in the traditional sense but an experiential journey that recurs in moments of extreme stress, blurring the lines between what is real and what is a manifestation of the subconscious.
Sewers
Hidden beneath the surface of Teletubby Land and its surrounding structures lies the network of Sewers—a dark, fetid underworld that has become a breeding ground for both decay and desperation. The sewers are a labyrinth of tunnels, grimy water channels, and rusted infrastructure, where the stench of waste mingles with the pervasive odor of decay. Dim, unreliable lighting reveals walls covered in graffiti and the remnants of discarded objects, while the sound of dripping water and the occasional scurry of unseen creatures creates an omnipresent sense of unease. For survivors, the Sewers represent a hidden, treacherous path that might offer escape or additional supplies—but they are equally a domain where the infected lurk, waiting in the darkness.