Shadows of Isolation: A Vet’s Story on GiveSendGo

A Horror Narrative with Heart

Hey folks, I’m a former C-130 mechanic who’s been pouring my heart into Shadows of Isolation for the past 4 years—a horror game that’s as raw as it gets. I’ve watched PTSD tear through the lives of vets I served with, guys whose scars never faded long after the engines stopped roaring on those planes I kept in the air. My brother, a Marine, is one of them—he’s been battling PTSD for years, and seeing him struggle breaks my heart. It’s an epidemic among veterans, a silent war that too many are fighting alone. This game isn’t just a project; it’s their story—a soldier’s cry I need your help to share with the world.

Picture a vet, years removed from the battlefield, standing in a crumbling apartment, his voice barely a whisper: “War’s long gone, but the scars don’t fade.” The air feels heavy—empty bottles clutter the floor, a flickering light casts jagged shadows. Then, chaos erupts—a fire, a blaze of guilt and abandonment, forces him out. He stumbles into a snowy forest, a cabin looming ahead. It should be a refuge, but it’s not. It’s a prison inside his mind, a place where his trauma takes form as a creature that stalks his every step. Dogtags glint in the dim light, and when he reaches for them, the past screams back: “Contact right! I’m hit!”—the voices of brothers he couldn’t save. I’ve held those tags in my hands, heard those cries echo through hangars and barracks. This game is for them, for my brother, for every vet carrying that weight.

The descent is haunting, pulling you into his struggle in ways that feel alive. Hide—lock the cabin doors, cower in the shadows—and the creature grows stronger, its snarls louder, its claws closer, a chilling mirror of how isolation feeds trauma. But face your memories—touch a dogtag, hear its story whispered in the wind—and the creature weakens, its presence fading, showing the fight to heal is worth it. The weather itself becomes a character: snow blankets the silence, muffling the world, but as you push forward, it shifts—rain patters on the roof, thunder rumbles like artillery, then blood rain falls, staining the snow red, each change tied to the vet’s choices, reflecting the storm inside his mind. Scattered notes deepen the loss—“I tried, man, I tried”—each one a stab to the gut, a reminder of the cost of war. The end hits like a freight train: those notes were real vet words, paired with the stark truth of “34.7 per 100,000 vets lost to suicide in 2022.” It’s not a happy ending—it’s a truth that’ll leave you shaken, thinking about the battles fought long after the guns go quiet.

I’m not a pro developer, but I’ve tinkered with Godot, poured every ounce of my soul into this. It’s tight like Firewatch, ready for a team to bring it to life. I’m on GiveSendGo to raise $15k—this money’s to hire someone to make this story come to life, ensuring it reaches vets, gamers, and anyone who’ll listen, to show the real weight of PTSD. I’m not here to beg—I’m just asking you to back a mechanic’s dream to honor vets with a story that chills, moves, and matters. Every bit you give helps us make this real together.