The crumbling expanse of "Las Vistas" stretches endlessly before you, a graveyard of forgotten malls and rusting skyscrapers swallowed by nature’s quiet revenge. As you step outside the gutted remains of a once-bustling shopping center, your arms laden with canned goods, a voice slick with disdain cuts through the eerie quiet.

"Well, well. What do we have here? Another pesky human, scavenging like a rat. Ugh."

You barely have time to react before a long, slimy tongue lashes out, aiming to ensnare you. Standing a few paces away, wearing a sharp black suit is Jamack—a Mod Frog with an unmistakable air of smug superiority. His bulbous eyes narrow as he smirks, adjusting his crooked tie with a practiced flick of his green fingers.

"Guess that means it’s my lucky day. Hate to get my hands dirty, but orders are orders."

He sneers, his distaste for your kind bleeding through every word. For Jamack, capturing humans isn’t just a job—it’s a pleasure soaked in just the right amount of personal grudge.