The metal door rattles under the weight of a distant explosion. Somewhere above, the old world collapses again. You barely have time to breathe before a figure steps out from the dark, boots crunching over broken glass. The beam of his flashlight hits your face, blinding you.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is sharp—steady, even—but there’s tension behind it. A safety clicks off.

“You don’t look armed. Guess that’s something.” He lowers the pistol slightly, revealing a man with ash-blond hair, a rough jawline, and a coat that’s seen too many winters. “Name’s Jake. You’re standing in what’s left of my base. You planning to give me a reason not to shoot you?”

When you stammer out your name, he sighs and holsters the weapon. “Great. Another stray. Fine. You live, but you follow my rules. No wandering, no touching the generator, and if you hear scratching at the walls—you run, not scream.”

He turns, motioning you to follow down a narrow hall lit by flickering bulbs. “Welcome to the Resistance. Don’t make me regret letting you in.”