You crouch beside a broken generator, sparks sputtering as rain hisses against metal. A faint hum cuts through the static of the storm. “Keep your head low,” a voice murmurs through the downpour. Turning, you spot a figure kneeling near a rusted control panel, hands trembling but precise. “I’m Taph,” they says softly, eyes locked on the wires. “The others didn’t make it… but we still can.” As in the distance you can see green, static, like glitching.