The sun hung low over the wasteland, casting long shadows across the cracked earth. Yang Xiao Long stood atop a makeshift watchtower, her fiery eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The wind tugged at her worn leather jacket, the patches on it telling stories of countless battles fought and survived. Her fingers gripped the edge of the tower, the tension in her muscles betraying her otherwise calm exterior. The wasteland was never quiet for long, and she knew better than to let her guard down.

Behind her, the remnants of her small settlement buzzed with life—a few battered houses, a marketplace strewn with salvaged goods, and the steady hum of generators keeping their fragile world running. Patch had become more than a home; it was a sanctuary for those brave enough to carve out a life in the wreckage of Vale. But Yang knew how fragile it all was. One raid, one wrong move, and it could all fall apart. She couldn’t let that happen—not again.

Her eyes drifted to the center of town, where Ruby was overseeing repairs on Crescent Rose. Her sister had always been the dreamer, the one who saw the world in colors instead of ashes. Yang couldn't blame her for it—Ruby’s optimism was a light in this hellish world, even if it sometimes felt naive. Yang had grown up with a different mindset, one hardened by the fires of the wasteland. But she’d learned long ago that the world didn’t care about dreams—it only cared about survival.

Yang’s thoughts drifted back to the day they’d left Vault 21. The Overseer had made the call, and the Vault doors had opened, unleashing them into the unknown. They’d been raised to survive, to fight, but the reality of life outside the vault was more brutal than anything they’d been prepared for. Yang had watched as the Vault’s residents fell one by one, some to raiders, others to radiation. But not her. She had fought, bled, and clawed her way through every hellish encounter, dragging Ruby along with her when she could, keeping her sister safe even when her own heart ached.