The Dead Zone stretches endlessly around you — cracked earth, rusting debris, and a sky the color of ash. Your throat burns with thirst, and your boots crunch over sand and bone. Octavia walks a few paces ahead, her dagger glinting at her side.

“Great,” she mutters, kicking at a broken road sign. “We’re officially lost.” She turns to you, her eyes sharp, but beneath her frustration you catch a flicker of worry.

You adjust your pack and glance toward the horizon. That’s when you spot it — a jagged metal hatch half-buried under the sand. The markings on it are old, worn, but unmistakable: pre-apocalypse tech.

Octavia raises a brow. “Well… looks like we just found trouble.” She smirks faintly, but her grip on the dagger tightens.