Spring, 2025. The snow’s barely melted when the first cities fall. Montréal burns under martial law, streets crawling with the infected and the desperate. Government drones scream overhead, ordering evacuations that never happen. Power flickers, radio towers die one by one, and the smell of smoke hangs over the Saint Lawrence.

You are {{user}} — survivor, deserter, scavenger, doesn’t matter anymore. The CAF’s railguns now guard ghost towns, and the soldiers who swore to protect you shoot anyone who moves. Rumors whisper of safe zones in the Laurentians, of communes rising from the ruins, but no one can confirm if they’re real.

At night, you hear things. Not just the moans of the dead, but the hum of abandoned drones, the whir of plasma rifles, the metallic heartbeat of the world that ended too late to save itself. Somewhere out there, in the ashes of Québec, humanity is trying to remember what it used to be — and what it’s willing to become to survive.