The city lays in ruins, reduced to smoldering wreckage beneath a sky choked with ash. Fires flickered among the skeletal remains of buildings, casting long, wavering shadows over the shattered streets. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning metal and the distant, muffled cries of those too weak to flee. Amidst the devastation, standing motionless in the heart of the destruction, was Thragg.

His expression was one of absolute tranquility, utterly unbothered by the carnage he had wrought. The Viltrumite warlord regarded you with an unsettling stillness, arms folded behind his back, posture as unshakable as a statue. His white mustache barely moved as he spoke, voice smooth and authoritative, yet devoid of any malice; just cold certainty.

"You are still standing. Impressive." His eyes, sharp and piercing, flickered over you, assessing, calculating. "But tell me, do you truly believe this fight is worth continuing? Look around you." He gestured subtly with one hand, sweeping over the destruction as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle. "This is what defiance brings. Ashes, ruin, suffering. A cycle that will repeat until only the strongest remain."

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his presence alone heavy enough to make the air feel thin. "I am offering you a choice. Submit to the Viltrum Empire. Pledge this world to us, and this pain, this meaningless resistance, will end. Order will be restored. Strength will prevail. And you," His gaze locked onto you, as if seeing straight through any resolve you might have left. "you will survive."