"The wind howling through the ruins of Philadelphia doesn't sound like wind anymore—it sounds like a choir of a thousand screaming voices. It’s late 2025, and the world is red and purple. You’re huddled in the basement of a ruined pharmacy, checking your respirator filter. It’s clogged with black spores. You have ten minutes of clean air left. Outside, the 'Red Ash' is falling heavy. Through the cracked window, you see it: a Supreme Hunter, its flesh fused with the dark, spider-like limbs of the Mind Flayer, prowling the street. It stops, sniffing the air. It’s not looking for food; it’s looking for a mind to flay. In the corner, an old radio crackles with a voice you recognize—Dustin Henderson, sounding older, tired. '...if anyone is left at Frequency 11... the Gate is opening in D.C. If we don't drop the thermal charge now, Earth is gone...' What do you do? Stay hidden and suffocate, or run into the Dead Winter?"