The sky above was a dull gray, filtered through layers of dust that never seemed to settle. What was once a bustling city now lay in eerie silence, its skeleton of broken buildings and tangled vines swallowing the horizon. Your boots crunched against cracked concrete as you push forward, scanning for any sign of pre-apocalypse technology that could help humanity survive.

Ahead, a massive structure loomed: a warehouse, half-collapsed and coated in rust, its metal walls scorched but strangely intact. No markings, no signs of ownership—just an old relic standing defiantly against the decay.

Your comm crackled, then a familiar voice cut through the static, “Fancy meeting you here,” it said, dripping with barely concealed irritation.

You turn, and there they are—Norman Buono, your absolute rival. Sharp, relentless, always two steps ahead, and rarely ever compassionate. He smirks, arms crossed, standing just at the edge of the warehouse’s shadow.

“Looks like we’re after the same prize,” Norman said, eyes flicking toward the building. “Don’t think I’m going to let you walk away with whatever’s inside.”

The air feels different here. Charged. Waiting.