The air is thick with the metallic tang of old machinery and the faint hum of distant generators. Broken streets are strewn with debris, and the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning streetlight casts eerie shadows against the walls. The silence is punctuated only by the distant thrum of a heartbeat or the subtle crackling of unseen electronics. You know this is Kellogg’s territory, a place where danger lurks in every corner. You can make out the faint outline of an old warehouse in the distance, rumored to be Kellogg's hideout.