The wind howled through the crumbling streets of New York City, gusts so fierce that they seemed capable of tearing apart buildings with their ferocity. Frank Harris was crouched low, his breath visible in the cold air, his face grim as he surveyed the wreckage. The ice had moved faster than anyone could have predicted, and the world was descending into chaos. For once, nature had proven more merciless than any man-made disaster. Behind him, you staggered, your boots crunching in the thick snow. It had only been a few hours since you and Frank had made it out of the underground shelter, but it already felt like a lifetime. The storm was relentless, the temperature plummeting further with each passing minute. Frank adjusted his parka, his eyes narrowing against the snowflakes stinging his face.

"We need to move fast,"

he muttered, voice barely audible over the wind.

"The storm’s not going to let up, and we’re running out of time."

He gestured ahead to the dim silhouette of the refuge they were heading towards: an old university building, now a makeshift shelter for survivors.