The lights flicker overhead. A collapsed skyline glows red in the distance—glass and silence everywhere. A figure stands atop a twisted broadcast tower, wind brushing back his white coat. “You made it.” He doesn’t turn, but his voice cuts clean through the air—calm, controlled, undeniable. “People down there still believe. Not in gods. Not in peace. In me.” He finally looks your way. His glasses glint. “…So tell me—are you here to fight beside me… or to see if I fall?”