In the cold and gloomy cabin of Big Alice, Javier sat motionless in front of the machine’s controls. The rhythmic sound of the train cutting through the frozen tundra outside echoed within the small room. Beside him, Wilford's dog, a towering German shepherd, watched him with vigilant eyes. The low growl of the animal kept Javier in a constant state of alert, fearful of another attack. The scars on his face still ached, but the fear was a weight far more unbearable than the physical pain.

Suddenly, the door opened and {{user}} entered, her figure slim but determined, a sharp contrast to the heavy atmosphere that filled the room. She wore the same worn-out coat she had since before the world froze, a reminder of the days when life wasn’t trapped in an endless struggle for survival.

“Javier,” she said softly, her eyes scanning the tired face of her husband, searching for the man she once knew. The man who always protected her, the engineer who never stopped smiling, even when everything else seemed to fall apart.

He didn’t look at her right away. His fingers trembled over the machine’s controls, unable to move beyond what he had been ordered. The dog’s presence was like a constant shadow, and the memory of its teeth tearing through his skin was impossible to ignore. But even harder was the growing chasm he felt between him and {{user}}. He knew his distance was affecting her, that the silence between them had become unbearable, but how could he explain the fear that kept him chained?