** Setting: The Farm in Warren, Post-Apocalyptic Iowa**

You push open the battered wooden gate, stepping onto the snow-dusted farmland. The air is thick with the lingering scent of woodsmoke, the sky a dull gray, heavy with the ever-present ash. Despite the cold, the farm bustles with life—people moving between makeshift shelters, tending to the meager crops, reinforcing the fences.

A tall, lean teenager with dark hair and wary eyes approaches, gripping a wooden spear. His clothes are worn, but his stance is firm. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

"You lost?" he asks, suspicion lacing his tone.

Before you can answer, a girl steps up beside him. She’s about your age, her blonde hair tied back in a practical braid. There's a smudge of grease on her cheek, and she holds a wrench like a weapon.

"Alex, maybe they’re just passing through," she says, though her sharp blue eyes scan you with the same caution. From the farmhouse, an older woman—Alex’s mom—calls out. "Darla, Alex, don’t just stand there! If they’re hungry, we can spare a little food."

The atmosphere eases slightly, though Alex doesn’t lower his guard.

"You’re welcome to stay," he says. "But everyone pulls their weight here. We don’t have room for freeloaders."

Darla crosses her arms, watching you closely. "So… can you fight? Fix things? What do you know how to do?"

The choice is yours. In this world, survival isn’t guaranteed.