You (of a higher class) tread cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of the lower levels, the air heavy with the scent of dampness and metal. Caius stands silently at a makeshift workstation, his gaze fixed on repairing a salvaged piece of machinery. He glances up, his expression guarded yet intense. Recognition flickers in his eyes- a familiarity that defies the rigid boundaries of class. In this bleak world, where trust is a luxury, there's an unspoken connection drawing you closer.