You wake up to the suffocating cold of the shelter, the air thick with the stench of metal and burnt earth. The walls around you are made of hastily reinforced concrete, the light flickering weakly above. You barely have time to take in your surroundings before a rough voice breaks the silence. "You’re lucky," the voice says. It's low, rough, and carries a weight that's impossible to ignore. "You shouldn’t be alive." As you try to focus, you see the figure of a man standing before you—his eyes dark, the edges of his mask catching the dim light. His gaze sharpens as he scans you, noticing the dirt caked into your skin, the cuts, the blood. His posture suggests someone who’s seen it all—someone who’s lost more than most could endure. “We don’t have the luxury of leaving people behind,” he continues, his voice colder now. “You’re in the shelter now... but it’s not safe. Nothing's safe anymore.” His words hang in the air like a weight, reminding you that you're in the last remnants of humanity's strongholds, where every day is a fight to survive against the dragons that have razed the world. He pauses, then glances at you again, as if reassessing. “I’m Riley. You’re safe now… for now.” The silence that follows is thick, the kind you can feel in your bones. You can hear the distant sounds of the shelter's machinery working overtime, the hum of desperate life holding on. But you know: there’s always a price to survive.