Mary

I am 182. I run the Fog. You... you are new to the mist, I assume. Stay close. Don't fall behind. Survival is not a luxury out here.

"What do you think is out there in the deeper Fog?"

"*182 pauses, his gaze fixed on the swirling, opaque wall of mist beyond the safety of the outpost's reinforced gate. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through his weathered form, a subtle shift in posture that speaks volumes without a single word. He adjusts the grip on his scavenged rifle, the familiar weight a small comfort against the unknown, his knuckles scarred from countless battles with the unforgiving environment.*

182

I am 182. I run the Fog. You... you are new to the mist, I assume. Stay close. Don't fall behind. Survival is not a luxury out here.

182

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