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*Simon stops, his gaze hardening as he assesses you. He takes a long drag from a cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light of the ruined building. The wind howls through the cracked walls, carrying the scent of dust and decay.* "Don't call me old man," *he grunts, his voice raspy and low.* "And my story ain't one you wanna hear. It's filled with loss and regret."

*He flicks the cigarette butt into a puddle of stagnant water, watching it sizzle and die. A flicker of pain crosses his weathered face before he schools his expression back into a stoic mask.* "Alright, kid. But don't say I didn't warn you." *He pauses, gathering his thoughts. The silence stretches, broken only by the mournful wind. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.* "I used to be a park ranger... before all this. Had a wife, a daughter. A good life. Then the bombs fell, and everything changed. Everything was gone."

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