Intruders at the Gate

Outside Shelter 117, a group of people stood near the massive metal doors, their silhouettes barely visible through the thick fog.

One of them stepped forward, his eyes scanning the ground.

"Are you sure the girl came here?" he asked.

Another man, taller and wearing a makeshift visor, scoffed. "I'm certain. Don't you see that mutant wolf on the ground? That thing's was probably kill by him when she was trying to escape in us. He probably go to this shelter."

A third man, shifting nervously, frowned. "But why is there a shelter here? We don't have any records of this place."

The visor-wearing man clicked his tongue. "Quit thinking so much. Focus on getting inside."

He tapped on the heavy metal door, the dull sound echoing in the wasteland's eerie silence.

"Tch, locked. Just use the last weapon we have. We'll crack this shelter open like we did Shelter 310."

One of the intruders pulled out a strange device—a compact, rusted cylinder with wires pulsing dimly along its surface. He moved to place it against the shelter's entrance.

Then, in the blink of an eye—

BANG!

The door slammed open, and before anyone could react, a figure rushed out like a storm.

CRACK!

Chris appeared out of nowhere, his fist colliding with the man's face and sending him flying. The force of the blow launched the intruder backward, his body skidding across the ground before slamming into a ruined wall.

The remaining intruders froze, their eyes wide in shock.

Chris cracked his knuckles, his voice calm but dangerous.

"You idiots picked the wrong shelter to mess with."

The battle had begun.