I have stockpiled 4,000 coal. I have built two automatons. I have signed every law except the one that asks for my own head.
The Last Autumn of Reason
Now the children sing hymns while sorting scrap metal. Their voices echo off the iron wall, a choral autotune of despair. The “Discontent” bar in my mind has frozen solid. There is only the heat map. The radius of survival. The circle of the generator. Frostpunk-CODEX
The game says “The City Must Survive.” I have stockpiled 4,000 coal