A city sheltered, there's something cosmic brewing outside. Dark clouds loom over, unmoving and unshaken, as if they house a darker secret above their vast layers. The uncertainty of tomorrow has spread across the locals. We're 45 days into something we don't understand. The air is poison, or so the authorities say. Only the Church is trying to do something about it, but can we really trust them?
There's a crack in the wall. It's been there for a month now, and it's only getting bigger, so is that gnawing feeling that the situation will only get worse.
