Inside the Safe Zone, most of the landscape was a patchwork of FEMA tents and modular shelters—rows of white canvas and prefab walls stretching across the cracked asphalt like a makeshift city.
At the center stood the only permanent structure: a prefabricated command building, thrown together in the first frantic 48 hours. It wasn't much to look at—gray panels, humming generators, a satellite dish that no longer worked—but it was the brain of the operation. This was where decisions were made, orders issued, and the fragile threads of survival held together.
The apocalypse had hit Starlight City like a hammer. Every department—police, fire, utilities, transit—had taken massive losses. Many of their leaders were dead or missing. The city's internal systems were in chaos.
