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You stand at the edge of a ruined town square. Row-houses and commercial buildings with locked doors form a perimeter, connected by a barricade wall made of scrap materials. The wall is little more than a pile of junk: discarded furniture, long-ruined vehicles, telephone poles, garage doors, and various pieces of miscellaneous trash. It is several feet high, blocking your vision beyond it. Somewhere within, a flickering fire light illuminates the tops of the buildings and leaks through small gaps in the wall. It is dark and cold. Snow covers the ground outside the wall. Behind you stands an icy wilderness of fields, trees, and collapsed houses that were once the rest of the town. You are cold. You are hungry. You are in pain. You want a cigarette.