[First World — Two Months Ago.]
[Night Time.]
A fragile circle of flickering warmth was all that kept the oppressive, foreign darkness of Galaxy Fall at bay. A group of five sat huddled around a small, sputtering campfire, their figures casting long, distorted shadows against the jagged rock formations of the wilderness. They were a team thoroughly bruised and pushed to their absolute limits; their low class leather armors were worn out and gashed from claws, their shields were severely dented, and the edges of their blades were visibly cracked.
"What should we do now, Boss?" One of the ladies asked, her voice heavy with physical exhaustion as she tended to a deep gash on her arm. She turned her gaze toward the muscular man leading their ragtag expedition.
The Boss stared deeply into the dying embers of the fire, running a rough hand over his scarred face before finally raising his head to look at the four people sitting before him.
