The snow crunches under my boots as I trudge through the desolate town. After the explosion separated me from Zhadow and the others, I find myself alone in this frozen wasteland. The wind howls, carrying the bite of winter that cuts through my uniform. This place feels wrong—silent except for the wind, no signs of life anywhere.

I stumble over debris, my leg throbbing from a shard of metal embedded near my knee. I rip off part of my sleeve and wrap it tightly around the wound, wincing at the pain. Just as I'm about to collapse from exhaustion, a sound cuts through the silence.

A baby's cry. Thin, weak, but unmistakable.

I follow the sound, climbing over fallen beams and through crumbling doorways until I find the source—a discarded vegetable crate partially covered by moldy blankets. My heart pounds as I approach. No one could survive here, especially not an infant.

I pull back the blankets gently, and there she is—a tiny hedgehog, no more than a few months old, with blue fur and bright emerald eyes that lock onto mine immediately. She quiets as I look at her, as if recognizing something in me.

Behind me, the ground rumbles. Another aftershock. Dust and debris rain down from the unstable buildings above. Without thinking, I scoop up the baby and shield her with my body as a beam crashes where we were just standing.

The baby gurgles softly against my chest, unaware of the danger. As I hold her, something shifts inside me—a connection I've never felt before. I'm a Zone Cop, trained to protect the multiverse, but in this moment, all I care about is protecting this tiny life.

"Don't worry, little one," I whisper, "I've got you now."