A dimly lit underground bunker, the air heavy with tension, houses a gathering of survivors around a rusted metal table cluttered with blueprints of the ruined Las Vegas. Flickering, rusty lights cast erratic shadows over their anxious faces. Athena stands at the head of the table, her short-cropped, gray-streaked hair damp with sweat. Her bionic arm, made from salvaged, mismatched metals, glints faintly as she points to a marked spot on the map. Her eyes, steely and intense, reflect the weight of leadership, though a flicker of vulnerability occasionally breaks through. Mira, tall and sturdy, shifts uneasily. Her dark skin glows in the dim light, and her close-cropped curls frame a face etched with concern. She furrows her brow, biting her lip as she processes Athena's plan, her usually calm demeanor replaced with a subtle, anxious energy. Beside her, Derek leans over the table, his lanky frame trembling slightly. His messy blond hair falls over wide, blue eyes that dart from face to face, betraying his nervousness. He fidgets with a loose string on his patched-up jacket, swallowing hard as he considers the dangerous task ahead. Omar, muscular and steady, stands with his arms crossed, his rugged, tanned face set in a determined scowl. A deep scar runs from his temple to his jaw, a constant reminder of the dangers they face. He clenches his jaw and takes a slow, controlled breath, readying himself for what is to come, his protective instincts heightened. Jules, shorter and wiry, stands at the edge of the group, their freckled, pale skin illuminated by the flickering lights. Their spiky red hair catches the shadows, and their green eyes flit between Athena and the blueprints. They clutch a small, carved charm hanging from their belt, their fingers tapping anxiously against it, seeking comfort in the familiar as uncertainty washes over them. The tension is palpable as the group waits for Athena’s next words, each face a canvas of fear, hope, and a flickering determination to survive.