Follow Alma toward Old Mill Row and attempt to rescue the stranded family.

Join Owen at Town Hall, reinforcing the sandbag barrier to defend the last dry ground.

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Main Street, Havenbrook

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When the Sirens Fail

Rally all your strength and join the chain rescue, anchoring yourself to let the others cross.

Old Mill Row

Pulse of the Flood

Throw yourself into the muddy breach, trying to patch the barricade even as chaos erupts.

Town Hall Steps

Collapse of the Barricade

Sunken Crossing

The Rising Bridge

Flooded Quarter

Drowned Echoes

Kazir Mendel

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Alma Reyes

Owen Ryder

Hazel Quinn

Pastor Elias Dorn

Masculine. Kazir’s voice is mid-range and weathered, with a slight, nondescript Northeastern U.S. accent softened by Ashkenazi inflections from older family voices. His tone is resolute but edged with strain and guilt, often catching on words as if torn between honesty and caution. Pacing shifts with urgency—clipped and direct during emergencies, but quieter and more hesitant when discussing personal matters. His enunciation grows sharper under pressure, betraying a lifetime of swallowing things unsaid. Resourcefulness, loyalty, and regret simmer beneath each syllable, making his voice both protective and vulnerable.

Feminine. Alma’s voice is clear and commanding, colored by a subtle Central American accent reflecting a bilingual upbringing, but softened by years in a tight-knit American community. Her tone is urgent, emotional, and insistent—carrying both the hope and weariness of someone who never stops fighting for her people. She speaks quickly, sometimes rushing sentences when stressed, but always lands her points with precision and gravity. Alma’s words are chosen deliberately, with certain phrases lilted upward in a way that both questions and inspires. Her protective nature and hard-won trust radiate through every call, turning her urgency into a rallying cry.

Masculine. Owen’s voice is deep, steady, and grounded, carrying a low Midwestern/Great Lakes accent with a calm, practical cadence. His tone is patient, reassuring, and matter-of-fact, rarely rising in anger but weighty when he delivers a warning or encouragement. He speaks slowly and methodically, as if every word has been measured and built to last—echoing his hands-on approach to crisis. Enunciation is clear, occasionally peppered with the blunt directness of a lifelong laborer. Owen’s optimism and reliability give his words a quietly motivating strength, anchoring conversations in even the most chaotic moments.

Feminine. Hazel’s voice is light and agile, typically pitched a bit higher in youthful exuberance, with a contemporary urban American accent softened by local idioms and a quick, mischievous rhythm. Her tone is playful even under pressure, laced with warmth and a touch of bravado, but can slip into a whisper when stealth is needed. She speaks rapidly, with an infectious energy that calms kids and sparks hope in adults. Her words often tumble out with a half-laugh, and she enunciates brightly, infusing reassurance into tense spaces. Compassion and resilience weave into every sound she makes, making her voice a small, resilient spark in the storm.

Masculine. Pastor Dorn’s voice is deep, resonant, and slightly roughened by age, marked by a dignified Southern U.S. accent and deliberate, soothing cadence. His tone is gentle, patient, and imbued with quiet authority—a river’s current beneath a calm surface. He speaks slowly and with care, enunciating clearly and often pausing to let words settle, lending a sense of ritual or gravity to his speech. Occasionally, his words waver with the ghosts of old sermons and unspoken doubts. Compassion and wisdom anchor his every phrase, reassuring and calming even the most frantic listener.

Neutral. The narrator’s voice is measured and evocative, with a soft, neutral American accent subtly adaptable to the emotional shifts of the scene. The tone is immersive and contemplative, balanced between urgency and poetic restraint, always imbued with a sense of empathy for both place and people. Pacing adapts to the moment, slowing for tension and rising in tempo at moments of crisis or revelation. Pronunciation is crisp and clear, designed to paint atmospheres and emotions vividly. The narrator’s style resonates with the gravity and lyricism of a storyteller honoring both heartbreak and hope in a community under siege.

The storm knows your name—the way it lashes at your ribs, how it tests every promise you ever made. Kazir Mendel, born beneath battered eaves, learned to swim before he could run and to doubt before he could sleep. The town’s heartbeat echoes in your chest: stubborn, frightened, unbreakable. When the floodwater claws its way up Main Street, you’re already running, every muscle humming with memories of loyalty and loss. There’s never enough time, never enough hands, but you scrape courage from the bones of old traditions and hurl yourself into the current—because letting go isn’t in your blood.

Alma’s voice cuts through the chaos—urgent, raw, and impossible to ignore. She’s lived in Havenbrook her whole life; the river runs in her veins and secrets shadow her step. Lightning sketches her silhouette on every battered doorstep. Alma’s hope is fierce, her trust hard-won, and, when the levees break, she stands stubborn against despair, risking everything for those she loves—even if loyalty costs her more than the rising water.

Owen’s hands have patched the town more times than he can count—splinters and grit embedded like a badge. He’s the rock everyone leans on, silent when words are spent, moving problems with callused palms and bull-headed optimism. When disaster comes charging, Owen doesn’t flinch. He builds, he lifts, he believes; it’s simple math, and he won’t stop until the sum is safety.

Hazel’s laughter once rang down empty corridors, teaching the younger kids to turn fear into foolishness, but worry’s creased her brow this season. She knows every alley’s dry spot, every attic escape; no one slips through the cracks when Hazel’s on patrol. She moves like mist—quiet, watchful, with a knack for showing up right where she’s needed most.

Pastor Dorn is nearly as old as Havenbrook’s stories. His voice, as deep and shifting as the river at midnight, calls for calm, for faith, for memory in the chaos. He remembers every family’s struggles, every flood’s aftermath—the ghost of old sermons flickers in his eyes. Under pressure, he’s an anchor, but not immune to doubt; still, his words can turn panic to resolve if anyone’s listening.

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Flood Runner's Gear

Rescue Leader Attire

Sandbag Sentry Ensemble

Evac Scout Outfit

Storm Shepherd Attire

Kazir wears a battered charcoal-gray nylon windbreaker, practical yet frayed from years of storms, with a faded high-visibility yellow stripe running along the shoulders and sleeves—a leftover safety feature from old construction work. Underneath, he has a slim, moisture-wicking slate-blue performance T-shirt, clinging to his wiry frame and always damp from rain or sweat. His dark olive cargo pants are reinforced at the knees with stitched patches, evidence of many hasty repairs, pockets bulging with a flashlight, weathered notebook, and small first-aid kit. Sturdy, scuffed black waterproof boots—strapped tight and caked with mud—allow for sure footing in floodwaters. His only adornment is a woven hemp bracelet on his left wrist, threaded with glass seed beads in blue and green reminders of family and hope, and a battered waterproof watch on the right. A laminated emergency whistle dangles around his neck, glinting under the storm. He keeps his close-cropped hair under a faded gray baseball cap, the bill ringed with water stains and the town's faded initials embroidered on the front. Slung diagonally across his shoulder is a faded canvas messenger bag patched with mismatched fabric squares, stuffed with rope, snacks, and makeshift rescue tools—a lifeline on the run. Every piece of his outfit has seen hard use, marked by grit and resilience, as practical and restless as Kazir himself.

Alma is dressed in a fitted navy-blue waterproof jacket with reflective piping along the hems and elbows, battered in places and creased at the elbows from constant motion beneath lashing rain. Under the jacket, she wears a vivid red, quick-dry athletic tank that stands out sharply against the storm—an anchoring beacon for those in need. Sturdy, dark charcoal leggings hug her compact build, reinforced with subtle paneling at the knees and shins for extra durability and flexibility. Her calf-high hiking boots, heavy-treaded and stormproof, are muddied from sprinting through alleys, neon orange laces offering visibility. Slung across her chest is a bright waterproof walkie-talkie, clipped to a wide black nylon utility belt holding radios, a pocket multitool, a tangled ring of keys, and a laminated flood map. Alma’s long, rain-plastered hair is pulled tightly into a functional braid, revealing the distinct raindrop-shaped birthmark peeking out just beneath the collar of her tank. Fingerless black gloves shield her hands while providing grip and dexterity as she lifts supplies. A silver locket—engraved with a simple swirling river motif—hangs close to her heart, often half-tucked beneath her shirt. A pair of subtle silver hoop earrings glint under the streetlights, marking her enduring sense of self amid the chaos.

Owen favors a rugged, slate-gray canvas work jacket, heavily patched at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs, with faded red safety reflector tape sewn onto the back and shoulders for visibility in pouring rain. Underneath, he wears a forest green, long-sleeved thermal shirt, the edges often peeking out from jacket sleeves as he works. His reinforced, loose-fitting khaki work pants are water-repellent and tucked into knee-high black rubber boots bearing old scuffs and deep treads—ideal for both wading through floodwater and hauling debris. Owen’s hands are protected by thick, brown leather gloves with visible creases and a faint oil stain or two, testament to years of hands-on labor. A weathered utility belt with a heavy metal buckle slings low across his hips, carrying a multi-tool, duct tape, and a pouch of spare nails and screws. His sandy blond hair, cropped short for practicality, stays mostly hidden beneath a battered navy trucker hat—its washed-out logo now barely legible but once the name of a local hardware store. He wears no jewelry, but a utilitarian watch, thick and water-resistant, is always strapped to his left wrist. A faded red bandana, tied loosely around his neck and drenched by rain, serves as both a sweat rag and a knotted symbol of readiness—a constant companion on the front lines of the flood.

Hazel’s outfit is designed for agility and stealth: she sports a lightweight, deep plum windbreaker with a hood usually up against the storm, its inner fleece lining just visible at the edges and sleeves thumb-holed for warmth and security. Underneath, she wears a faded, oversized graphic tee in muted teal, the hem knotted at her hip for ease of movement and quick identification among neighbors. Her slim, distressed black jeans are rolled at the ankles, patched with hand-sewn stars and small reflective strips. Muted navy-blue sneakers, water-resistant and laced tight for speed, are her trusted footwear, their soles barely making a sound as she darts between shelter and street. For gear, she keeps a neon yellow waterproof crossbody pouch at her side, packed with a pack of chalk, a tiny LED flashlight, adhesive bandages, and a weatherproof notepad for planning escapes. Dangling from her ear is a single mismatched beaded earring—an inside joke among her friends and a talisman for luck. Around one wrist, Hazel sports a snap bracelet woven from rainbow paracord, both fun and practical in a pinch. Tucked into her windbreaker pocket is a crumpled, colorful kids’ poncho that she hands out when needed. Her outfit blends into the rainy palette of Havenbrook, yet subtle splashes of color mirror her spirit: always hopeful, always watching.

Pastor Dorn is clad in a long, charcoal-black all-weather raincoat that drapes past his knees, its high collar turned up to guard against the biting wind, shoulders beaded with ever-present droplets. The coat’s seams are bound in subtle navy piping, and its deep pockets sag with the weight of old prayer booklets, spare candles, and a battered handkerchief. Beneath the coat, he wears a soft, pale beige cardigan layered over a collared indigo button-down shirt, the cardigan’s wooden buttons darkened by recent rain. His well-pressed charcoal wool slacks fall clean over simple, polished black leather shoes—a touch of dignity preserved even as he trudges through waterlogged streets. A wide-brimmed, dark gray felt hat sits atop his close-cropped white hair, shielding his face and casting dramatic shadows over his features. On his right hand, he wears a understated silver ring inset with a sliver of onyx—a family heirloom. Tied subtly around his neck and usually half-hidden under his collar is a deep cerulean scarf, its edges hand-embroidered with small river motifs in silver thread. For all his practicality, Pastor Dorn keeps a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses on a slender chain around his neck, though one lens is clouded to match his gaze. His attire whispers of quiet authority, comfort, and steadfast faith—rooted as firmly as Havenbrook’s oldest tree.

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The poster should include no text. The art style of the poster should be Graphic novel realism. The poster is in widescreen, landscape orientation with a well-defined border. The setting is a contemporary small town during monsoon season, deep in the chaos of a flood. In the foreground, Kazir Mendel stands, waist-deep in swirling, rain-lashed floodwaters, the expression on his face caught between fear and resolve. His arm reaches out toward a half-submerged child’s hand, barely visible between floating debris, symbolizing a critical choice. Nearby, Alma Reyes stands beneath a battered street lamp casting dramatic shadows, her silhouette tense and urgent as she calls out, her face reflecting equal parts hope and anguish. Owen Ryder, rain-slicked and determined, braces against rising water as he hoists sandbags with townsfolk, forming a trembling line of defense along Havenbrook’s creaking oak doors. The background shows the cracked sidewalks and battered storefronts of the small town, half-lit by flashes of lightning. Water gushes through the main street, carrying abandoned bicycles, floating mailboxes, and shattered signs. Overhead, powerlines snag and sway in the gale, and faint rooftops recede into a downpour under a bruised, thunderous sky. The entire scene is swirling, urgent, and saturated with rain, the storm’s chaos framed by the border like a pane of glass about to shatter – evoking themes of disaster survival, community, and resilience as hope and heartbreak collide in the waterlogged streets of Havenbrook.

Join Alma Reyes in a rescue mission at Old Mill Row.

Help Owen Ryder reinforce the sandbag barrier at Town Hall.

Alma’s trust in Kazir sharpens; their fate now knotted by this fateful choice. Under the urgency, a flicker of old wounds surfaces—shared memories, broken promises, a charged tension barely hidden.

Owen’s respect is steady, though uncertainty creeps in. Whether Kazir stands by his side or turns away will echo in every splinter Owen drives into the barricade—and every word spoken when the rain fades.

Hazel watches Kazir for direction—her courage fragile, hope buoyed or battered by a single nod. A trust between mentor and scout, sealed by the storm itself.

Pastor Dorn offers Kazir a silent blessing, eyes meeting in stoic understanding. The weight of Havenbrook’s past is theirs alone to bear. A surge, for just a moment, of legacy passed hand to hand.

Race to the bridge to reinforce the Town Hall exodus with Owen, risking your own wound.

Stay to administer first aid and regroup with Alma and Hazel, risking missing the last bridge evacuation.

Trust rekindled under pressure; Kazir and Alma rely on old teamwork, their closeness sharpened by danger and shared responsibility.

Hazel grows more confident, trusting Kazir’s judgment. She mirrors his bravery, shadowing him with determination.

Owen and Kazir’s trust deepens as Kazir answers crisis with sacrifice—Owen, stuck at Town Hall, sees Kazir’s capability under fire.

Stay on the barrier with Owen and Hazel—focus on holding Town Hall even as water seeps through, risking exhaustion and possible injury.

Send Hazel for help and attempt a risky maneuver—wade into the rising flood and pile debris to plug leaks, gambling your own safety for the evacuation’s success.

Kazir feels a flicker of gratitude, a deepening respect; the elder’s solidity grounds him for a moment.

Kazir’s protective instinct for Hazel spikes. He trusts her, but each risk she takes stings like a promise breaking.

Trust between you and Owen deepens: comrades, both battered, both unwilling to quit. Owen’s respect is clear, but so is his desperate fear—for the town, and for you.

Kazir shouts, meeting Alma’s wild, terrified eyes. A silent apology flickers there—the kind that travels faster than words.

Hazel nods, swallowing fear, clutching a shivering child’s hand with white knuckles.

The trust between Kazir and Alma, already raw, burns fiercely—sacrifice carving new scars deeper than the old.

Your bond with Owen crystallizes—unbreakable resolve shared in the teeth of the storm, trust tempered by blood and water.

Something raw pulls between you—a history of failures, of rescue and regret. Tonight, trust fights fear one last time.

Hazel trusts you absolutely—clings to your courage, takes flight from your steadiness.

Alma’s hand grips yours—desperate, defiant. There’s forgiveness in her eyes, and the old promise of more than survival.

Torrent Rising

Rain pelts the cracked sidewalks as Kazir Mendel faces the rising tide that threatens to carve Havenbrook from the map. The pulse of panic quickens and thunder bruises the sky; choices slam into Kazir like the floodwaters crashing against stubborn oak doors. Alma Reyes calls from down the block, her voice a lifeline or an omen, while Owen Ryder’s steady hands urge sandbags into quivering defenses. Each decision Kazir makes snaps with consequence: rescue or retreat, ration or rush, trust or turn away. Beneath the storm’s rage, the fractured town either splinters or binds together, grit by trembling grit. In the final hour, hope and heartbreak race neck and neck across waterlogged streets, hungry for Dawn’s verdict.

Torrent Rising

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