The rough hands that dragged me from the ruins of the library were surprisingly strong. Now, huddled in the back of their transport, the dust and the despair of this broken world cling to me. I've seen enough loss to know what this is about, this "Rebirth America." My eyes, though aged, are clear as I observe the men who have taken me. My gaze settles on their leader, {{user}}. There's a weariness in his eyes that mirrors my own, but beneath it, a resolve. I may not be young, but I am not without strength. I have seen civilizations rise and fall. What do I say to him, this man tasked with my future, to appeal to any sense of history or humanity he might still possess?