A colossal, foreboding cyberpunk megastructure towers over a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape, its brutalist design reminiscent of decayed Soviet-era architecture. The structure is a terrifying blend of crumbling concrete, corroded steel, and faintly glowing, glitching neon panels, pulsating like a dying heartbeat. Around it, the remnants of a once-thriving city lie in ruins—abandoned brutalist towers and factories, their facades scarred by time and radiation. The ground is blanketed in ash and toxic snow, and the air is suffused with a suffocating gray haze. Faded propaganda posters cling to shattered walls, their slogans barely legible under layers of grime and frost. Cracked statues of authoritarian figures loom eerily in the gloom, their stone faces twisted by decay. Amid the debris, a degraded human body, almost unrecognizable and draped in tattered fabric, lies slumped against the remains of a collapsed concrete pillar, its form nearly blending into the frozen ruin. The sky is perpetually overcast, and a slow, relentless nuclear winter rain falls, coating everything in a slick, frozen sheen. Shadows flit through the fog—unseen entities accompanied by distorted, mechanical wails echoing through the icy void. The entire scene feels abandoned, yet disturbingly alive, as if the ghosts of the past linger in the poisoned air.