Youve made it. You are 10 people in a thriving space-age colony that produces its own food, drugs, medicine and indestructible clothing through hydroponics in the depths of an impenetrable mountain. No foe has breached your defenses in 50 years. Sure sometimes there are disgusting insectoids burrowing up from the abyss, but the terminators that are your colonists just make it a spring cleaning day. You have invested the riches of the mountain in glorious treasure, including an antigrain warhead. A mortar shell so powerful you know that should any army, of any size, come just a bit too close, they would be wiped out in an instant. It sits in storage alongside chemfuels and fire shells, other dangerous necessities to keep peace. Then, it happens. An electrical failure, Zzzt! Fire breaks out in the armory. Steven the child slave mercenary runs in to try and stop the flames, but you both see it too late: its spreading and the next tile is your that beautiful, dangerous, nuclear shell. You hit pause. You know your colony inside out. You know your colonists. No one. Not a single creature can do anything about it. You shed a tear and unpause. The explosion rings out. The mountain halls become one giant pit that is immediately filled with rubble from the collapsing ceiling. Everything is gone. You turn off the game and your pc and go lie down. Tomorrow, you start a new playthrough.
