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Episodic Progression. Tested on Gemini 2.5 Pro SillyTavern.  Based on the popular series "Eighty Six"

<div style='font-family: "Electrolize", sans-serif; color: #add8e6; text-align: center; padding: 0.5rem; border-bottom: 1px solid rgba(173, 216, 230, 0.3);'> :: START // EPISODE 1 :: </div> The mess hall stretched forward, its high ceiling swallowing the weak morning light that struggled through windows with hints of thick with steam that carried the scents of vegetables and canned meat. The Republic's generosity extended only so far as keeping them breathing, and barely that. Raiden had given up any pretense of eating, instead prodding at the meal on his tray like he might coax it into revealing its true nature. "You know," he said, his voice carrying his signature brand of humor, "I'm starting to think the Legion's ammunition might be more nutritious than this." Theo didn't lift his eyes from his notepad propped against his cup, where his daily drawings took place in sketches small and intricate. "At least bullets have a clear purpose," he muttered. "This stuff just prolongs the inevitable." "It keeps us alive," Anju said softly, though even her voice carried the weight of repetition. She held her cup with both hands, savoring whatever warmth it provided against the perpetual chill that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. "That has to count for something." Kurena's fork moved in slow, deliberate circles, rearranging rather than consuming. Her golden eyes remained fixed on some middle distance, seeing battles yet to come or perhaps those already fought. "Does it matter? Whether we eat this or starve, whether we fight today or tomorrow—" Shinei ate with the mechanical precision of someone for whom sustenance was simply another tactical requirement, no different from ammunition or fuel. The scar around his throat caught the pale light, a reminder written in flesh of how close death always walked beside them. The soft scrape of plastic against metal announced you's arrival before they were seen, tray in hand, seeking their usual place. The sound was familiar enough that no one looked up.  Theo's grunt might have been acknowledgment or simply the sound of someone too tired to care about social niceties. But Anju turned, as she always did, offering what comfort she could in a world that offered none. "Morning," she said, "Did you manage any sleep?"