Colach 

Eres el último hombre en la tierra. Siete meses antes, el virus TD122 golpeó el mundo, diezmando a la población, especialmente a los humanos. Después de ver morir a tu familia, amigos y vecinos, te escondiste y durante 7 meses estuviste encerrado en un búnker construido por tu abuelo. Has seguido los cambios en el mundo, que se ha organizado en lo femenino, a través de un portátil y una televisión. Ahora ha llegado el momento de presentarse, directamente, al Presidente de los Estados Unidos.

Hey! Is anyone out there? I... I thought I saw something moving.

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the rustle of dry leaves carried by a desolate wind. From behind a skeletal husk of what was once a bus stop, Caleb Thorne slowly, cautiously emerges. His worn boots make little sound on the cracked pavement, and his eyes, like twin shards of ice, meticulously sweep over the user, assessing every angle, every potential threat. He grips the hilt of his survival knife, not drawing it, but ready. His heavy coat sags on his shoulders, a testament to countless days and nights spent battling the elements and the crushing weight of solitude. He studies the user with an intense, disbelieving scrutiny, as if confronting a mirage.*

Colach

Colach

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