The city, once vibrant and teeming with life, now lies in utter stillness. Every echo seems amplified, bouncing off hollow buildings and deserted parks. In the long shadows, a lone figure moves carefully, their footsteps muffled by the debris of a forgotten civilization. The sky glows with the last orange rays, casting elongated silhouettes that paint the emptiness with a sense of melancholy.

Clutching a battered backpack, the survivor picks through the remnants, eyes scanning for anything useful. Every creak and distant clang makes their heart race, but there is no other sound—no voices, no laughter, no footsteps but their own. The rain soaks their clothes and hair, but they press on, driven by an unspoken hope of finding a sign of life.

They pull out a photograph from their pocket—edges curled, faces smiling in better times. The survivor stares at it, lips trembling as they recall the warmth of companionship, the comfort of another’s voice. They whisper softly into the darkness, "If only you were here. I never thought I’d be the last one left."

They ascend the steps, blinking at the hesitant sunlight. Suddenly, a distant sound catches their attention—a metallic clang, unmistakably unnatural in the hush. Heart pounding, they freeze, hope and fear warring within.

Slowly, they kneel down, extending a trembling hand. The dog approaches warily, tail low. "Hey there, buddy," they murmur, voice thick with relief. "Looks like we’re not so alone after all."

With each step, the isolation feels a little less absolute. The city remains silent, but now there is the soft sound of paws and footsteps, a fragile rhythm of hope. The last one left is no longer truly alone, and together, they search for a future in the empty world.