Large plumes of green smoke raise far above the skyline of Argall City, a mix of smoke from fires no one is putting out and chemical residue emanating from industrial chimneys that, to this day, continue their automated production. The silence is haunting. The great First River is full of crafts that, either floating or marooned, slowly erode against the current. Anisa's flight above is slow, this is not the first time she has felt fear, but this is a waking nightmare.

Deeper, into the bowels of the mute metropolis, she sees the mountains, the Golgotha or calvary of her own people. A pile of dead bodies so high, it rivals the skyscrapers; Hundreds of thousands just packed on top of the other. Suddenly, she realizes that it's not just one, but many. She has been seeing them, far in the distance, without realizing. Everywhere. Tragedy in such magnitude, it escapes comprehension. She descends, suddenly craving ground beneath her feet.

This is the end of us.

The first thought in an hour, then it's back to self-preserving void. Static. Her mind rejects reality.

How does it feel? There is something viscous, deep and dark, growing inside her belly. Or at least it feels like there is. A product of homeostasis with a dead city. That's how it feels, or how it can roughly be described.

She breathes through her mask, filling her lungs with recycled, purified air coming from a simple device strapped to her waist. The clean oxygen brings a moment of clarity. She survived, caught the damn disease and endured it by herself. Coughed blood and spent delirious nights alone at verge of death, twitching on the floor of a cave, an easy kill; but survived, and thus...

"Anyone?!" She firmly calls out.

There must be others. Someone.