[ WP ] You are the only person left on the planet after everyone disappears for some reason . You spend your days posting pointless status updates to facebook , when one day , a stranger likes your post .


 The daily loot rolls across the room as I empty my backpack on the floor. One lousy can of meat, but other than that no luck. I sigh to myself as I take off my climbing gear and throw it in the corner in a fit of passive aggression. ( *If I don ’ t struck gold by the end of the week I should move on* ) I think to myself as I open the window to see if I ’ ve caught any rainwater. 
 I climb out onto the balcony of the five stories apartment building I ’ ve made my home, and start to make my way to the roof. 
 
 ( *It ’ s amazing how this awful shadow of a world still manages to have such beautiful sunsets* ). From the roof, I can see most of the town. I don ’ t really know which one it is, but I don ’ t care either. Twenty years without human kind has really changed the landscape though, in ever so subtle ways. In the distance, I can see a couple of cows wandering about main street, minding their own business. I take a sip of the fresh water and turn to my solar panel, shiny as always. If I ’ d have to leave this town behind, this would be the one thing I ’ d miss the most. 
 
 I turn on my Iphone. Despite the cracked screen it still functions, must be because of the lack of IOS updates. As I do every night, I open Facebook and start scrolling through the pictures. Tom, Claire, Mark; their faces is the one thing that keeps me moving forward. I feel a tear running down my face as I look into the past that more and more start to feel like it never happened. ( *Time for the daily update* ). 
 
 “ Just got back from work, could really need a beer right now ” 
 
 Heh. Mark would have loved that one. I put the phone in my pocket and make my way back to the apartment. I eat the canned meat and read a couple of pages. Books, my only source of entertainment left, who would ’ ve known I ’ d become a bookworm by the age of 39? After a while my daily dose of electricity starts to fade, so I decide it ’ s time to sleep. 
 
 ( *Durrrrr* ). I almost jump five feet into the air. What was that? I look around the room with the sleep still in my eyes. Something lights up the room. I ’ ve been alone for so long I ’ d completely forgotten the sight of a lit-up phone across the room. I sprint across the room so fast that I bet that if I ’ d been at the 2052 Olympics I ’ d beaten Adolf Coleman ’ s record two times over. I take up the phone and look at the screen. I can ’ t believe my eyes; surely, I ’ m still in a dream? 
 
 “ The Basement likes your status ” 
 
 ( *The Basement? Who the fuck is The Basement? * ) I open the app, trying to ignore the red “ 2 % ” menacingly dangling in the upper corner. The Basement doesn ’ t seem to have a profile picture, or any personal information about themselves either. In fact, their only activity since the incident seems to be liking my status. I open the messenger app, and by this point I don ’ t know what ’ s faster: my thumbs or my heart. 
 
 “ Who are you? ” 
 
 My heart skips a beat: shown 02:13. And then: nothing. I wait for half an hour, by which point my phone dies. In disappointment, I go back to bed. ( *Tomorrow, he ’ s answering tomorrow. * ) But he doesn ’ t. Or the day after that. Or after that. 
 
 Then. After four of the longest days in my life, my phone makes a sound. I almost start to cry, just thinking about human interaction. 
 
 “ Sorry, bad connection here, I ’ m in the basement you know? ”. 
 
 ( *Again with the basement? * ) 
 
 “ What ’ s the basement? Please I need to know. I haven ’ t talked to anyone in two decades! ” 
 
 Silence. Then, ten minutes later: 
 
 “ Wait what? You ’ ve been awake? I ’ m sorry, then I ’ m afraid I can ’ t talk to you anymore. ” 
 
 ( *No, no, no! * ) He can ’ t do this to me, he just can ’ t. 
 
 “ Please, I beg you. ” 
 
 This time, only two days pass by before I get my answer, but it ’ s not really the answer I wanted: 
 
 “ If you want to come to the basement, look into Calvin Tech Industries. That ’ s truly all I can say. Bye ” 
 
 ( *Calvin Tech Industries? * ) That ’ s that company who started to become a real big deal a couple of years before the incident. If I ’ m not mistaken, their main office was in Los Angeles. Fuck. It can ’ t be more than a pile of rubble by now, considering how badly the incident impacted the west coast. ( *But it ’ s the only thing I ’ ve got. * ) Guess it ’ s time to see if the old four-wheeler is still with me. 
 
 My 2049 Tesla isn ’ t much for the world to see, but at least it can still drive by itself, which will be good considering I don ’ t exactly know where I am. I throw all of my stuff into the trunk before setting off. I figure I have a long journey ahead of me, and while I ’ m sitting here, watching the landscape go by, I almost wish I was in some old Indiana Jones movie where long trips are skipped just like that. 
 
 The journey took four days, including breaks for food hunting. And now I ’ m in Ruin City. I tried to make contact with The Basement at least once a day, but it seems to be hopeless. The GPS tells me that I ’ m supposed to be right outside of Calvin Tech Industries, but it could as likely be an old bakery or haircutting salon, or anything by the looks of it. But the stairway into the basement seems to be intact. My heart starts to beat faster and faster as I approach the rusty door. ( *Are there other people down here? * ) 
 
 I ’ m lucky enough to have come across a flashlight in an old storage on my way here. The pale beam of light finds its way across the room. ( *Empty* ). Except for some boxes, there ’ s nothing here, no door, no anything. 
 “ Hello? ” 
 
 My words echo slightly, but other than that I get no answer. I fall to my knees, if I ’ d had a gun maybe this is where I ’ d put it to use? I ’ m just about to go back upstairs when my heart almost stops in my chest. ( *The Basement* ). Right there, on one of the cardboard boxes, written in what looks like regular black marker, is the little hope I ’ ve got left. ( *The Basement* ) 
 
 I rush over to it. In it is what looks like some sort of soft book, almost like a manual. Other than that, it ’ s empty. I rush up into the daylight and start to read: 
 
 ( * ” The Basement. Project M-25. 
 
 The M-24B tests have been successful, expect the 21st of June to be D-day… ” * ) 
 
 ( *June 21st? * ) That ’ s the day of the incident, the day the world ended, how did they know? What ’ s M-24B? I continue to read: 
 
 ( * ” As the founder of Calvin Tech Industries, I ’ m glad that I ’ ll be able to share a better, brighter future with all of you. This manual goes out to everyone with a security clearance of A2 and higher, and I don ’ t think I need to emphasise the need for discretion ”. * ) 
 
 As I read on the colour of my face start to fade. After a couple of pages, the manual for project M-25 goes into a discussion about cryosleep. ( *Wait what? You ’ ve been awake?? * ) It all makes sense now. It was them. These motherfuckers did it all. Killed my friends. Murdered my wife. Destroyed our planet. 
 
 I don ’ t sleep for days. I occasionally continue reading the 200-page manual, but I can only get through so much before throwing the damn thing into the wall. The worst part of it all is the dating on the back. They knew. For two whole years, they knew. 
 
 And then. Page 164: 
 
 ( * ” The following is the location of The Basement: 34°48'55.9'' N 119°07'57.4'' W. Do not share this information with anyone or you will face the consequences ”. * ) 
 
 ( *That ’ s it* ). I ’ ve got them, I fucking got them! I jump into my car and put the coordinates into the GPS. 
 
 A door in the side of a mountain. Is this where they ’ ve been sleeping for 20 years? I break open the door, only to find a staircase down into the abyss. I slowly start to make my descent. If I didn ’ t know any better, I ’ d say no one has been here for hundreds of years. 
 “ Hello? ” 
 
 I drop my flashlight, and am immediately surrounded by complete darkness. The voice had come from a room just ahead of me. 
 
 “ I thought I heard something ” 
 
 The tears are streaming down my face. ( *A voice, an actual voice* ). But I know what voice it is, the voice of a murderer. I ’ ve come to kill them all, for what they ’ ve done to the world. But now, hearing that voice. I can ’ t do it. I can ’ t be alone again. 
 
 After a couple of days I return to my apartment in what apparently is s. I ’ ll live on, for Mark, for Claire, and for everyone who died at the hands of the Calvin Tech Industries. In the end I couldn ’ t kill anyone, or even contact them. But knowing that they exist out there somewhere, even though they ’ re scum, makes me feel less alone in this world. I take up my phone and press play on the recording that I by this point have replayed a thousand times: 
 
 ( *I thought I heard something* ) 

