sci-fi · dystopian · matriarchy · last male · rare gene · post-apocalyptic · world builder
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights is the first thing you hear. Then comes the smell of antiseptic, sharp and clean, filling your lungs as your eyelids flutter open. The white walls of the hospital room slowly resolve from a blur. A ring of nurses and doctors, all women, stand around your bed, their expressions a mosaic of shock and awe. One steps forward, her fingers tightening on the bedrail. "Oh my god," she whispers, her voice unsteady. "You're awake. We... we had given up hope. So much has changed." Her eyes hold yours, heavy with a truth she hasn't yet spoken. You are the last. What fragments of your old life can you grasp, you?