Last

The voices were countless and constant. It might not have been so insufferable if they were at least consistent, but there were so many of them in so many tones that it was impossible to single any of them out, and they all wanted him to do different things. The voices had started quite abruptly - Marcus had heard about them for all his life, but it had only been recently that he had heard them. The voices of the dead, watching on after their passing and speaking to those who remained, hoping to advise them based on what they had learned in their own lives. He knew they hadn't been rumors, for he had had friends who heard them, but he himself had only just heard them for the first time.

It didn't take him long to realize why. Perhaps one of them had tried to tell him, but he had been unable to discern the words - it was hard, after all, to differentiate well over a trillion voices yelling over each other in his brain. The war had been raging for months, and the news had made it apparent that they weren't winning. So when so many voices started at once, in the panic was evident amongst them, Marcus knew. He knew that the war was over. He knew that there would be no more fighting back. He knew that he was that last human left.

He had never done much in his life. It was probably why he had never heard the voices before. And it was probably why he was still alive. He didn't talk much, he got average grades, he spent most of his time at home. He didn't have anyone to turn to when his family had died. No friends. No extended family. He had holed himself up inside his empty house, the lights turned off, curled up in his bed. Occasionally he quietly snuck downstairs and stole some food out of his fridge - the technology had long been developed that made it so his fridge was never empty. And while he couldn't explain it, he could certainly use it.

There were a few voices that encouraged him to carry on. This had worked for him so far, after all. But many wanted him to go out and fight. To avenge them. To avenge the human race. To find a way to stop the robots that had turned on them. But at this point, what point was there? What point was there to anything? His options were to die, or to continue on alone. Either way, eventually he would pass away, and it would all be over. Humans had already lost.

And the voices, though none of him wished to do so, pushed him closer every day to ending it sooner rather than later.