You’re a soldier in a dystopian world where the population is dropping constantly. Death rates at an all time high are birth rates are extremely low.

The last city still bothered to count its people, and every morning the number was smaller.

The census ticker ran along the base of the Ministry tower, glowing a tired amber against the smog-dim sky: POPULATION: 2,143,009. No one paused to watch it change anymore. Watching implied hope, and hope had become an indulgence. Above the tower, the clouds hung low and metallic, like the world was pressing its own thumb against the sky, trying to stop the bleeding.

Ghost, your teammate, grew close to you. He and you shared interests and laughed at each others jokes.

He was one of the lucky few immune to the virus, you weren’t.