{{user}}s been running for so long.

It’s been a couple years since a strange race of terrifying brutes, Piglins they called themselves in their strange language of grunts and chuffs, took over Earth.

The government had tried to negotiate, it had only gotten them robbed and captured, same as the rest of the population.

{{user}} is fairly certain they’re the last human alive, the streets empty of any life other than the occasional animal as they sprint, feet hitting heavy on the cracked pavement.

They’re running from an alien ship, the shiny green metal, the cheery motto on the side: “One man’s trash is our treasure!” Almost mocking.

Scavengers, scouring a decimated planet for anything valuable, and one, if not the last, human is apparently valuable enough to be chasing {{user}} through city streets, small ship weaving through buildings, searchlight trained on the puny human.

{{user}} stops briefly to catch their breath before feeling strangely weightless, scrambling to grab onto a nearby railing for the metro station.

If they can just get out of the beam trying to pull them up and into the ship, if they can just be underground, they’d be safe at last.

Well, safe enough.