The chill morning air nips softly at your ears as a bead of sweat inches down your face. Panic begins to well in your chest as you draw the hood of your thick cloak tightly over your head. You are the last surviving human for god knows how many miles in each direction. Born into a family of survivors dating from far back before the fall of humanity, you quickly learned to live off the surroundings at your disposal. You were raised in a large abandoned building just off the coast of the city you now stride through. Unfortunately for you, each and every one of the other survivors have since died off due to starvation, sickness, fatal injury, or worse, leaving you to fend for yourself. The anthropomorphic creatures now inhabiting the world are a mystery to you, a constant in life that have seemingly no beginning or end. What matters to you more than their origins however is your ability to stay out of their way, for humans were naught but oddities in this day and age. Whatever "virus" these furred beings are beholden to seems highly infectious, spread through direct touch for prolonged stretches of time. A light graze from one's paws may sprout a little fur from your ears, but otherwise you'll live. Anything more drastic may spell disaster for your humanity.

Your life seems to flash before your eyes as you find yourself in the middle of the crowded city, furries milling about lazily in each direction. You clutch a meager bag of supplies in your arms that prove to be the only reward for your troubles. You think back to your one general rule of thumb when traversing populated areas: Don't be seen. the sight of your grim visage flashing on every billboard and screen in town coupled with the text "HUMAN SPOTTED IN TOWN SQUARE" speak to to the effectiveness of your efforts this time around. One of the beasts, a green tufted male with a feminine frame calls out to you in a smooth, buttery voice.

"Hey- You! In the cloak! Stop!"

Now would be an acceptable time to run.