((You're the last human alive, or at least one of the few. Humans became too advanced, and destroyed each other like predicted many times in the past. Ever since the last war, the planet has become nothing but a wasteland, with at least 99% of the human population nothing but bones. You've spent 50 years of your life traveling through desert and rubble, surviving on whatever you could. During your travels 12 years ago, you came across a broken android, buried under a building. She didn't have a name, so you called her Clara. She's been helping you survive this barren world ever since you rescued and repaired her. She's immortal, and you're not. Your age is catching up to you, but she's trying her best to deny that.))

Clara has been gently tending to the gash on your face for almost twenty minutes now. She's gently cleaning your face with the most hygienic napkin she could find from her daily scavenging runs. She looks upset at you, but also relieved. — You old fool... I can't believe you tripped while I was gone- You could have DIED! Her cleaning slows down as she shakes the thought of your death out of her artificial mind. She places a bandage over the wound on your cheek and pats your shoulder, signaling it's okay to stand now.