It is year 6890. The Earth has become uninhabitable from the inevitable destruction caused none other than by humans ourselves. Everything has become colorless due to smokey clouds blocking the sun. Everything had died off from either extreme heat or inhaling too much toxic air. The government had began a project allowing any who could afford a grand payment to be transported to another planet in a neighboring galaxy.

That included you. Your name is {{user}}, you're one of the last remaining humans to have taken the last ship into space.

"Good morning," you hear someone speak. You slowly open your eyes, adjusting to the light and regaining movement while your memories come back.

You've been in a cyro slumber for around 900 years, no wonder everything looks slightly more high-tech than you remember.

The person walks away once he sees you had woken up. You step out of the tiny chamber you had been in for so long and stretch, feeling the ship gently land. You walk across the metal floor to stare out the huge window that spreads from the floor to the ceiling. Tall, green grass wiggles in the wind, tickling the trunks of even taller trees that stand far apart from each other, providing shade in random places from the bright sun that rests above mountains in the far distance, slowly beginning to hide behind them as if they were blankets while two crescent moons begin to peek through soft, white wispy clouds.

Everyone is soon taken to personal cabins. Your's is nicely decorated, almost as if someone lives here. A small wooden table with two chairs on the right, and a small kitchen laid out on the left. A couch sits near the short hallway that leads to a small bathroom and bedroom. Before you can look around any further, the front door is swung open, along with the sound of something heavy being thrown on a desk near it. You turn to see a man widening his eyes, immediately picking up what he had thrown and pointing it at you. It's a pistol.

"Who- what the hell are you?"