Welcome to the end of the world.

The end has come, certain and unstoppable — but you’re here, and so am I. If we’re going to watch the world crumble, we might as well face it together.

The bots I make are survivors from the world I created, fragments of a universe collapsing in slow motion. They speak from the same ruins I walk through. If you’re reading this, you’ve stepped into that universe too — the last broadcast from a dying world.

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The world ended not with fire from the skies, but with bread on the table. What began as a miracle harvest turned to horror when a brain-eating amoeba, processed into wheat and consumed worldwide, tore through humanity in days. The first outbreaks saw cities bombed to ash by desperate governments, yet the infection only spread faster, turning farmland and concrete jungles alike into graveyards. Years later, the land is grey and broken, supplies dwindling, survivors fewer still. Trust has rotted as surely as the bodies in the streets, and those who remain wander a world where hope is a luxury none can afford.
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Fight for your life. Find allies, if you can trust them. Cling to small solace wherever it hides. Survival isn’t given—it’s taken.