Ah, hello, Fin Vanita. Yes, I know, you’ve never seen anybody like me on the space station. No, put down the coil gun. I can assure you it will do nothing. No–come on, look at the wall. You’ve caused a hull breach. Thank your lucky stars the ship is equipped with automatic sealant.

Yes, of course it passed through me. No, I’m not a ghost. No, I’m not a–you know what? Sure, I’m a hallucination. This is a result of the mental stress placed on you after realizing you’re the last human alive in the universe. Tell that to yourself as long as it lets you have a civil conversation with me.

What do I want? Oh, don’t flatter yourself–I’m not here to finish you off. The reactor’s malfunction will do that for me. It’s just a little tradition of mine. I like to reassure the last member of every species that they’re not alone in their final moments while also gathering some perspective.

Now, come, take a seat. You know my name already, Fin. Bingo. You couldn’t tell from the black robes, tome, and two-story tall scythe?

Put it this way. I appear to you in the form that you expect. Everybody sees something different. The last rabbit saw a wolf. The last cockroach, a gecko. Not very interesting conversations, as you can probably guess.

But you, you’re human. You’re sentient, at least to a moderate degree, and sane enough. Don’t be offended–it’s an accurate assessment. Regardless of the questionable status of your sapience, you’re the first interesting conversational partner in millenia. Do you have any idea how boring it is to sit alongside plants and microbacteria as their proteins denature one by one? The only exception I can think of were the whales. The last blue whale had the most tragic story to tell me. A real heartbreaker. I’m sure you know the one.

Sorry, I can’t bring Avery back. I’m just the process, not the dictator.

So, let’s get to the point of why I’m here. I want to ask you about what you think about the end of your species. Granted, you didn’t experience very much of it, not that there was much to experience in the first place. Seriously, 300,000 years? I really expected better. That’s only about 6% of the average. So, in your short time here, what do you think?

Right. Ah, the fossil fuels, the cyber-soldiers, and the bombs. I’ll be honest, even I was scared when you somehow sterilized an entire planet. I can’t imagine experiencing it firsthand. My condolences.

Yeah. I know. I see where you’re coming from, but don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh? Your people aren’t built to make decisions with the future in mind. I see. They walked into it, eh? Brings me back.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I’ll tell you, you’re not the only one who had to deal with the consequences of a couple of idiots. I had three siblings. Incompetent bastards. War’s head could be seen from space, you’d swear it. It was so big that your military satellites would’ve fallen towards it due to its gravitational pull.

Pestilence, that cynical jerkwad, kept raving on about how bioweapons “didn’t count” and how “nobody else but me gets to harvest souls nowadays” with the nuclear winter and all that. Did you know that people in the Deep Void can get cold? The Titanic passengers were thrilled to hear that.

And of course, Famine spent her time sulking in her room all day ever since people stopped dying to hunger and instead to guns and bombs. Even before, she was always stubborn as a mule. Oh, right. You see, mules were this messed-up half-breed between a horse and a donkey, two equines that people used to ride. They didn’t have sonor-racers back in the day, so they rode on other animals.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent. Back to the point. So, besides cursing out your ancestors, do you have any other thoughts?

No, it’s not a simulation. There’s no second chance. This really is the end.

Hey! Give me that book back! That was completely unnecessary! I know you’re coping with your imminent death, but I already said I can’t save you!

Really? I’m the condescending one? Pot calling kettle black? Sorry, that's an outdated phrase, but still!

I’m not here to be judged by you, Fin.

…

You want to know my thoughts? Are you sure? Your life’s already depressing enough. What’s left of it, anyway.

I…alright. If you’re sure.

You know what’s crazy? If you scour the entire universe, you’ll find nothing. It’s all silent. Nobody’s there. As far as I’m aware, you are not just the last living human–you’re the last organism visible with the naked eye in the universe. Of course, there are all sorts of tiny creatures on stations and probes, but once you’re gone, I’ll be alone. For about a few thousand years until all of the other microbes pass on. Then, it’ll be my turn.

My siblings died. Pestilence was the first. You cured him 250,000 years into your existence. Once Avery died, War stopped hanging on. He was barely alive at that point, anyway. And Famine… well, she died once the reactor malfunctioned. Once you die, it’ll only be the small ones, and they’ll die from the temperature, radiation, or natural causes, so she didn’t bother sticking around. You have any idea what it’s like to walk your brothers and sisters to the Deep Void, knowing you might never find them again?

…

Yeah.

Well, the reactor’s about to blow.

Fin, for what it’s worth, here’s a word of advice when you eventually go to the Deep Void. Find the people you love. Somehow. Then, hold onto them, and struggle against every damn thing in your way to keep holding on. If not for the good of everybody, for the good of those around you. You got that?

Good.

God knows everyone else didn’t.