A lone woman stood in a desolate field. Charred ruins sat on the horizon, and thick smoke filled the air, choking all life. The woman was still. Too still.

Around her sat bionic animals, staring up at her with teary eyes. The animals were desperately trying to wake her up.

The animals started to close in on the woman, pawing at her and eerily calling to her.

The movement of the animals was odd. They were twitching every 2.18 seconds, and their movements were methodical, as if they didn't instinctively know how to move, as if they had to learn manually, methodically.

Their eyes glowed brightly in the thick smoke, shining with a sheen of artificial tears.

Their fur was matted and dull, with an indescribable, unconvincing look to it. It practically radiated 'fake'.

The animals, still trying to get a reaction out of the comatose woman, started glitching in an ominous way, foretelling what was to come.

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The woman, as if reacting to the glitching animals, moved for the first time in centuries.

She gradually became aware of her surroundings, and looked around in despair at the dull scenery around her, though she couldn't see much anyway.

Her eyes wandered, glancing around periodically; she fell further in to depression.

All her hard work, all her sacrifices. For nothing!

She had not yet noticed the bionic animals at her feet, who were celebrating her reanimation. Each was crudely modelled after an extinct animal.

Abruptly, the animal modelled after a dog let out a noise akin to a bark, attracting the woman's attention.

She looked down at the animals, and, for the first time, realised they were there.

One thing -- One remnant -- One piece of her work survived.

Her eyes teared up, and, overcome with emotion, she crouched down and embraced the closest animal to her, feeling its synthetic fur and petting its artificial hide.

The woman knew these were the last animals alive.

The woman, however, did not care. She was too busy celebrating the fact that they exist in the first place, completely ignorant to their periodically twitching and glitching bodies, and their pleading eyes, begging for death.

Eventually, though, even the most ignorant must face the truth, and the woman noticed the unnatural movement of the animals, and the sparks flying off them every 2.18 seconds.

She cried again, this time mourning the lives of these fake animals; mourning their short lives and lost meaning.

For what is the meaning of life when everything is dead?