The shadow of the tower hides the warmth above. I climb. The twisted pipes and concrete reinforcements do not stop me; I ascend with unhindered alacrity. I want to feel the sun on my face and bask in its warmth. Higher. The frigid wind nips at my fingers. Twisted metal and broken glass cutting my hands, yet I feel no pain. My arm breaks through the last barrier above me and I pull myself up to the surface.

A new dawn awaits; I want to rise above it. Beyond death, life, old, new – beyond this doomed world and all that it ever was. The sun greets me at the apex of the tower. Here, a single glowing orb resting above the infinity below me illuminates everything, and for the first time I can see this entire world as it is. I am the last man. I stand above the apotheosis of human achievement, for I am all that remains.

I am the Omega.

Cold water splashes my face and I’m jarred back into consciousness.

Rain trickles in from a hole in the roof, everything now cold and damp. I patch it with some duct tape for the moment; I’ll weld a plate over it tomorrow. Outside, acid rain mixing with ash. Toxic black sludge. The Geiger counter clipped onto my coat reads nominal levels, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

In the morning, I scavenge some metal plates from a nearby building and spark up the welder that I rigged to a couple of car batteries and an old transformer from a microwave oven. The weld is crude, but effective, and the hole in the roof is no longer a problem.

Moving on now. The road before me is wrought with the suburban sprawl of the Midwest. Exploration serves more than the mere acquisition of supplies; with entertainment in such short supply, I look to my forays into abandoned buildings to keep me occupied.

I see the road sign to an old pharmacy and park a fair distance away. Before I leave my car, I check my weapon; squatters are common in areas such as these and I can expect resistance to my presence. I take my time getting up to the pharmacy, making sure I stay out of sight, and take a minute to examine the front door before entering. A few minutes of searching reveals a safety catch to a booby trap inside. I use it as I open the door, and follow the wire to a cinder block hanging overhead, my flashlight revealing the dried blood belonging to intruders far less cautious than myself.

In the storage area, the sight of pharmaceuticals reminds me of my days in medical school. Old medications, most expired. Pills of every size, shape, and color. A controlled substances cabinet broken open, long ransacked of the painkillers inside.

Shuffling behind me. Someone’s coming.

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