He has no memory. No identity. When he woke, there was only a wasteland of rubble, plants, and monsters. Now he wanders the unfolding apocalypse, taking in the many sights, sounds, and horrors it has to offer. Yet, they all look a little different through his eyes. There is music and life hanging in the empty windows and boulevards. The shadows don’t hunt him like they do everyone else. They speak in hidden songs. He tries to hear them. He tries to listen. He even tries to speak back. And he has only one question.
What is he?
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