December 8th, 9:17 AM RST

In 2047, life pretty much ended.

Well, almost.

For some reason I'm still here, and I have no idea why. Today is the 8th of December, and I'm pretty sure I'm probably the last man alive. At least, I haven't seen anything to convince me otherwise. 

I would be recording this digitally, but considering basically every electronic I find is fried, that's not really much of an option. I found this actual paper notebook in an office outside my stasis room, and as I have gotten the distinct sense that its previous owner will no longer be requiring it, I have decided to commandeer it. You know, for posterity's sake and all that. Sorry, Stacey. I'm sure you'd understand. Based on what you'd already written, I think it's safe to assume you're better off without John anyways. He sounds like a douchebag.

 I don't really know who I'm writing this for. Maybe I'm hoping that someone, somewhere, is still alive. Maybe I'm hoping that somehow, one of these someones will find it and find it useful when I inevitably die horribly in some tragic and meaningless way. Maybe I'm just full of shit. Who knows.

If somehow this has actually made it into your hands, and you're a real-live human, and somehow we aren't all completely dead, then hello! Pleasure to meet you!

My name's Noel. Trevarrow, for whatever that's worth. I feel like I should give you a name too. Make this a little more personal so it isn't all just bleak and clinical. Let's see... something tasteful... George? Claire? Come to think of it, you could be any number of different genders, so I guess I need something gender-neutral. It may be the end of the world but I don't want to use that as an excuse to be insensitive.

Bob. I'mma call you Bob. Short for "Best Ol' Buddy". Hope that's alright with you, Bob.

So listen, Bob, I have only a slight idea of where I am, even less of an idea when I am, and heaven only knows where or when you'll be, so figuring the first two out are gonna be my first task. After that, food. Maybe shelter too, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious today. And after that, well, I guess we'll just take it by the day. If I know my survival odds as well as I think I do, I won't make it more than a week. 

I'm not gonna lie, Bob, I'm not really liking our odds here.

But hey, why should I let the literal end of the world get me down? I mean, it's not like things can get much worse, right?