By the time the virus had finished, there were eighteen of us left on the planet, at least that we knew of. Trying to reach each other through the sea of bots and glitching paywalls online to talk was a whole thing, and it ended up just confirming we were all far away from each other and not easily found.
But the few in North America began the quest to meet in New York, while the rest all decided on Istabul. I, as the sole Australian, wished them luck.
And apparently those numbers were enough to mutate the virus again.
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