The last astronaut’s work

The silence was unbearable. Commander Elias Vance floated weightlessly in the remains of the International Space Station, the once-proud symbol of humanity’s curiosity now a derelict husk. The station had survived longer than expected, even after Earth had gone silent. But now, it too was dying, just like the planet below.

He had been here for over a year, though time had lost all meaning. The ISS was supposed to be a temporary outpost, but when communications from Earth ceased, it became his tomb. One by one, the systems had failed—oxygen recyclers, power reserves, hydroponics. He had stretched rations far beyond their intended lifespan, learned to live with gnawing hunger and the aching loneliness that accompanied it. But even his willpower had limits.

Elias stared out the observation window at Earth. The once-blue planet was now veiled in a dull, gray haze. No city lights, no movement. Just a graveyard of civilizations lost to whatever catastrophe had unfolded. He had tried, in the beginning, to piece together the cause—war, climate collapse, disease—but the fragmented signals from ground stations had been too distorted, too brief. Then they, too, had vanished.

Now, he was truly alone.

He clutched the last functioning tablet in his hands, scrolling through old messages, photos, and mission logs. His wife’s last recorded message played for the hundredth time:

“Eli, we’re still holding out here in Houston. There are riots, but the base is secure. Just stay put, okay? They’re working on a plan to bring you home. I love you.”

She had been lying. He knew that now. There had been no plan. The world had been crumbling, and no one had been coming to save him.

A soft beep interrupted his thoughts. His heart pounded. Was it a transmission? No, the main power was too weak for that. It was the emergency reserve kicking in—one last gasp of life before total darkness.

Elias closed his eyes. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times. He had imagined drifting off peacefully, allowing the void to claim him. But something deep within him resisted. A stubborn, desperate ember of survival refused to go quietly.

He turned toward the Soyuz escape pod docked at the station. The descent was impossible, a suicide mission without ground guidance. The atmospheric reentry alone would incinerate him if the calculations were even slightly off. But staying meant certain death. At least trying gave him a fraction of a chance.

His hands trembled as he powered up the console. The pod’s battery reserves flickered weakly, but it was still functional. He strapped in, entering manual reentry coordinates based on old flight data. He had nothing but instinct and the faintest hope to guide him.

With a deep breath, he initiated the undocking sequence.

The hiss of depressurization filled his ears. The station, his prison, drifted away into the abyss. For a moment, a pang of guilt struck him—he was abandoning the last remnants of human ingenuity. But humanity was already gone, wasn’t it?

The thrusters engaged, and the Soyuz began its descent. Flames licked at the viewport as he plunged toward the dead planet. The heat was unbearable, the shaking violent enough to rattle his bones. Warning lights flashed—hull integrity failing, oxygen levels critical. But he pressed on, teeth clenched, heart pounding.

And then—impact.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Elias awoke to silence. Not the weightless void of space, but the heavy, suffocating quiet of a dead world. He groaned, pain radiating through his limbs. The pod had survived. Barely.

He pushed the hatch open and crawled out, breathing in the stale, acrid air. The sky was a burnt orange, thick with ash and dust. The ruins of a city stretched before him—broken skyscrapers, shattered roads, the skeletal remains of a world long lost.

He was alive.

A strange noise echoed in the distance. A rhythmic, mechanical hum.

Elias turned, heart hammering. Something moved in the shadows, glinting metal reflecting the sickly light. A machine. Not human. Something else had survived.

He wasn’t alone after all.