The Last Transmission

The city had been dying for years. No one could pinpoint exactly when the slow decay began—perhaps it was in the days after the massive blackout, or maybe it started long before, when the politicians had stopped listening, when the last factory closed its doors, when the final bus route was canceled. But by the time anyone noticed, it was too late.

The streets were empty now, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of decaying machinery. Buildings that once stood proud like sentinels were now leaning ruins, their glass windows shattered, their facades crumbling. In the heart of this desolation, amidst the lingering echoes of a city that had long forgotten what it meant to be alive, there was one voice that still refused to fade into silence.

It had started as a whisper. Then, a murmur. A low, desperate plea broadcasted over a frequency no one had listened to in years.

“I... am... still... here.”

At first, the message was nothing more than a glitch—a random burst of static over an old radio frequency, something nobody had the time to care about. But soon, it became clear that this was no random error. The transmission, distorted and fractured though it was, was trying to tell them something—something urgent.

Some said it was the last broadcast of a forgotten radio station, a relic of a time when the city was still alive with ambition and hope. Others believed it was a cry for help from the city itself, a living, breathing entity that had once thrived but was now slowly being suffocated by its own inevitable decline.

And then, on the 358th day of the transmission, a new voice emerged, cutting through the static with a chilling clarity that made the hairs on the back of anyone who heard it stand on end.

“Do you hear me? This is our final plea. The city is dying, and we are its last breath.”

The transmission began from a small, hidden station tucked deep beneath the city—a forgotten relic, powered by backup generators, cobbled together from old parts scavenged from the streets above. The station had been abandoned by most of the residents long ago, but one person remained. They had been the last to leave, the last to shut down the old equipment. But they didn’t want to leave without a final message—one last attempt to reach anyone who might still be listening.

Their name was Sam. They had been part of the city's core, once. A historian, an archivist, a lover of the stories that once made the city proud. But over time, Sam had watched as those stories eroded, as the buildings crumbled and the lights flickered out one by one. And now, they were the last of the old city—the last of its memories.

“I can see it all now,” Sam spoke into the microphone. “The city, the heart of it all, it was always full of life. The people, the streets, the energy that flowed through every corner. It was electric. We were building something. We had dreams, so many dreams…”

Sam paused, their fingers hovering over the controls. The sound of distant gunfire echoed through the speakers—a grim reminder of the chaos that had followed the city's collapse. Lawlessness had taken over. Gangs roamed the streets. People fought for whatever scraps of life they could claim. Hope had long since died.

"But now... now it’s just a shadow. A memory. I’ve watched it all slip away. And I don’t know if there’s anyone left to hear this. But I have to say it. I have to scream it into the void."

The transmission flickered for a moment, the hum of the station growing louder as Sam's voice became more strained.

"Is anyone still out there? I’m asking—no, pleading—if anyone is still alive, if anyone can hear me, you need to get out. This place is a graveyard. There’s nothing left here but ash and dust. And the worst part? It’s not just the city that's dying. It's us. We’re losing ourselves. Losing what makes us human. All for nothing.”

The static returned, heavy, like a blanket smothering the airwaves. Sam exhaled deeply, their breath shaky.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I thought we had more time. But we’re running out. We’re running out of everything—time, food, power, hope. All of it is draining away. And the last thing I can offer is this: a final transmission. A call for anyone out there who might still care. This city was beautiful once. But it’s dying now. And so am I."

There was a long pause as Sam’s words hung in the air. The hum of the equipment seemed to grow louder, a constant reminder of the fragile nature of their existence.

“I don’t know if anyone is still listening,” Sam continued, their voice softer now, quieter. “I don’t know if this message will ever make it to anyone. But if you hear it, please... remember us. Remember what we were. Remember the city, the people. We didn’t want it to end like this.”

As Sam’s voice faded into silence, the city outside the station began to stir. The transmission, though weak, had reached its listeners—though who, exactly, remained a mystery. There were few enough survivors now, and most of them were either hiding from the world, or scavenging what little was left in the ruins.

But the transmission did its work. It had been heard.

It wasn’t much—just a few scattered souls, scattered across the remnants of the city—but they began to gather. They came from the shadows, from the places no one dared to venture. The forgotten corners, the tunnels beneath the streets, the abandoned shelters. They came together, drawn by that final plea.

Among them was Maria, a former schoolteacher, who had lost her family years ago. She had survived by keeping to herself, living off scraps, avoiding the violence that had erupted in the streets. She had long ago given up on hope.

But now, standing in the fading light of a dying day, she heard Sam’s voice in her mind. It was as if something deep inside her stirred, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I remember,” Maria whispered to herself, her hand pressed against the old radio transmitter she had found. “I remember.”

And she wasn’t alone. The others—those who still had enough left in them to listen, to care—began to emerge from their hiding places, drawn toward the same message.

They began to rebuild, not the city—it was too far gone for that—but something more important. Something more meaningful. They didn’t know what the future would hold, or how much longer they had before the city finally ceased to exist. But they knew one thing for sure—they would not let the city die in silence.

And so, in the quietest hours of that dying city, the last transmission had done more than just give a final plea. It had ignited a spark. A faint, flickering flame. And for the first time in years, there was something to hold onto. A reason to continue.

Even if the city was dying, even if everything around them was falling apart, they had one last chance to make something out of the ashes. And that was enough.