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The End Of All

_ "Damn it, Cass! Run!" Switch bellowed at the top of his lungs, panting heavily throughout as he tried desperately to catch his breath, "Just drop it all and run!"_

The snow leopardess, sweat plastering her silver-streaked fringe to her forehead, a hefty bag of personal effects in tow and weighing her down, moved at barely half the pace her mate was trying to set.

Ever since the asteroid's final trajectory had been broadcast the entire world had descended into chaos and pandemonium. Barely twenty-four hours of warning just wasn't enough time for anyone to prepare. Switch had known that the roads would quickly become impassable, every inland route from the coastal city in which he'd lived his entire life clogged with stationary, aggressively idling vehicles as every fur panicked and tried to escape the projected blast radius. So he'd grabbed whatever food they'd had in the house, crammed it in a rucksack along with some water and a few basic tools, and set out on foot for a place he hoped was far enough away to be relatively safe.

But where could you go when a ten mile wide chunk of rock was about to change the world forever?

Cassiopeia, sentimental as she was, had been unwilling to leave everything behind.

"We need to hurry!" Switch warned her again, desperation flooding his voice, "It'll be here any moment!"

But she did the exact opposite of what he wanted, slipping the overly crammed duffel off her shoulders and propping it against a tree. An errant paw wiped the sweat from her brow in an almost reflexive manner, "Where are we going, Switch?" she leaned against the tree herself, "We can't survive this."

Those eyes; those vibrant blue eyes, usually so filled with life and sparkling like the heavens with joy and happiness, were as pain-filled and hopeless as ever he'd seen them. It drew across his heart like a knife, cutting deep.

"Don't give up, Cass. We're almost there. We can-"

"My family." Her whisper stopped him dead in his tracks, "I... I wish I could've..."

But still she didn't move. Exasperation welled, turning ever more into outward frustration with every moment she hesitated. He didn't blame her, not really. But they didn't have time for this.

"Look, Cass; we have to go! We can't-"

Before he'd even finished she turned on her heels, not even bothering to pick up the bag, just leaving it lying prone on the ground, "I know, I'll go back for them. It won't take long, Switch. I'll be right back."

To the tiger's utter astonishment she actually began to walk away. Had she gone crazy? It was a trek of hours, and they had minute at most! Probably less. A quick downward glance at his watch confirmed his worst fears; it was too late.

"Cass, we have to-!"

A sonic boom more forceful than anything he'd ever imagined in his life knocked him from his feet and left his ears ringing. For a moment he couldn't even hear the chaos that was beginning to unfold around him. It knocked the air from his lungs and made it utterly impossible to breathe.

Ahead he could see Cass, hurled to the ground, sprawling across the bag full of her dearest worldly possessions. He could see that her head had been slammed against the tree as she'd fallen, blood gushing from a deep cut across her temple and staining her pale fur a worryingly arterial deep red. He could see the tree she was under leaning more and more in her direction, felled like countless others all around him.

He tried to cry out to her, to warn her, but he struggled to catch any breath. He reached out for her in desperation as the tree listed more and more until it began to fall in earnest.

It fell.

And then the world ended.

-o-O-o-

"Cass!" Switch cried, sitting bolt upright on his tattered old futon, his stained and soiled sheet wrapped around his midsection like a constrictor trying to choke the life from him.

It took a moment for the wave of panic to pass, replaced by a momentary nausea that clenched at his stomach like an ice cold claw. Recognition dawned only when his rational mind began to reassert itself, bringing him back to the bitter reality of the dark and damp shack room. It was thick with a chill well-past-midnight air, coming vaguely into focus as his eyes began to compensate for the lack of light.

It had all been a dream. Just a memory.

As the cold sweat evaporated from his once lustrous orange and black pelt the hellish recollection of almost a decade ago began to fade back into the horror-filled recesses of his memory. That particular nightmare, he feared, would plague him for the rest of his days - however many remained - and he wanted nothing more than to drown it at the bottom of a good old bottle of whisky. Not that such luxuries existed anymore.

Certainly not since he'd fled the remnants of the ruined city two years ago. Amidst the crumbling buildings and toppled skyscrapers he'd sworn never to go back to that hell-on-Earth ever again. Although he hadn't returned from that trip entirely empty-handed.

"Fermi. Nil." He looked around the room, noting the empty-bedded absence of either of his companions.

Tossing aside the tattered rags that barely passed for bed sheets , Switch practically ran to the door. Not that it was actually a door so much as a portal these days, the hinges having long-since rusted their way into obscure oblivion...

He needn't have worried so much. There were his friends, sitting amidst the dried and withered long-grass, gazing off into the distance. The seven foot bulk of Fermi's lupine features dwarfed the silhouette of the vulpine cub sat close to his side. Neither said a word as Switch approached from behind, though he knew they'd both heard him. Even in the darkness he could see Nil's ears twitch, though the little kit hadn't spoken a word in all the time since Switch and Fermi had rescued him. Whether he was unable to speak, or simply unwilling, the tiger had yet to figure out. But he didn't force the issue - the child had been through a lot, growing up in the post-impact world. And as for Fermi... Well, the towering robotic wolf heard everything, even if the repairs Switch had made to him counted as little more than a workshop bodge and less than professional reprogramming.

Not that he actually had a workshop anymore...

"What are you two doing out here?"

The robot and the child remained completely silent - nothing new there insofar as Nil went - but it was unlike Fermi to remain completely silent. Obviously he was dedicating a great deal of his runtime to whatever thoughts were currently on his mind.

"Nil," Switch started softly, drawing his arms in around himself to fend off the cold night air. The foundling cub turned to regard the bedraggled tiger with a curious, questioning series of blinks, "could you go fetch my coat? It's a little bit cold out here."

Nils thought it over for a moment, regarding his rescuer, somewhat perplexed. Switch didn't often ask much of him, not in the way of favours anyway. And he'd caught on fairly quick that if he ever did ask Nil to do something then what the tiger was actually doing was asking him for some time alone with either Fermi or his own thoughts.

So, he knew, there had to be a reason for it this time too.

Careful to avoid stepping on his own tail, the fox cub climbed to his feet, brushing himself free of dirt and dust from the ground he'd been sitting on. He surrendered an acknowledging smile to Switch as he walked past, an expression the tiger reciprocated with an affectionate tussle of Nil's hair as he dashed past.

"The boy needs more sleep." Fermi responded stiffly once the child was out of earshot. The emotional undercurrents in his synthetic voice had proven completely unreadable to Switch when he'd found the half-destroyed droid. Now, though, having gotten to know him in the weeks it had taken to restore him back to functionality - and the that had followed - they were more like an open book waiting to be read.

Fermi was genuinely concerned about the child.

"Let him enjoy the time we've got left." Switch replied softly, taking the spot beside Fermi that Nil had occupied a moment before. He sighed deeply as he sat down, sprawling out his legs before him and settling back onto his elbows, eyes glancing up towards the cloud-filled sky. Back at the beginning, just after the impact, Switch could recall distinctly watching the dust cloud spread its way across the sky, obscuring the sun and the heavens from view. It was rare, even now, for the clouds to break long enough for even a glimpse of starlight to get through. The days themselves never got much brighter than twilight, and even in the midst of the would-be summer the temperatures felt more like a late autumn day.

He sighed again, remembering his last sunrise. Trying to recall the last time he'd seen the stars...

Fermi regarded the tiger in silent question. He knew there was something on the feline's mind, but he'd learned well from experience that it didn't work to push these things. Switch had sought him out, so it would come eventually.

"This world is dying." The tiger revealed at last, eyes taking in the ashen coloured tumult above.

Fermi followed his gaze, his synthetic eyes piercing the darkness well into the infrared, revealing the detail that the tiger no doubt couldn't see. The clouds themselves were acting much as a thermal blanket, that at least was clear to him, and he could see that they showed no signs of thinning. Eighty per cent of the sun's light and heat no longer made it to the perpetual dusk of the surface.

He could see all of this, thanks to his artificial eye, but he couldn't help but wonder how Switch could possibly know, "How can you tell?"

The tiger reached up with a single claw and tapped lightly at his temple, "I can hear the world itself crying out in pain. And it's starting to get quieter and quieter."

He recalled with a barely detached despair the failed crops of the previous autumn; the wild green hills around them reduced to a tinder-dry straw in recent years; trees remaining entirely leaf-free, lifeless from one unending season to the next. The autumn could no longer be called the fall - nothing grew, so nothing fell, each season one bleak winter merging remorselessly into the next. Only the hardiest of root vegetables seemed able to cope with the poor light, the cold and the lack of predictable rains. But even they were beginning to struggle.

Fermi thought about it for only a moment, but he knew the tiger was correct.

"How much time...?"

"A year," Switch admitted, "maybe two."

The silence which fell was heavy and oppressive, pressing down on the pair of them with all the weight of the world. Knowing the world was dying was one thing, but feeling that it was slowly dying was another level of anguish entirely - a bitter, twisting sensation deep within his very soul that Switch was being forced to endure, and would have no choice but to endure, until they finally shared the world's fate as well.

And Nil... The poor little cub, just starting out in life, would have barely any chance to live at all.

It tore at Switch's heart to the point that he felt a physical ache.

"I envy you." Fermi shattered the silence with a silent whisper.

Switch was so surprised, so taken aback by the droid's comments, that it took him a few moments to fully grasp what Fermi had actually said. It baffled him, more than he had expected it to, "Why?"

Switch watched with enraptured curiosity as the lycanesque robot simulated a deep, contemplative sigh.

"You can die." He began, the faintest hints of anguish and bitterness present in his synthetic intonation, "When you're both gone I'll be all that's left."

The penchant that the robot demonstrated for catching Switch entirely off-guard was something that the tattered tiger had always found strangely pleasing. Emotions that a droid simply shouldn't have - that were beyond the ones defined by his core programming - seemed to constantly well to the surface in a fashion that often ran counter to his inorganic nature. Whether they were the result of the accident that had led to the circumstances in which the pseudo-wolf and tiger had originally met, or the rushed, basic repairs and jury-rigging that had followed, Switch was sure that he'd never find out.

But honestly, it didn't matter to him. Through accident or misadventure, here was a kindred spirit of sorts. He would be Switch's last friend.

Placing a hand reassuringly on the wolf's heavy shoulder he tried to offer his best reassurances, "There must be some of your kind still out there." They couldn't all have been destroyed. If Fermi had survived so close to Ground Zero then there could be others all across the globe, just waiting... "Repairable. Functional..."

"Perhaps." The servos in Fermi's upper body whirred lightly, barely audible had it not been for the silence, as he turned to look directly at the tiger, "But we're designed to serve, to assist. What will we do without you organics?"

If Switch hadn't have known it was impossible then he could've sworn he saw genuine hurt in those never-changing eyes. In all honesty he hadn't really considered the prospect of the future for Fermi until that moment, so caught up as he had been in the ultimate demise of the organic life on this world - with his own death; Nil; everyone and everything he had ever known...

Cass...

Cassiopeia... Oh, Cass. I'm so... So sorry.

A sudden glint of bright light peered just momentarily over the distant horizon, basking his face in a radiant warmth for the fraction before the dense clouds could conspire to snuff it out. The sunrise... Just the briefest kiss of optimism. But Switch didn't hope for a moment that it was a good omen. No, it was just a momentary reprieve.

But it was enough. And he couldn't help but smirk, lopsided but genuine. "It's your world now, Fermi. Remember us, and whatever you make of it, make it spectacular."

The wolf robot made neither motion nor sound; the tell-tale sign of just how much of his neural net he was dedicating to the thought process. In many ways, Switch knew, Fermi was still a child himself. Although he had the capacity and programming giving him the capacity to reason far beyond the level that even Switch himself could manage as a mere organic, the tiger knew that the mechanoid also lacked the knowledge and experience that a lifetime of growing up would have granted.

That certainly explained why Fermi spent so much time around Nil, casting himself into the role of elder brother - a guiding force, protective and nurturing, but still with so much to learn himself.

That just made Switch relish these conversations all the more, playing the father figure with an ease that he had once, long ago, hoped he could put to use with his own offspring.

But that hope was an entire lifetime past.

The soft crunch of dry grass from behind the pair signalled Nil's return, the small tentative steps betraying his lack of confidence in approaching others, even if they were such familiar faces. Switch didn't like to keep the fox cub waiting, not wanting to push him deeper into his shell.

Having risen to his feet and dusted the gritty earth from his trousers - an empty, meaningless platitude given the state his clothes were currently in, though some habits did die hard - he turned to regard the child with a warm smile, "Thanks, kiddo." He took the jacket from Nil's paws, slipping it over his shoulders and sliding his arms down through the cuffs with practiced ease. He ruffled the fox cub's dark-toned hair playfully, "Do you fancy a hike down to the river? Maybe we'll bring back a big fish."

Nil's face lit up like he'd been offered a birthday cake, his emphatic nod enticing a chortle from Switch.

"You coming, Fermi?"

The robot turned to regard the pair, his mind still caught up in the previous conversation, "No. Thank you. I'll just sit here and think. Enjoy the daylight whilst it lasts."

"Alright." Switch nodded, smiling to himself, wondering just where Fermi's thoughts would lead him, "Catch you later."

Reaching out an arm to Nil, a quick jerk of his head spurred the child into action, setting off down the hill at a brisk pace. The cub always did seem to like fishing - what equated to basically sticking a twig and some thin line in the river these days, since the usual bait was getting quite difficult to find come across. But it was still a pleasant and relaxing experience. What more could they do now than spend the days that remained trying to make the best of it?

Fermi watched them descend the gentle slope until they turned by the large outcropping two thirds of the way down and vanished from sight. True, his mind had been processing the conversation he'd had with Switch = the tiger to whom he knew he owed his present and continued existence - and all the consequences and implications of what had been said. But now, he couldn't help but wonder how few times remained where he could watch his organic friends descend that hill, and still retain any hope of them returning with the nourishment they needed to survive. He dreaded the day when he could no longer talk to Switch, or sit and simply enjoy the company of Nil, conversing with one-another without saying a single word.

The thought of the loneliness that would follow their inevitable departure made his chest servos ache, and the feedback loop which began to build within the emotional processing centre of his neural net threatened to force his basic I/O system into an unscheduled and undesirable reboot.

So he archived the thought in his memory for later analysis, and moved on instead to what his tiger friend had suggested. There had to be more of his kind out there. Perhaps when his organic companions ceased their operational cycles he would seek out his kin. What else would there be to do? Nobody to assist, nobody to serve. Nobody to talk to...

Switch had been correct; the world was theirs now. And perhaps if they could fix it somehow, they could start anew. Maybe even make a world where organic life could recover, respawn, regrow.

A query into his redundant memory core retrieved the folders of data he had been compiling ever since Switch had reactivated him, each one containing the genetic sequences of every plant, animal, fungi and bacterium that he'd come into direct contact with since the day of his reactivation. That particular compulsion wasn't a part of his core programming, Fermi knew that much. He certainly couldn't recall it from his fragmented pre-impact memory. But something about the impulse just felt... right. Perhaps Switch had built it into him when he had repaired the helpless, barely functioning droid?

The tiger was a very unusual creature. And he seemed to see things on a level that Fermi couldn't quite comprehend, but trusted nonetheless. Sometimes he did wonder if Switch could somehow predict the future...

As the runtime he'd allocated to the conversation began to draw to its intended termination, all logical process trees which produced a relevant outcome pre-archived and prepared for long-term storage, Fermi gave in to one final compulsion - a directive not just of logic, but driven at least in some part by the emotional centres of his neural net.

He opened the files which contained the most basic subroutines of his underlying operating system, and incorporated into them a new, simple directive.

Switch's final legacy.

"Make it spectacular..."

The servos in his chest ached once more as Fermi looked to the sky and silently regarded the future.