The last dinosaur turned toward the jagged rock formation nearby, his powerful legs propelling him forward with surprising agility despite his massive frame. His claws scraped against the stone as he began to climb, each movement deliberate and calculated. The rocks were hot from the sun, nearly burning his scaled palms, but he pushed upward, driven by curiosity and the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t entirely alone.

Reaching the summit, he crouched low, his tail curling around a boulder for balance. From this vantage point, the wasteland stretched endlessly in every direction, a sea of cracked earth and scattered boulders under the oppressive orange sky. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the source of the rumble. Then he saw it—a plume of dust rising in the distance, moving steadily toward him. Something was coming. Something big.

His heart pounded in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. Was it another creature? A machine? Or just another cruel trick of the wind? He remained perfectly still, his muscles tense, ready to flee or fight. The dust cloud grew larger, and within it, he glimpsed movement—a hulking shape, dark and unfamiliar. His nostrils flared as the scent of oil and metal reached him, mingling with the dry air. It wasn’t alive. But it wasn’t natural, either.