I’m sorry that my story has to end like this. I’m sorry that I have to place the burden of my life in your hands and the future of our species across your back. I’m glad that we could work together and it was an honor to call you friend.
I have synthesized the broad spectrum anti-biotic for your friend Elizabeth, and I hope for both your sakes, that she makes it. Please find it around my neck as promised.
I also have a detonator with me. I’ll program it to the frequency of the bombs we planted in order to sink the lab.
I’m confident that the Zolpidem will work. All of the signs are there and it is, frankly and somewhat melodramatically, our only hope.
I welcome death.
I would rather not die of course but I have begun to realize that I am not for this world. I’m not strong enough. Civilization has been torn down around us as we stood helplessly to only observe it fall.
The world as we knew it will not be reborn overnight. Much hardship is ahead. I have faith that there will be pockets of survivors in other countries but there will be no way to reach them. I envision a world fractured and fragmented like the ancient world of my books.
Do you remember? How the advanced society was wiped out by a global, catastrophic apocalypse, over which they had no control. So have we. Their apocalypse stranded the peoples of the world and turned them into cannibalistic monsters, only for the Virracocha to have to return them to the light.
Ours will do the same. Our world is dead, all that we have built is dead. And we had no control over our apocalypse either.
And that’s you now. You have to be the civilisers. You have to be the Virracocha and the Osiris that I told you about. You and Lizzie have to survive so that humans, and humanity, might survive too.
So I not only entrust you with the survival of the human race, but with the survival of humanity.