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Last man standing.
A job description, perfect in its simplicity. Anything that kills me has already killed everyone else, he used to declare. A truth he had not anticipated becoming actual truth.
His moral scale balanced in the churn of the before—ever floating and sinking. Never touching bedrock and ever wondering what they would do. Alex. Naomi. Holden. Eons later, he clung.
Planets left abandoned. A cosmic clusterfuck. Others turned to protomolecule scrap; not equipped to handle ever-enduring existence.
He lingered.
Wise, ancient Amos. Old, yet never worn.
A mere mechanic, and so much more.
At peace in being.