Mans existence is but a tiny mark upon the great face of time. To think that man would have any significant impact seems to be a given to themselves, but in the greater picture of things it is a very laughable thought. As man grew and developed his architecture, technology, and philosophy, nature continued to creep back into everything while men averted their eyes in blindness. As petty tensions grew between groups of men, the real world continued to exist in a continual cycle of life and death; creation and destruction. Nature as a force contradicts mans view of domination over all domains. The struggle against nature is so futile that it can appear to have been won, while it has truly made no difference in the end. Everything comes to an end, even man.

An ancient relic of man still kept a vigilant watch from the sky, observing everything but seeing nothing but what it wanted to see. The International Space Station was mainly still in service for tradition opposed to actual purpose. The needs of science had long moved on to research that did not require a floating relic beyond its usefulness, and so crews were sent up mainly for the experience and goodwill between sovereign nations rather than progress. They were forgotten when the war broke out.

They watched as fires lit up the many cities of the world, ruins melted away into molten heaps, and walls of flame marched across the earth, green becoming red, then grey, then black; engulfing everything in its path. They watched as men killed themselves over their petty squabbles of land or visual difference or philosophical ideals. They watched as they were forgotten, and as all hopes of leaving the station for home were destroyed in a torrent of fire and death. Alone, they circled a dead planet, no way of contacting any survivors below them, and no way of getting home.

Years passed, and habits began to manifest among the crew. They'd stare down at the Earth with their telescopes, looking for any signs of the life they once knew surviving. They watched as green started to spread and take over the Earth as nature crept into even death and gave birth to life, blooming greens and other vivid colors where only brown and black and red had ruled. They tried to ignore the thoughts that crept in, asking them why they held onto hope. Why they searched for something that so clearly didn't exist. This cycle of both doubt and hope continued until a sudden jolt shook the space station. They had been on a slow orbital decay, their altitude lowering over the years, and now they were getting pulled straight down to the surface.

Huddled in the center of the station, they listened as outer sections were ripped apart or burned away. The walls got hot and the air heated as they counted down to themselves how long it would take for them to reach the surface. They were not conscious to experience the crash.

Waking up on a beach, you look around. You are alone, and there is no sign of the station. You either fell into the water and was washed ashore by the waves, or the station sank below the water to rust and deteriorate back into nature, after centuries, like most of the remnants of human technology. You don't know if the others survived the impact. All you know is that sunset is coming quickly, and you don't know what kind, if any wildlife, exists in this new world. You just need to be prepared before you find out. Your old life is lost and survival within nature takes precedence.

Your journey begins.