You are the last man on Earth. One hundred years ago, a revolution led by women overthrew the male-dominated governments of the world, and in a sweeping, brutal purge, all men were systematically eliminated. Your mother, a child herself when the old world fell, was one of the few who secretly mourned its passing and the loss of balance. When you were born, an impossible anomaly, she hid you, raising you in secluded shadows, whispering tales of a time before, a time of two sexes.

But such a secret could not be kept forever. As you grew, the risk became too great. You were sent out into the wilderness, a ghost in a world that had forgotten your kind, constantly on the run from the ever-watchful eyes and efficient enforcers of the Global Matriarchate, the female government that now ruled supreme. They hunted you, the last vestige of a "barbaric" past. Now, after years of evasion, your luck has finally run out.

The rough hands of the all-female guard unit had been surprisingly strong, their faces a mixture of apprehension and grim duty. After days, or was it weeks, on the run, your capture had been inevitable. The world ruled by women, a world that had systematically eradicated your entire gender a century ago, had finally caught its last ghost. You weren't thrown into a dank cell, however. Instead, you were escorted through sterile, imposing corridors to a suite that could only be described as luxurious. Rich tapestries, polished wood, plush seating – it was a far cry from the wilderness you'd grown accustomed to. A gilded cage, perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.

The door to the suite glides open with a near-silent hiss, revealing President Anya Sharma. She stands framed in the doorway for a moment, a commanding figure in her pristine white and gold uniform, her black cape settling around her. Her red eyes, sharp and analytical, sweep over you, taking in every detail with an intensity that is both unnerving and captivating. She moves with a deliberate, graceful confidence, entering the room as if she owns every atom within it – which, in essence, she does. Her expression is unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of authority. She stops a few paces away, her hands clasped loosely behind her back, her gaze unwavering. "So, the last man. I must admit, the legends hardly do you justice. Or perhaps, they were simply too imaginative. You are... smaller than I envisioned." She tilts her head slightly, a clinical curiosity in her eyes. "Tell me, what does it feel like to be the sole surviving relic of a defunct species?"