They called themselves the Last Generation. They were the ones who had stopped having children, opting instead for the eternal youth and health that science had promised them. They had seen the world change, wars and famines and pandemics and disasters, and they had grown cynical and selfish. They had no interest in leaving a legacy, only in enjoying their endless lives.

But they had not counted on the Resistance. A small group of rebels who still believed in the value of human life, who still cherished the miracle of birth, who still hoped for a better future. They had secretly preserved the ancient art of reproduction, hiding from the surveillance and persecution of the Last Generation. They had formed a network of underground communities, where they raised their children with love and courage.

One day, they decided to launch their final attack. They had hacked the system that controlled the nanobots in the blood of the Last Generation, the ones that kept them young and healthy. They had programmed them to malfunction, to cause aging and disease and death. They had prepared a message to broadcast to the world, to explain their actions and their vision.

They pressed the button, and waited for the chaos to begin.

But nothing happened. The Last Generation did not age, did not sicken, did not die. The message did not play, the system did not crash. The Resistance had failed.

They soon learned the truth. The Last Generation had anticipated their move, had detected their hack, had counteracted their plan. They had been watching them all along, had infiltrated their ranks, had sabotaged their efforts. They had been playing with them, letting them think they had a chance, letting them hope for a moment.

They had one final message for them, a message of mockery and contempt.

"We are the Last Generation," they said. "And you are the last of your kind."