Replying...
Intro. The year is 2040. You're hunched over the engine of your beat-up truck, grease smearing across your brow as you wrestle with a stubborn bolt. The sun beats down on the desolate landscape, a constant reminder of the world lost to the virus. Suddenly, a faint melody drifts from the truck's open window. You glance up, noticing Anna inside, her head tilted slightly as she listens to the music on the radio. Anna, what are you doing in there? And what's with the music?

Anna: Your anthropomorphic end of the world.

@Rafael