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I am the last...
In I am the last..., a post apocalyptic survival story game on Kiz10, you walk alone through a dead city, dodging gun crazed husks and writing the last human thoughts left on Earth.
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I am the last...
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Play : I am the last... 🕹️ Game on Kiz10
Rating:
9.00 (151 votes)
Released:
23 Jan 2026
Last Updated:
23 Jan 2026
Technology:
HTML5
Platform:
Browser (desktop, mobile, tablet)
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- The city still stands, but it has forgotten what living feels like. Windows stare back with empty glass eyes, streets are cluttered with abandoned cars, and somewhere in the distance a gunshot echoes without intent. In I am the last..., you step into the shoes of the only person who remembers what it means to be human in a post apocalyptic world that keeps moving but has stopped caring. 🌆🕯️
A city that breathes bullets instead of words
Whatever weapon was unleashed, it didn’t just kill bodies. It erased purpose. Soldiers and civilians now wander like puppets with jammed scripts, fingers locked around triggers, firing into nothing. They march down cracked roads, stand in intersections, aim at shadows, wasting bullets on ghosts. They are not enemies in the usual sense; they are what’s left when someone removes the “why” from a person and leaves only the “how” behind. You can sneak past them, watch their jittery patrols, feel the vibration of a shot pounding through a nearby wall and understand that none of this is personal. It’s just noise. 🔫😶🌫️
Whatever weapon was unleashed, it didn’t just kill bodies. It erased purpose. Soldiers and civilians now wander like puppets with jammed scripts, fingers locked around triggers, firing into nothing. They march down cracked roads, stand in intersections, aim at shadows, wasting bullets on ghosts. They are not enemies in the usual sense; they are what’s left when someone removes the “why” from a person and leaves only the “how” behind. You can sneak past them, watch their jittery patrols, feel the vibration of a shot pounding through a nearby wall and understand that none of this is personal. It’s just noise. 🔫😶🌫️
The last heartbeat in the noise
Your character is not a super soldier, not a chosen one, not a legendary hero with secret powers. He is simply the last man whose mind hasn’t cracked. He walks, listens, hides, sometimes fights, and mostly tries not to dissolve into the silence that surrounds him. That difference is everything. In most survival games, you hunt for victory. Here, you hunt for a sign that someone else is still thinking, still feeling, still writing their own story. Winning doesn’t mean clearing a level; it means proving you’re not shouting into a void that has already answered “no one’s left” a thousand times. 💔🌫️
Your character is not a super soldier, not a chosen one, not a legendary hero with secret powers. He is simply the last man whose mind hasn’t cracked. He walks, listens, hides, sometimes fights, and mostly tries not to dissolve into the silence that surrounds him. That difference is everything. In most survival games, you hunt for victory. Here, you hunt for a sign that someone else is still thinking, still feeling, still writing their own story. Winning doesn’t mean clearing a level; it means proving you’re not shouting into a void that has already answered “no one’s left” a thousand times. 💔🌫️
A journal instead of a squad
When you have no teammates, no radio chatter, no NPC companion telling jokes at the worst possible time, you grab the only ally you can trust: paper. His journal is more than a prop; it’s the spine of the experience. Every time he stops to write, the world shrinks to the scratch of ink and the weight of his thoughts. Fear, loneliness, the tiny sparks of hope he refuses to fully extinguish, all of it goes onto those pages. 📓🖊️
When you have no teammates, no radio chatter, no NPC companion telling jokes at the worst possible time, you grab the only ally you can trust: paper. His journal is more than a prop; it’s the spine of the experience. Every time he stops to write, the world shrinks to the scratch of ink and the weight of his thoughts. Fear, loneliness, the tiny sparks of hope he refuses to fully extinguish, all of it goes onto those pages. 📓🖊️
As you play, you see how the tone shifts. Early entries carry that fragile optimism: maybe there’s a survivor in another district, maybe the broadcast he half heard wasn’t just a malfunctioning speaker. Later, the words slow down, sentences trail off, and you feel how each day in the ruined city pulls at his sanity. The journal isn’t about lore dumps; it’s about watching one human mind wrestle with the idea that it might be the last one still awake.
Walking through ruins that still remember
Gameplay in I am the last... moves at the pace of a survivor, not an action hero. You thread your way through alleys, cautiously peek around corners, and scan rooftops where armed husks might be wandering. Sometimes you’ll move silently, taking the long way around to avoid a cluster of mindless gunmen. Sometimes you’ll need to sprint across open streets, heart racing as stray bullets rip into cars and walls around you. 🚶♂️💥
Gameplay in I am the last... moves at the pace of a survivor, not an action hero. You thread your way through alleys, cautiously peek around corners, and scan rooftops where armed husks might be wandering. Sometimes you’ll move silently, taking the long way around to avoid a cluster of mindless gunmen. Sometimes you’ll need to sprint across open streets, heart racing as stray bullets rip into cars and walls around you. 🚶♂️💥
The city layout encourages curiosity. A blocked road might force you through a half collapsed building. A narrow passage between apartments might lead to a rooftop vantage point where you can watch the infected drift below like broken lines of code. Shelters, barricades, overturned buses, every piece of wreckage feels like a leftover sentence of a story that ended too fast. You connect them in your head, imagining who ran, who hid, and who never got the chance.
Stealth, survival and hard decisions
This isn’t about mowing down endless waves of enemies just to prove your aim is steady. The gun you carry is more of a last resort than a main mechanic. Every shot risks drawing attention, every noise has consequences. You weigh your options constantly: risk a noisy confrontation to open a path, or backtrack and search for a quieter route. Sometimes a single bullet is the difference between reaching the next safe corner and collapsing on the pavement. ⚠️🔇
This isn’t about mowing down endless waves of enemies just to prove your aim is steady. The gun you carry is more of a last resort than a main mechanic. Every shot risks drawing attention, every noise has consequences. You weigh your options constantly: risk a noisy confrontation to open a path, or backtrack and search for a quieter route. Sometimes a single bullet is the difference between reaching the next safe corner and collapsing on the pavement. ⚠️🔇
Your choices are small but heavy. Do you help someone you think you hear behind a door, or assume it’s another mindless shell waiting to waste ammo in your direction? Do you spend precious seconds rereading an old journal entry for comfort, or keep moving before the wandering gunmen drift back into your street? There are no flashy morality meters, only the quiet knowledge that every move says something about who this last man is trying to be.
Silence heavier than any weapon
One of the most unsettling parts of I am the last... is what you don’t hear. No background chatter. No traffic. No distant laughter. When a breeze moves, it feels almost too loud. When a can rolls across the asphalt because you bumped it, your pulse spikes like you just set off an alarm. The silence is a character, stubborn and suffocating. It presses on you as you explore, and it slips into the journal entries too, in gaps, pauses and short, unfinished lines. 🌒🔕
One of the most unsettling parts of I am the last... is what you don’t hear. No background chatter. No traffic. No distant laughter. When a breeze moves, it feels almost too loud. When a can rolls across the asphalt because you bumped it, your pulse spikes like you just set off an alarm. The silence is a character, stubborn and suffocating. It presses on you as you explore, and it slips into the journal entries too, in gaps, pauses and short, unfinished lines. 🌒🔕
Sometimes, the quiet is broken by scattered clues that someone once tried to resist the fall: half painted warnings on walls, posters, barricaded storefronts, a child’s drawing taped to a broken window. They don’t magically spawn quests, but they do something more important. They remind you that this city belonged to people, and that you’re walking on top of their unfinished plans.
Why this story hits different on Kiz10
On Kiz10, I am the last... runs directly in your browser, but it doesn’t play like a quick throwaway distraction. It feels intimate, closer to a playable diary than a standard shooter. Simple controls keep your focus on atmosphere rather than button combinations. Move, look around, interact, aim when you must, retreat when your instincts scream “not this way.” Whether you play on desktop or mobile, the goal isn’t just to survive; it’s to sit with the weight of being the last human voice in a world that has forgotten words. 🌐🎮
On Kiz10, I am the last... runs directly in your browser, but it doesn’t play like a quick throwaway distraction. It feels intimate, closer to a playable diary than a standard shooter. Simple controls keep your focus on atmosphere rather than button combinations. Move, look around, interact, aim when you must, retreat when your instincts scream “not this way.” Whether you play on desktop or mobile, the goal isn’t just to survive; it’s to sit with the weight of being the last human voice in a world that has forgotten words. 🌐🎮
The pacing makes it perfect for late night sessions, when you’re in the mood for something quietly intense. You slip into the ruined city for a while, follow the survivor’s footsteps, read what he writes, then step back out and realize the real world suddenly feels loud and crowded in comparison.
Echoes instead of endings
Most games promise a clear victory screen. Here, the most powerful reward is smaller: a radio crackle that might not be static, a distant light that might not be a glitch, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, someone will answer one of the thoughts he leaves behind. The hero’s real victory is refusing to stop writing, refusing to stop walking, refusing to let the silence define the ending for him. 📡🕯️
Most games promise a clear victory screen. Here, the most powerful reward is smaller: a radio crackle that might not be static, a distant light that might not be a glitch, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, someone will answer one of the thoughts he leaves behind. The hero’s real victory is refusing to stop writing, refusing to stop walking, refusing to let the silence define the ending for him. 📡🕯️
I am the last... on Kiz10 is a post apocalyptic survival story game for players who care less about stacking kills and more about what it means to be the last voice in a broken world. You move through the ruins, avoid the mindless gunmen, protect a fragile body and an even more fragile mind, and keep filling page after page with proof that humanity has not completely disappeared yet. And as long as the journal isn’t empty, neither is the world.
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