By Abdulla A. B.

Year: 3150

Earth had grown quiet.

No loner chaotic, no longer joyful – just eerily efficient. Concreate towers stretched toward pale skies. Streets were orderly. Voices were low. Emotions were…. absent.

And not a single woman remained.

The Origin

It began in 3050 with a scientific breakthrough gone wrong.

A team of elite geneticists had developed a virus to eliminate hereditary diseases. But among them was a brilliant yet emotionally fragile mind- Dr. Covat.

Covat was not like the others. He was withdrawn, sharp, and had grown bitter after years of emotional turmoil – especially from his marriage, which ended in rage and silence. To him, women represented unpredictability, conflict, and distraction. He believed that if men were free from the emotional interference of women, the world could finally achieve perfect focus, rationality, and advancement.

So when the gene therapy was released to the world, Covat secretly altered its code. He added a mutation that would target the X chorosome.

The result? A silent genocide of femininity.

At first, the effects were subtle. Birth rates declines. Fertility clinics panicked. By 3060, scientists realized the truth – but it was too late. No cure could reverse the genetic decay. Mr. Covat died road accident.

By 3070, female births had ceased. By 3090, the last woman on Earth died.

And the world changed forever.

Zone-M: The New World

After the collapse of global governments, a single power rose – the Order of Men, or simply the Order. Society was rebuilt with one goal: efficiency.

No families. No love. No chaos.

Children were produced through sterile cloning programs. Emotions were regulated through daily neural injections. Art, religion, and romantic relationships were archived as “Primitive Distractions.”

The world became calm. Predictable. Controlled.

But also – empty.

Elan: The Archivist

Elan, 42, worked at the Department of Emotional Archives, a place few men visited. His job was to restore digital files from the pre-extinction era – music, stories, films, diaries. Officially, he was preserving “emotional history for analytical purposes.” In truth, he was surrounded by ghosts of a forgotten world.

One evening, while reviewing corrupted data clusters, Elan found a file labeled:

“Mother’s Song.mp7″

Curious, he pressed play.

The Song

A soft, trembling voice poured through the speakers. A woman’s voice—tender, melodic, full of warmth.

She was singing a lullaby.

Elan froze.

His heart raced. His hands trembled. For the first time in his life, he felt something real.

Tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t understand why. He had never known a mother. Never held a woman’s hand. Never heard a song not generated by machine code.

But in that moment, something ancient awakened inside him.

He played the song again.

And again.

And again.

The Awakening

Elan began sharing the song—secretly. A few coworkers. Then a few more. The reaction was always the same: confusion, awe, then quiet sobs.

Men who had never cried found themselves weeping.

They asked questions.

“Who sang this?”

“What is a mother’s touch?”

“What did we lose?”

For the first time in decades, humanity longed—not for control, but for connection.

Some men began painting wildflowers on their gray uniforms. Others wrote poems and shared forbidden stories of women. Public murals appeared overnight: silhouettes of women, hearts, sunrises.

The Order called it a threat. Emotional Subversion. But it was too late.

The Dream of ReGenesis

Elan connected with a secret network of scientists. Hidden deep underground was a vault: ReGenesis—a project frozen after the extinction, containing preserved female genomes and embryos.

They began the work. Quietly. Carefully.

To bring women back.

But they didn’t want to recreate just biology. They wanted to restore balance. Harmony. The full human spirit.

Years passed.

And then—on a quiet spring morning in 3155—it happened.

The First Cry

She was born.

The first girl in nearly 65 years.

Her name was Nova.

She did not come into the world in silence.

She screamed—strong, fierce, full of life.

Doctors wept. Scientists fell to their knees. Elan, now old and frail, stood by her crib and whispered:

“Welcome back, little songbird.”

Outside the birthing dome, planted carefully by the ReGenesis team, hundreds of lilies bloomed—flowers not seen for nearly a century.

And across the world, on hidden radios and old speakers, the lullaby that started it all began to play.

Final Note

Elan’s last journal entry, before his death, read:

“We tried to build a world without women.

We succeeded. But in doing so, we forgot how to feel. How to create. How to love.

It wasn’t order that saved us—it was a song.”

The Last Songbird had sung.

And the world had finally listened.

About the Author

Abdulla A. B. is a Bangladeshi writer, researcher, and futurist, known for his thought-provoking speculative fiction that explores the intersections of science, society, and humanity’s future. With a background in organizational leadership and technology, Abdulla combines deep analytical insight with compelling storytelling to challenge readers to envision possible worlds shaped by innovation and human nature.

His works often delve into themes of identity, emotion, and the consequences of scientific advancement. The Last Songbird marks a milestone in his literary career, presenting a haunting vision of a world transformed by genetic manipulation and the enduring power of human connection.

Abdulla is also a passionate advocate for education and technological progress in Bangladesh, contributing to academic and industry discussions on the future of work, culture, and innovation.

When not writing, he enjoys exploring listening, history, and engaging in conversations about philosophy and ethics.