A realistic, intimate close-up of the last cyborg animals—a once-fluffy black cat and a once-soft, clumsy dog. Their synthetic fur is patchy, revealing aged mechanical joints, frayed wires, and corroded circuits beneath. The cat’s round, glassy eyes, flickering weakly, hold a trace of their former curiosity, while the dog’s dim, artificial pupils reflect quiet, fading warmth. Snow falls gently around them, melting against the exposed metal, sending tiny, flickering sparks into the cold air. Faint red light drifts like dying embers, catching in the cat’s fractured whiskers and the dog’s static-ridden ears, as if the world itself mourns their fading existence. The background, blurred and distant, suggests the remnants of a ruined, frozen forest—nature long abandoned, its beauty now a ghostly memory. Yet in this silent, desolate moment, there is something achingly beautiful—the way they lean into each other, instinctively seeking warmth they no longer feel, their broken bodies still yearning for connection. The last of their kind, staring forward into the endless snowfall, as if searching for something lost—a past they can never return to, or a future that will never come.