Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Charles turned over on his side to look at her. She lay quietly in the the day. And he had been a nobody, full of a nobody's idle hopes and schemes. And now he was lying in the bed next to hers in her swank Manhattan apartment in the most exclusive hotel in town. The unrealness of the situation overwhelmed him. His mind was a picture of confused thoughts. Meanings and answers to his questions slithered out of his reach. A thought teased at him. Charles looked at the woman again and decided "I could have fallen in love with you once. A year ago, perhaps, or longer. But not now. Not now." He turned away and walked to the window. "Now the world is dead. The whole world is dead." New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet freely, warmly, and Charles had accepted. But then he had known She would have given herself to any man— His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating Charles picked up a heavy book end off the table and crashed it through A gust of wind from the outside breezed through the shattered opening, attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary "But I don't want to be the last man alive!" he shouted. "I don't know what to do! I don't know where to go, how to act! I just don't know—" " Maybe I'm not the last! " The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with swelling comfort to fill his emptiness. Charles got up slowly, noticing for the first time that his fingers was a mess of desolate carnage. Charles overlooked it. Shop fronts smashed, stores looted, gyro-cars wrecked, proud buildings defaced. "That was it," he said to himself. "Pride. We called this the 'Proud Era.' Everything was better and bigger and nicer to have. Buildings were taller, men were healthier, most of the problems of humanity seemed licked, or nearly so. It was a time of free power, each small unit of population, each section of town operating on perpetual, ever-lasting, automatic atomic piles. "We were free. We seemed, almost, to have accomplished something. The world was running well. No wonder we called it the 'Proud Era.' Life was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until...." "I've got to find out," Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. Reaching the gigantic building, Charles pushed aside the body of a Only once, before the plague, had he seen the interior of this room. But he still remembered it and he still recalled the powerful emotional experience it had been those many years ago. before and a friendly guard had let him peep briefly into the computer room. The impression of intense activity, of organized confusion, of mechanical wonder had remained with him the rest of his life. "So different now," he thought, surveying the room. "Now it's empty, so empty." The machine seemed to reflect the stillness, the very deadness Charles walked to the master control panel. With newly acquired being sampled while the screen would show population density by individual pinpoints of light that merged to form brightness patterns. "I'll try New York first," he said to himself, knowing that he was a coward, afraid to check the whole world from the start. "I'll start Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New one of them, a beautiful woman, had invited him up to her apartment, not because she liked him, but because.... The main screen focused itself, the patterns shifting into a Charles stopped talking and forced his eyes upwards. Peripheral vision Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City. the so-called "basic" drives: hunger, thirst, sex, shelter, warmth, companionship, elimination. Certainly more decisive in the history of the race. Man began to think, to differentiate himself from the other But thinking about "why" didn't answer the question itself, Charles the most perfect? Had he led the best of all possible lives? Was that it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly Christ-like, most nearly.... Charles sighed. "No," Charles said, standing up in the quiet of the spring evening. There must be!" He sighed slowly. "So now I'm a hermit, whether or not I like it," he said in derision to Charles stopped walking suddenly. No cave, he thought. No place to sleep out the long one, no place to rest while time came to change things around and make them for the better. No place to hide. And suddenly it was the most important thing in life to him to find his "cave." "It ought to be something impressive," he thought out loud. "Something fitting the occasion." rest. Let them decide. He smiled and finished the painting. Charles was hungry. He got up and started for one of the restaurants near the park. Later on, when there was more time, he'd find a piece of granite and move it to the plot. He could spend his free time carving on it, copying the inscription. He would make it into a real shrine Somehow, though, since things were ready and it didn't make too much difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time to wait. "Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it." He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, alone or not. There were things he could do, ways to keep occupied. He wouldn't mind it so much. But he wanted more and more desperately with each passing second to retain his foothold on the tenuous path of physical existence. The tantalizing thought of "why" puzzled its way back into his mind. But it seemed less pressing now that he had almost come to the conclusion that he would live for a long time. Later, in a few days perhaps, he would think about it. In a little while he'd have plenty of opportunity for hunting down the answer. This seemed good to him, for now he thought he almost had the answer, if there were an answer. He part of his mind clamped down, obscuring the thought, rejecting the to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune! He wanted to protest, but there was no one to listen to him. He Charles struggled to end his body's disorganized responses, to everything else seemed irrelevant: he had to get back to the park, to his hermit's cave, to his long, narrow home. He couldn't die until then. He was allotted ten minutes before the end. It could have been ten years or ten seconds, for now objective time meant nothing to him. It was not a matter of measuring seconds and stomach protested, he vomited. It made no difference. Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do not think they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he pushed himself towards his goal, trying to add one final touch of grace And then he was upon it. One arm reached out for grass, and clutched bare space instead. He was home. He gathered energy from his final reservoirs of strength for one final Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying muscles. Now he knew, and the knowing was the end of it. empty coffin. The world will end, not with a bang, nor with a whimper, but with the last man's anguished cry at the unreasonableness of it all. "I can feel the emptiness of it." "It was very good. Where were you?" "On the next planet out. No beauty to it at all

<question>:
What did Charles decide to do when he realized he was alone?

<options>:
A Live his best life as long as possible
B Give up and wait for death
C Create a shrine to mark the end of humanity
D Enjoy the things he never had before

<answer>:

C