Extirpation

January 5, 2026

The word "extirpate" is approximately defined as "to destroy something that is unwanted."

A fitting term, I think.

The extirpations began 6 months ago, almost to the day: random, sudden disappearances of things. At first, the objects that disappeared were utterly mundane: coins from a purse, or a smartphone from a pocket. But these trinkets were just the beginning.

At first, the news coverage was minimal. A local story about a missing doorknob was one of the more interesting cases: devious, tricky and introducing inconvenience, but utterly useless, as targets go. It was considered by some, though, myself among them, to be an application of choice to the target of an extirpation.

Then, she started appearing on TV. Irina. She was as striking as ever, but with as little understanding of social grace as she'd had when I met her. Thinking about it makes me smile, even now.

I happened to be watching when she made her first appearance as an expert guest on our regional news channel. She coined the term "extirpation" for this phenomenon on that broadcast. I remember her exact words...

"Dr. Alexandrova, these disappearances... should we be worried?"

"…No."

A painful silence, just as those she inflicted on me, once upon a time.

"No? Could you give a little more insight?" the reporter responded.

Irina nodded, but a shadow of annoyance flitted across her face. Perhaps only I caught it.

"These... extirpations are completely uncorrelated events. You do not need to worry."

"Well that's a relief, but... how can you be sure?"

"My research leads me to this conclusion. Certainly."

"And... extirpations? I'm afraid I don't know the term."

"The act of destroying, completely, something that is unwanted."

The rest of the conversation has faded, but...

But the next day... the first death by extirpation occurred, as though to spit in Irina's face.

A chunk of the brake line of a passenger vehicle vanished while moving. Naturally, the driver crashed, killing him on impact and injuring 2 others.

After that, few extirpations happened for a time. People almost forgot about it. There were some indistinct reports of rodents and dogs and so forth vanishing in western Asia, but none confirmed.

A month or so after the brake line incident, an American man claimed to have had his daughter extirpated. Everyone dismissed him as insane: confirmed incidents, especially in the West, had been way down. But nonetheless, he shouted to anyone who would listen about his daughter's disappearance, and about the impending existential danger of the extirpations.

His shouting was heard by few. Many dismissed it out of hand, including Irina. I did not. I could not.

The man's fate revealed the true nature of the disappearances, and in my mind, it proved him correct.

During one of his tirades to the news, his feed cut mid-sentence. He had called in via video conference to do the show, and so he was at home. What he was saying on the broadcast quickly fell out of the public consciousness.

What took its place was that his entire house had been extirpated, as though to silence him.

It sickens me to think that there may be agency underlying this phenomenon.

I write this simply to set my thoughts straight. I know that the extirpations are dangerous. I know that Irina was wrong.

But I am afraid to prove it.

A familiar dinging tune hitting his ears, Ken snapped back to reality, lifting his head from his journal as a new window popped up on his laptop. Its title read, "Simulation Complete."

He sat forward in his chair, the sound of his heartbeat pounding a faster and faster rhythm, throbbing against the inside of his skull. "Let's see..." he muttered, clicking on the new window.

Its results flashed across his screen.

His heart, for the briefest moment, stopped beating in his chest. The air was ripped from his lungs with a low, choked gasp as he stared at the graph his program had produced.

"I... This has to be a mistake..." he muttered.

The graph on the screen showed three curves, each extrapolating a model of the past occurrences of extirpation.

And they all converged on one point. One day. A single moment.

An extirpation of such magnitude that it could consume everything. The entire world.

The date in question was labeled clearly at the foot of the graph: January 1, 2027.

He tapped his fingertips on the surface of the table, his mind flashing pictures of his children before his eyes. His two beautiful girls: May and Alice.

I have to keep going, for them, he thought. With a sharp breath in, he sat forward, brow furrowing as he changed windows to the command terminal. With a few quick commands, he had the simulation environment built and crunching the numbers again.

"Hopefully some cosmic ray changed the outcome..." he muttered, standing up. He began to pace around his office, his occupied mind dragging his glazed-over eyes past the utter desolation that was his work station.

He pressed bases of his palms into his eyes. Thoughts of all kinds raced through his mind: What if my program was right? What if that outcome... that ending... is unstoppable?

What do I tell my children?

It was an impossible question.

A sensation against his leg yanked him back to reality, clearing his mind: his phone was buzzing in his pocket. It was a familiar vibration: texts from his older daughter, May.

May > Hey dad coming home from school May > I grabbed Alice and we're walking back now

A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he read. He took a shaky deep breath in, letting the air come to a rest in his lungs before exhaling again.

Me > Ok. Be safe. Love you.

But their arrival at home meant he had to make a choice: tell them about his findings, or let them find out from some heartless stranger down the line that came to the same conclusion.

As he thought it, the laptop dinged again. The smile faded from his face as he shuffled back over to it and sat down. Please, he thought.

He opened it gingerly, as if doing so with vigor might change the outcome. His stomach dropped. He tried to swallow, but his mouth dried up as he looked at the outputs.

The same outcome.

The projections, all in different colors, once again converged on the same date. That same date as last time: January 1, 2027.

"Damn it!" He slammed the laptop shut, pushing away from his desk. He leaned forward, placing his hand against his furrowed brow and closing his eyes. "If this is real, what am I supposed to tell them?"

The phone vibrated in his left hand. Once again, his daughter saved him from his thoughts.

May > Love you May > Also my teacher mentioned something about the news May > You should turn it on May > Could be more of those disappearances mom was researching

He stared at the messages. The news? he thought. He stood up.

Me > I'll take a look. Thanks.

Shutting the office door behind him, he walked over to the living room and sat down across from the TV, legs crossed beneath him. The remote clicked faintly as he pressed the power button.

Irina stared back at him. He flipped a couple channels. She was on all of them.

She stood at a podium, papers in hand, that familiar deadpan expression plastered over her natural beauty. Her blond hair looked frizzy, as always, hanging down all over the tattered white lab coat she wore. Her tired eyes gazed at the reporters before her, unerring.

In his heart, Ken knew what she was going to say. A grimace crept up his face as the realization dawned on him. She had always been there to relieve him of his indecision, and this would be no exception.

But he and the rest of the world found themselves unprepared for the bluntness of it.

She raised her hand, her signal she would start speaking whether they were ready or not. A hush fell over the crowd.

"In 360 days, the world..." she began, scanning the faces in the crowd before her. "...will cease to exist."

The rest of the broadcast was utter chaos. As soon as the words escaped her lips, the crowd of journalists before her erupted forward with questions, accusations, and anything else they could muster. A few ran out of the room, probably panicking, perhaps running to call their families or their superiors. Camera feeds went offline as their operators were overrun by journalists.

"Hello? Irina?" Ken called into his phone, cupping it against his face with both hands.

"You've reached the phone of—Irina Alexandrova. Please leave a message after the tone."

He clicked his tongue and sighed, dropping one of his hands to his side and waiting for the obnoxious beep to end.

"Irina, I need you to call me back whenever you can. I know you're probably swamped right now, but... just... call me. Bye."

A sigh escaped again, and he let the breath hang in the air for a while. 7 calls. His hands fell to his lap. He looked around the living room as though a solution might present itself, or at least some evidence that this was all a terrible dream. But he found no such salvation.

He glanced back down at his lap and the phone sitting on it. I'd better text her, too.

Me > Hi, Irina. Me > I need you to call me as soon as possible.

The messages sent, he scrambled to his office, snatching the laptop from his desk and returning the living room. He sat on the floor again and placed his laptop on the coffee table.

"I'll run a batch with different parameters..." he muttered, throwing open the screen. "And I'll rerandomize the seed while I'm at it..." His fingers flew all over the keyboard. Within seconds, he had started the environment again running a multitude of analysis and simulation tasks, hoping to disprove his and—more importantly—Irina's findings.

He leaned back, propping himself up on outstretched arms.

A flash across the TV grabbed his gaze. He looked at the cause: an urgent story coming in.

"I'm reporting from just outside the White House's gates. We have received word that the president is going to issue a public statement within minutes against Dr. Alexandrova's statement, which was made about 15 minutes ago."

Ken's eyes shot wide.

"The statement will be televised on all national and regional networks and will interrupt any scheduled programming, but until that message is delivered, officials have assured us very strongly of one thing: there is nothing to worry about."

His mind couldn't help but curse Irina for her social incompetence. He was certain that she had not cleared that part of her address with anyone—she just stated her conclusion. As usual.

It had always been a problem, but nothing like this. The main problem, however, was her reputation.

She was renowned in the physics world as a leader, and her words were generally accepted as truth—or, at least, strongly supported theory. She had a near-perfect track record. Her only public blunder, admittedly relatively major, was leading people to believe extirpation was not a dangerous phenomenon the night before it caused its first death. Prior to that, she led two of the most successful and most influential particle physics research projects ever conducted: Project Enoch's Prism and Project Aerodramus, as well as a number of other less major projects.

Her reputation guaranteed that she would be believed—or at least taken seriously—by some.

As Ken reminisced, the broadcast continued on his TV. But in-between the sounds of the reporters and the chaos unfolding around the country, the familiar creak of his front door opening radiated into the living room. The sound almost brushed past him, unnoticed. But its last vibrations, trailed by the chattering voices of his daughters, caught his attention.

His eyes shot open. They were just 2 rooms over.

What do I tell them?

The question played in his head over and over. He had to tell them. May had a phone, for God's sake. She would see it near-immediately.

What do I tell them?

His heart thrummed away in his chest, beating hard against his ribs.

What do I tell them?

"Hey Dad." May sighed, walking in the room. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder. Alice followed close behind, humming and staring at May. Her bag was also slung over one shoulder.

Ken reflexively scrambled to turn off the TV, shutting it down just as May turned to look at it. “Hi guys.”

"What were you watching?" Her brow furrowed a bit as she turned to him.

"It was nothing," he lied. Unfortunately, the response flowed naturally before his conscious mind could decide either way.

She cocked her head a bit. "Okay."

"Hi Dad!" Alice dropped her bag to the ground and sat cross-legged in front of it the same way Ken was.

His hands picked at each other idly in his lap. Truthful words caught in his throat.

“Hi honey,” he simply responded, smiling at her.

He turned back to May, meeting her gaze. She laughed under her breath and shook her head, the uncertainty leaving her face. She slumped into a chair next to Ken. "Nothing weird, I hope."

Ken saw her pull her phone from her pocket out of the corner of his eye and curl up in her usual way on the armchair, legs draped over one side and her head resting on the other.

"Maybe don't use—" he began.

A ding radiated from his laptop.

His heart sank as a set of graphs appeared on the screen. One per trial.

All the same as earlier.

All showing that same date.

His daughters both perked up, looking at the computer on the table, the graphs shown on it, and the date prominently displayed across the bottom.

"What's that?" she said, taking her legs off the armrest of the chair and righting herself. "What’s that date?"

"Yeah, Dad, what'd you make?" came Alice's voice.

"Ah..." He looked at May. And then at Alice. "It's... nothing. Just a set of simulations. For work." He closed the laptop and placed it on the side of him opposite them.

"What was it about? I didn't think you were working on anything time-sensitive like that." Alice nodded emphatically, though he was fairly sure she didn't even know what field he worked in.

"No, I'm not... It's not anything important," he replied.

"Why’re you being weird about it, then?"

He found he couldn’t answer. "May, please. It’s nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing," she muttered. "And you never do work out here."

"I do. Sometimes. When you're at school." He flashed a smile at May and then looked at Alice. She now intently studied the cover of a book she'd gotten from the school library. Completely oblivious.

"Is it something important?"

"No, May, it's nothing. Please... drop it."

She leaned back in the chair, still looking at him. "You're a horrible liar. Even mom's better."

Alice nodded again. "Yeah, tell us what it's about, Dad!"

He knew May was right—lying was certainly not among his talents. And Alice's participation was not helping with the guilt. His mind raced, consumed by different scenarios; simulations in his mind of the ways this could go. They all ended in panic, crying, heartbreak or a combination.

Alice looked up at him. Her eyes met his, but there was no thought behind his gaze. He just stared at her, mind elsewhere. "Dad, can I watch some TV before I do my homework?"

"Sure, honey." He slid the remote over to her.

Her face lit up. "Yes!" She laughed as she snatched the remote and jumped up, stretching her arms outward to point the remote at the TV. It clicked as the system turned on.

"—no need to panic. We are already investigating Dr. Alexandrova and her claims." The president's voice.

He felt his heart rate spike, and his hands began to tingle as panic instantly set in.

Alice stared at the TV as she always did, completely attentive no matter what was on it. At the mention of her mother's name, May's face was taken by concern and she leaned forward, watching closely.

"Mom?" she asked.

"She has been taken in, and we will relay our findings to the American people. Please continue to—"

Blood spewed from the president's right shoulder. Or, more accurately, where his shoulder should have been. What was there instead was simply... nothing.

For the moment his face remained on-screen after Ken made sense of the scene, it didn't look like he'd even processed that his arm was gone.

The cameras were immediately thrust down, and chaos broke out on the other side of the feed. A deafening crunching pitch rang out as, presumably, a cable was ripped from its place.

The network cut to static. And then to blackness.

All three of them remained silent. It felt like an eternity.

Alice began to cry, perhaps due simply to the pressure in the room. But Ken's mind did not process the sound.

All he heard was the static.

"Dad!" May called, finally getting his attention. "Your phone!"

As he grabbed it, it vibrated with a familiar rhythm. He flipped it over.

The light of the screen cut through the stillness. Across the top of the screen was just her first name: Irina.

His hand hovered over the phone for a moment as he stared at the name on the screen. He picked up the phone, pressing the button to answer.

"Hi, Irina."

The line crackled. A breath, then—

"Ken. I need to speak to you. In person."

"What...? Why? And where?"

"I cannot say more on the phone."

"Wait—!"

The beep of an ending call hit my ears. I let the phone fall to my lap. How am I supposed to get to her with no address?

"So..." whispered May's voice, wavering slightly. "What's going on, Dad?"

He paused before answering, looking at Alice, and then back to May. There was no avoiding it. They had to know. And Irina had, unfortunately, guaranteed that they would, in time.

"Before I explain, please know that I haven't confirmed this, and—"

"Dad." Ken's mouth snapped shut. "What is going on?"

He took a deep breath. "Your mother has predicted that the extirpations will get worse." The words felt sticky in his throat, as though even they tried desperately to spare his children from the truth. "She has made a prediction, on national television, that they will grow. And, in a year... they will be able to consume the planet."

The silence that followed bore down on Ken like a tidal wave. He looked between Alice and May, waiting for some reaction. May's face was frozen still, and she stared at the floor. Alice still sniffled once in a while, perched perfectly between the states of trying to compose herself and starting to cry.

"The whole planet...?" May asked. She gestured to the TV. "Like with the president's arm? Just... gone?"

Ken nodded.

"We can stop it though, right?" May asked under her breath.

"Yes. We can." A lie—or, at least, he didn't know whether it was true.

"That's why Mom called you. To get your help stopping it."

"Probably."

"And that's what your program was calculating. In a year, the date will be January 5, 2027. Almost exactly the date shown on that graph."

"Yes."

"When did you make that program?" She squinted at him.

Ken watched as her mind picked up the pieces. "I've been working on it since three days ago."

"So you had some idea before Mom even said anything?"

"A hunch. Yes." He held her gaze. He could see fire flickering behind her eyes. "Since the brake line incident last year."

Ken could feel the pressure of building anger emanating from her. "Even before three days ago you had a hunch? And you didn't tell anyone?" She leaned her head forward, shocked. "You didn't try to do anything?"

He swallowed. He knew the answer. When the brake line incident had happened... he acknowledged it, and even jumped to the conclusion of danger. But he did not act. Somewhere inside him, he wanted to be wrong. But that was just the expression of his fear—his fear to take responsibility for the truth.

"That was the point of the simulations," he said quietly.

"Why would you keep that from us? It's not your right to decide what I can and can't know."

"It is, May, at least somewhat. I'm your parent, and you're still in high school."

May stood from the chair, her phone thudding on the floor. "Unbelievable. I can't believe you'd keep that from us. From me." Grabbing her phone and backpack, she started walking away, toward the next room.

"What would telling you have done, May?"

"I don't know, Dad, but we could have figured it out," she replied without turning around, but she stopped in the doorway. "You were just going to sit there, running more tests, instead of trying to do something?"

"I just wanted to protect both of you, so I had to verify. If there was still any possibility that the world wouldn't end, why would I make you panic?"

"I'm not panicking! Not even Alice is panicking, and she's seven!"

He looked at Alice. Her eyes were fixed on their argument, bouncing between the two of them. She had largely collected herself, it seemed, but each time her eyes passed over May, they showed more and more frustration. "Dad, we can help."

May flourished her hand toward Alice demonstratively.

Ken stared at Alice for a moment. "Ever since your mother and I..." he began, hesitating. He felt the narrowing of May's eyes, trained on him. "No, even when she was still here, it was my responsibility to take care of you two. To protect you."

"But you don't need to do everything by yourself!" May exclaimed. "I'm here, and you don't need to protect me anymore!"

"I will always protect my family."

"Wow... such a saint, Dad." She shook her head. "I can't believe this. Have fun with your graphs. I'm gonna try to solve this." She turned on her heel.

Ken reached out to grab her wrist. "May, you're still just in high school." His stomach knotted as soon as he said it, dread and panic forcing the words out before his mind processed them.

She scoffed and yanked her hand away. "Yeah, I am. And you can keep running your little simulations, Dad. I’ll actually do something." She turned away from him, but glanced over her shoulder. Ken thought he saw a glint of moisture in her eye as their eyes met. But tearing her gaze away from his, she stuffed her hands firmly into her pockets, and then stormed away. The front door slammed behind her, the force shaking the walls around him.

He shook his head and brought his hands to it, pressing the bases of his palms into his temples. He envisioned Irina in his place, simply stating to the kids what she'd found with no reservation.

"Dad?" Her voice trembled. Her hands were clenched tight against each other, folded in her lap. "We'll be okay, right?"

Her words pulled him back to the present. He hesitated before responding, perhaps for a moment too long. "We'll be okay, Alice."

"We can fix it together, right?"

He forced a smile and knelt down in front of her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing we can’t fix, honey."

Alice’s lip trembled as the tears continued rolling. "Really?"

"Really," he said, though even he wasn’t sure if he meant it. He stroked her hair, wiping stray tears as his hand passed, and pressed his mouth into a thin smile. He couldn't tell if she had meant his argument with May or the end of the world. But it didn't matter—his statement applied, all the same.

She sniffled and looked at him. As her innocent gaze met his, he found he couldn't help the tears that collected in his eyes.

"Are you gonna see Mom?"

He pulled her into a hug. "Probably." It came as a whisper, or else his voice would have broken.

"Can we see her too?"

"Of course. But Dad has to go to work first. Okay?"

"Okay." Her trembling steadied as he held her.

"And I need you to be a good girl and stay here with May."

She nodded. "But we want to help you..."

He nodded. "I know."

After a few moments more of holding her, he let her free from his embrace.

Eyes pressing shut, he took a deep breath to recenter his mind. I have to find—

A knock rapped on the front door, jolting him out of his brief meditation.

He climbed to his feet at the sound, moving quietly over to the front door. Through the window, he saw a panel van. Unmarked. The shadow of a man was visible through the curtains. It looked like he held a box under his arm.

He opened the door about a quarter of the way. "Can I help you?"

"Hi. I need you to sign for this," he said plainly, tapping the box with a tablet he held in his other hand.

"What is it?"

"They don't tell me that." His tone was flat and droning.

"Who's it from?" Ken's eyebrows were furrowed.

"Uh..." The man held the box up at eye level. "Doesn't say. Just says it's to this house, to someone named..." He held the box closer to his face. "...Irina."

His eyes widened slightly at her mention. "Okay..." His skepticism was written plainly on his face, eyes narrowed and mouth drawn to a line.

"Just sign here. Unless you don't want it." The man looked around, completely uninterested, but he held the tablet up in Ken's general direction.

He scribbled his name into the box on the screen.

"Here you go." He switched to holding the box out, which Ken grabbed from him as he shut the door.

The package was fairly heavy—maybe three pounds—but the weight was lopsided. The sound of him shaking it did not betray its contents.

As he walked to the kitchen, he raised it to look at the shipping label. The date on it read "1/3/2026." He stopped, frowning. Their phone call had been ten minutes ago. But she sent a package 2 days ago?

He placed it on the kitchen table and grabbed scissors from the countertop next to him.

Slicing through the tape on the top, he pulled aside the cardboard flaps to reveal four things: a plain white card, a train ticket, a note, and a loaded 9-millimeter handgun.

May walked quickly down the sidewalk, kicking at loose pebbles and fallen sticks, sending them skittering across the concrete in front of her. The chill of the winter air ate at the insides of her lungs as she went, so she only took ragged breaths whenever her body demanded.

Her entire brain was running at full capacity. As thoughts churned through her mind, the faces of her family continually resurfaced. Why did he try to hide it? she thought. Why is he so protective?

She pushed the thoughts down. Thinking about them wouldn't solve anything—not yet. She needed a plan first. Somewhere to start.

The extirpations were not random—she knew that much. At least, they weren't random in the sense that they just happened. There was a sign; a tell. Just before the president's arm had been... removed, she knew she had seen something: a waving of the space and light surrounding that side of the room.

It had been just for a moment. Perhaps a frame. But she was sure that she saw something—a physical phenomenon preceding the extirpation. Something resembling the waves of heat that emanated from concrete. If that was a pattern—

A gunshot cracked through the air. May flinched, pulling her mind back to her surroundings.

A group, all of them masked, burst from the pharmacy across the street. Guns flashed in their hands before disappearing into their coats and pockets. They leapt into a parked car, peeling away from the curb before the doors had even closed.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, but she stood frozen, watching. People are already breaking. That thought hit her harder than the sound of the shot. And this is just the beginning.

They sped down the road with little effort spent on diminishing their presence. She watched as they flew deeper into the city.

If people were reacting this way to the news, hurting others for supplies and money, what would they do as the end approached? What would happen to society? To people's lives?

The realization thrust ever more urgency into her mind.

A police car screamed down the road from behind her, making her jump. Another wailed in the distance, the sound growing louder as it approached.

It emerged from around a corner, sliding to a halt in front of the robbers. They slammed their brakes, but quickly found themselves boxed in as the other police car pulled up behind them.

The swift police response assuaged her uncertainty somewhat. Their sirens blared as officers emerged from their cars, guns drawn. Clearly ready for a firefight.

The sign for a café swung in the wind overhead. Seeming a better place to think than among the chaos, she ducked inside. The sirens grew muffled as the door closed behind her.

Her pulse was still thumping walking inside. She basked in the relative quiet of the small shop for a moment, taking a quick deep breath.

The café was mostly empty—there were only 2 female employees who gossiped quietly behind the counter and a girl sitting at a corner table, primly watching the mayhem unfold outside. The two girls kept glancing at the lone customer, whispering to each other before looking at her again. One of them looked flustered, her face bright red as she shook her head frantically. They looked smitten. Or maybe intimidated?

May ignored it.

As she walked to the counter, she cleared her throat. Both the employees started as the sound reached them, clearly not having noticed her presence.

One of them, the smaller, stepped forward. "Uh, hi. What can I get for you?" She sounded mildly annoyed, which made May annoyed as well. The red-faced one turned away, but she could see the redness on their face even with their back turned.

"Yeah, hi. Cappuccino, please. Medium. For here."

"Sugar or cinnamon?"

"Neither."

The barista tapped her monitor a few times. "Okay, that'll be $5.99."

May put down six dollars in cash, and held out her hand for the change. Her thoughts swam, like they had before the robbery, as she waited for her penny.

She turned to survey the state of things outside to see an ambulance stop in front of the pharmacy. A handful of EMTs jumped out, presumably to deal with any aftermath or anyone hit by the gunshot fired in the store.

The barista dropped the change into her hand. "That'll be just a minute."

After a short wait, a steaming cup of coffee was placed on the counter. Cappuccino in hand, May took a seat at a table by the window, across from the other patron of the shop.

Only as she sat down did she take her first real look at the other customer. It became clear why the employees leered at her.

Her olive features were sharp and distinct, but her expression was soft to contrast them. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, just the strands at the edges pulled down to frame her face. She wore a cropped, wide-collared olive sweater over a white tank top, and form-fitting white jeans with sneakers. She was beautiful.

May shook her head as she finished assessing the girl, raising her cappuccino to take a sip. I have to think of a plan, she thought. But just before her eyes wandered away, she found that their gazes had met.

"Hello," she said brightly, her hazel eyes holding contact with May's.

May hadn't expected the look or the greeting, but she responded in kind. "Hi."

"I'm Bianca," she said with a polite, close-lipped smile. Her voice was smooth and elegant.

"May."

"That's a pretty name." She paused, studying May's face. "You look pensive." She tilted her head a little bit, still smiling, and then lifted her cup to her lips. As she spoke more, May detected perhaps the faintest touch of an accent, though she couldn't place it.

"Yeah. But I'll figure it out." May returned a curt smile and looked out at the scene unfolding on the street. The officers had detained the thieves, reclaimed what they stole, and were starting to drive off.

In her periphery, she saw Bianca also turn to look outside.

"I can't believe people are falling apart so quickly..." May remarked quietly, not to anyone in particular.

Bianca chuckled. "They are indeed. I suppose this is what happens when the world ends."

"I guess." May raised an eyebrow as she turned over Bianca's words in her mind.

They sat in silence for a brief few moments, watching the EMTs and police deal with the aftershock of the robbery.

"That doctor caused quite a stir. On television, I mean."

May shrugged, nodding. "I guess she did..."

They sat in silence again for a few moments.

"They say it's inevitable," Bianca continued. Her voice was level as she said it, apparently unbothered by the notion.

May clicked her tongue, the statement bringing her thoughts back to her father. "Maybe. But I'm not just gonna sit in my house and wait to die."

Bianca glanced at her for a moment, and then nodded slowly, turning her head back to the window.

After a few moments, she stood up. Her chair made a light grinding noise as it slid back behind her. "I'll be leaving, then." She had no belongings to gather, no jacket in spite of the cold. She just started walking toward the door, brushing past May as she went.

May watched as she left, her graceful gait giving the illusion that the steps she took simply guided her as she floated along.

"Well, May... I look forward to seeing you again. Preferably before the world ends." She smiled jokingly, before pushing the door open and walking outside. The distant sound of sirens flooded the café.

"Yeah..." May said as she left. Strange woman, she thought.

May simply shook her head and blinked, letting her eyes rest closed for just a minute. She opened them again—

The space around her bent and wavered.

A sphere of broken light enveloped her completely. It felt like the air around her vibrated against her skin, lighting her skin up with an unpleasant crawling.

She blinked again, leaping to her feet, sending the chair she sat in careening over behind her, crashing into the next table over.

It was gone.

The sphere no longer enveloped her. Her skin returned to normal. But she was sure she'd seen it. And felt it. And it looked just how she remembered from the president's broadcast.

She whirled around, making sure everything was still in place. All her limbs, all the tables, chairs, her drink, the employees—

They stared at her, eyes wide. She felt her face redden in annoyance. "What? Didn't you see that?"

The shorter girl that took her order scoffed and shook her head, returning to cleaning a mug.

May angrily, begrudgingly, righted the chair she'd sent flying and walked out, leaving her half-finished cappuccino on the table she'd sat at.

That was just the kick I needed, May thought, jogging back down the street toward her house. She pushed the memory of that strange woman Bianca out of her mind as she went.

The winter sun had nearly set, and the cold winter air nipped at her skin. But she didn't even notice. Her mind was solely focused on the sphere of wavering space.

She was sure now. Something, related to the extirpations, was happening that caused that distortion—just as she'd seen with the president. And she was determined to figure out the cause.