Extinction (noun)
Ex-tinc-tion

A situation in which a plant, an animal, a way of life, or a species ceases to exist.

This very event is what history and nature have demonstrated to both humans and animals time after time. No matter how dominant or powerful a creature is, in the end, it will die out—no matter how much it struggles.

I fear this is also what will happen to humanity within ten minutes.

To understand “what will happen to humanity” in the next ten minutes, let’s go back six hours.

Date: December 21, 2056
Location: REDACTED
Time: 2100

It was almost time for Christmas. Most of the scientists and security specialists had either gone home or taken their rest elsewhere after long periods of monitoring shifts.

So here I am, all alone for the night—the head of monitoring tectonic plate movements and nuclear threats. Throughout the years, Earth has suffered greatly from natural disasters, nuclear warfare, chemical attacks, terrorism, the destruction of habitats, and even the near-collapse of the ozone layer. Earth had sustained enough damage to reach a critical state. There were many minor contributors that accumulated to get us to this point, but these were the main ones that pushed the Earth toward near-uninhabitability.

In my professional opinion, one catalyst could blow this planet sky-high; the state of Earth was unsalvageable. Other scientists argued it could still be saved, which was objectively true. But as I implied earlier about the planet’s condition, I felt that there was no point in formulating solutions anymore when we were so close to destruction.

Shortly after my contemplation, blaring lights flashed across the board.

I immediately checked for any activity from large nuclear-capable nations—the USA, Russia, China—as well as the smaller ones.

In tremor, I reached over to the communication hub and patched myself through the USA’s military for an update.

“Watcher-1 to USA, what is your status?” I radioed in.

The words that were uttered next shocked me to my core.

“Watcher-1, this is USA. We are on DEFCON-1.”

My hands trembled even harder. What exactly is happening right now?

I hurriedly patched myself through to Russia, China, and all other nuclear-capable countries. They all said the same thing: nuclear destruction. Or rather, Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD).

So this is how humanity goes out, I concluded. From resource wars, territorial wars, and this event? This will kill any life and habitats for good. Not to mention that resources will be unusable after the nukes fall.

I alerted all staff members about the threat that would befall humanity. Afterwards, I telegraphed a message to the international emergency broadcast system about the peril that would ensue.

“This is not a drill. Nuclear armaments detected! Evacuate to nearby shelters or bunkers for safety!” I looped this announcement over the radio.

From my estimation, the nukes would go off around six hours from now.

As per protocol for this scenario, in case of emergencies, staff members were provided bunkers to take shelter in. The problem was that most of the staff were not present—even the janitor had been off-shift.

I contacted my colleagues for their whereabouts, but most of them could not make it on time, whereas pandemonium wreaked havoc across the world, caused by people scrambling for nearby shelters and ransacking stores for supplies. Roads overflowed with accidents from colliding traffic.

It seemed I would be the only one residing in the bunker. But on the off chance that someone else reached it, I recount that I would have left the doors unlocked for as long as I could.

In the meantime, I made repeated attempts to convince the countries to hold off the nukes. Hour after hour, I contacted each nation, but to no avail.

Such attempts were futile, I inferred. This was a Mexican standoff. No one wanted to pull the trigger first, but once they did, all of them would shoot. Anyone could press the button, and everyone would follow—but they didn’t. Maybe it was fear, or maybe they were buying time for themselves.

As I laid my head down, I looked at the military clock; it read 0250—ten minutes until anticipated nuclear annihilation.

The atmosphere in this lonely bunker was restricting, as if the walls were closing in on me. The radio telegraphed details of horrors unfolding around the globe. Helplessness echoed in my mind.

I grabbed a bottle of whisky and drank myself to oblivion until the nukes were launched—first by the USA, then by others following suit.

Alarms blared throughout the bunker. Communications rang and transmitted from people and countries begging for help, praying for salvation. On the monitor, I saw nukes fly from their silos into the atmosphere, and I estimated the seconds until impact:

10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…

BOOM! The bunker shook violently from the shockwaves. That was the first nuke.

It rained hell from above: 12,241 nuclear warheads descended from the atmosphere to the ground. It was quiet on Earth—life obliterated from the planet in a matter of seconds.

Silence was the aftermath of this event. Humanity had damned itself into extinction. All resources and habitats—even plain land—were rendered useless. As I scanned the surface of the planet with through satellite images, barren land was shown everywhere. Even the oceans had become fine mist.

Everything was riddled with radiation, and I was the only one left to document the end—the last living being on Earth.