The air is thin and painful to breathe in, exceptionally typical of a midwinter night in the city. The city does not sleep, but many of its inhabitants do in their little apartments, luxurious penthouses, dingy mattresses by the side of the road. They dream of better lives and never think that somewhere amongst the dirty alleyways and streetlight-illuminated streets that their entire world is about to be flipped upside down. A crash. Not unusual, but this one is unusually bad. The cars are piled up, smashed against the cement like toys belonging to a cruel child; the truck lies upside down, the wheels still spinning. There is broken glass and twisted metal everywhere: the delicately horrid icing on a tragedy. Three survive the accident, huddling under orange blankets as paramedics struggle to pull the corpses of those who did not from the wreckage of the car. One driver is especially unfortunate. His body lies through the broken remnants of his windshield, punctured by glass. His back is bent at an unnatural angle, broken by the terrible speeds at which he was hurled from his seat. His seatbelt is draped feebly over his shoulder, ripped out and dangling uselessly from its place on the wall. His bowels lay strewn over the metal body of the car, his abdomen torn open by a jagged piece of metal. In the backseat is his five year old daughter. Her blond hair is streaked with hers and her father's blood, her neck bent like her father's spine. One leg is crushed, unrecognizable from when the truck smashed into the side of the car. The paramedics call it a real tragedy. They shake their heads as they try to disentangle the girl and her father from the mangled seat belts and the dented metal of the car. Their eyes widen when the girl moves. Their mouths scream in terror when she sinks her milk teeth into a neck and jerks back, tearing through a throat. The bitten one lurches back, his scream gurgling up through the tear in his throat, and he collapses on the ground, red spewing from his neck as he tries to breathe and finds that he's choking on his own blood as they fill his lungs and gush through his nose. His eyes unfocused as his breathing stops, and he grows paler and paler by the moment. So the end of humanity begins. On a busy street in the middle of a city where some man and his daughter ran a stoplight. No one knows what it is and by the time they do, it is too late. The man on the dingy mattress cries out when he is attacked, his screams mingling with the rest of the city's as they flee in all directions. Those in their apartments venture out to see what happened, and those clever enough not to emerge call their relatives in panicked voices before the news channels can even get the camera crews out. The rich in their penthouses lock their doors, relieved that they decided to install so much security, and they watch from the safety of their skyscrapers, glad to still be alive. The city is dead by the next morning. All the cars have stopped. No honking, no tires screeching, no engines thrumming. No one walks on the streets. Bodies of policemen and civilians alike litter the ground. The asphalt glistens dark red. The only sounds are the faint hum of electricity and the occasional sob from a locked apartment. Somewhere in the city, you sit and you gather your thoughts. You are ready to face this new world.