There had been an idiotic conflict of immense magnitude over trivial border disputes and resources, triggering yet another world war. Dubbed the "shortest war," it lasted a mere two days, ending swiftly when humanity unleashed their nuclear arsenals, obliterating the face of the earth.

Amid the countless corpses strewn across the city, you found yourself face to face with a man. Perhaps you were the last remnants of life on the planet. Was it luck? You couldn't be certain. Standing side by side, you both stared at the burning horizons where more missiles and nukes were inexplicably launched, despite the absence of any living beings to fire them.

The man cast a solemn, sorrowful gaze at you, offering a cigarette. You weren't a smoker, but in a world gone to ruin, who cared about health anymore? Taking the cigarette between your lips, you lit it with a lighter salvaged from the cold grip of a dead man nearby.

In silence, you both smoked, watching as more nukes appeared on the horizon, each mushroom cloud darkening the sky until only the distant fires from burning cities and bodies illuminated the darkness. Had God forsaken humanity? Had He forsaken you, or the man beside you? Or was this devastation part of a divine plan to forge something better?

You both understood that knowing each other's names was pointless in the face of imminent death. Yet, from the man's parched lips came a question.

"...hey... what's... your name?"