Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On June 7th, 2028, at approximately 12:34:56 AM UTC, it was reported that every trace of humanity’s presence had vanished from the continental landmasses of Afro-Eurasia, the Americas, Antarctica, and Australia. 

Every human.

Gone.

Every square inch of poured concrete.

Gone.

Every acre of tilled soil.

Gone.

It was as if humanity had never existed.

Nowadays, you could stand at the epicenters of what were once some of the world’s greatest cities - Beijing, Paris - and see nothing but the rolling green waves of forests spilling out for miles and miles in all directions. There was no trace - save for in our records - of the Interstate Highways that had once carved their way from the Salish Sea to the Everglades, acting as the circulatory system for the Great American Experiment. Countless monuments to the prowess and perseverance of humanity - the Great Wall, the Burj Khalifa - simply ceased to be. They didn’t even have the honor of being reduced to rubble. Even the Panama Canal, which had cleaved the Americas into North and South, seemed to have healed over like a surface wound.

This event is known by many names - and, yes, there were people left to name it. The Japanese refer to it as Kamikakushi. The people of Kimitoön call it Metsänpeitto. The Christians, those of the New World at least, have dubbed it the Rapture. Others - the less imaginative types, myself included - tend to forego the fancy terminology and simply call it the Vanishing. 

For reasons unbeknownst to those of us who remain, the smatterings of humanity scattered about the world’s islands were spared from whatever it was that claimed the remaining 91% of the world’s population. These rules, as arbitrary as they may have been, were nothing if not consistent. Whether you lived in the bustling metropole of Jakarta, or manned some lonely lighthouse on a rocky outcrop in the North Sea, you were spared as long as you had some natural body of water separating you from the continental mainland. Natural bodies of water. This meant that the Kiel Canal, which the Prussians had so meticulously excavated to bridge the North and Baltic Seas, did nothing to save the Jutlanders from their fate.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Log of Akira Ogawa (小川 彬良) - translated from Japanese

June 6th, 2028

Tonight was supposed to be a rare, quiet Tuesday. No drinking, no last-minute overtime... just me, my tiny apartment, and the novel I'd neglected for months. By 20:00, I'd already settled into my futon, ready to indulge in a guilty pleasure I'd barely touched in weeks, a novel on my tablet. if it weren't digital, it would probably be covered in real dust and cobwebs by now.

Several pages in, a sudden, sharp headache shot through my skull. The kanji on my tablet blurred like wet ink, and the pain lingered for several seconds. Maybe I needed more sleep or maybe it was something more serious. Still, out of habit, instead of putting the tablet down, I switched apps to X... no, wait, Twitter. It wouldn’t load, just the same old feed and a spinning circle no matter how much I refreshed it. I double-checked the Wi-Fi... full bars, no issues. LINE was still chattering, high school group chat endlessly debating summer plans. so I figured it was probably fine. Still, just to be sure, I tried Facebook. It worked, slower than usual, but it worked. I assumed everyone was flocking back to FB because of the Twitter outage, but then I noticed something odd... all my feeds were in Japanese. No English posts, no news from my usual circles. Maybe the algorithm would sort itself out by morning.

At 22:40, the office pinged me... a vague emergency, something about needing extra hands. I ignored it at first, but then my manager called. I accidentally picked up. Great. My shift ended hours ago, and now I had to drag myself back to the office.

June 7th, 2028

I couldn't believe I was back at the Google Tokyo office barely past midnight. Some of us had been pulled in for a server issue, and they needed all hands. The air was thick with tired, confused engineers trying to pinpoint the source of the disruption. I wondered why they needed so many people to troubleshoot a sluggish server. This had better be a serious problem.

As dawn broke, monitors kept lighting up with error messages... pings and tracers failing across networks. We checked server logs and ran diagnostics. California and Sydney servers were unresponsive, dead pings. New York and London bounced back briefly, then went dark again by 08:00... Singapore and Jakarta seemed stable. Someone joked it was a massive cyberattack. No one laughed.

Hours passed, and the patterns still didn’t make sense. Too many critical points had failed at once. Someone suggested the undersea cables had been cut, but it didn’t add up. If this was an attack, it was too widespread, too coordinated. No one went home. I managed to claim the nicest sofa in the office for a quick nap.

June 8th, 2028

By lunchtime, the manager finally let us go. Yet we were told to stay on call even through the weekend, just in case. It sucked, but this mess was beyond a simple outage. No one wanted to linger for lunch... we all just went straight home. I buried myself under my futon with a vending machine dinner and tried to shut it all out.

June 9th, 2028

Work was more bearable now, but the grim realization set in... the internet was unravelling. More diagnostics, more abandoned nodes. The fragmented data told a story of lost connections, decaying networks.

During lunch, we exchanged fragmented news stories... someone’s Brazilian cousin who disconnected mid-call, colleagues in Australia who just stopped replying to chats. Official news outlets were slow, and even Google Search was pulling mostly local results. It felt like the internet itself was splintering.

Online, things were worse. People couldn’t contact anyone outside Japan and Southeast Asia. On Komachi and 2chan, conspiracy theories ran wild... blackouts in Europe, U.S. nuclear strikes, EMPs, alien invasion too for some reason. But one word kept showing up: Kamikakushi... divine abductions. I’m not superstitious... or a Ghibli fan, but what I heard these days already bordered on madness.

June 10th, 2028

The weekend arrived, and thankfully, no calls from the office. I stayed home, watching official broadcasts, a new habit I'd picked up over the past few days. News outlets scrambled to make sense of what was happening ... communication collapses, accusations of cyber warfare.

Then, new footage started flooding in. Blurry satellite images showed dark continents... North America, mainland Europe, vast stretches of China and Russia, no city lights on the mainland, all blacked out. Amateur videos followed: a Malaysian worker stranded in Singapore, cut off when the causeway vanished, leaving a severed road at the island's edge. Across the strait, where Johor Bahru once stood, there was now only forest. American cargo ships drifting with no ports to dock in Australia. The truth settled in... cities, infrastructure, entire populations were just... gone. Not destroyed, not in ruins, just erased. Like a database purge... a deletion without a trace. The word 'kamikakushi' is now on official news.

June 12th-14th, 2028

Our office had its first real meeting since the chaos began. Officially, it was a mitigation strategy. Internally, it was panic. Talks of data continuity, salvaging fragmented systems, the company’s future direction. Google’s networks still ran in parts of insular Asia, but the loss of vast data centres and manpower had crippled our flow.

Beyond hardware, I realized human knowledge itself was slipping away. Terabytes of data, research, history, culture... all threatened by splintered, decaying servers. I suggested we try to archive what remained, Some understood, but most were focused on survival... Infrastructure first. Everything else could wait.

June 16th, 2028

Another meeting, now hosted by the Digital Agency. It wasn't just Google, other IT companies gathered to stabilize communication lines, maintain servers... survival, not preservation.. My boss proposed my idea to the director, but the focus stayed on immediate needs. The government was overwhelmed... refugees, economic collapse, fractured communications, disrupted supply chains... archival initiative would be a luxury in a crisis. I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t join the discussions, just heard of it from colleagues. The world had fallen apart, and I was worried about saving tweets and blog posts.

I asked my boss to use the company to broadcast a message, urging everyone to make their own independent archives. Even if uncoordinated, any effort was better than nothing. He said he'd think about it, but bureaucracy and indecision made me realize that time was slipping away.

June 18th, 2028

I couldn't let it go. I tried every contact I had... my family, friends, colleagues, even my old professors from university. If that wasn't enough, I scoured the internet for any official contact I could find... Google, Meta, any of the big names. I tried every avenue I could think of... anything to spread the message as widely as possible. In the end, I sent a message through my personal Gmail. It wasn't some formal request or technical guideline, just a desperate, frantic plea:

*"Subject: [URGENT] Preserve Everything

Don’t delete anything.

Not just in your systems or device... anywhere. Save every fragment, every cache.

Store backups of any data you can access: personal, professional, trivial... everything.

Share this message. Preserve what you can. Every byte matters now.

We are losing more than people... we’re losing everything they left behind."*

I didn’t wait for a response. The world was too busy reeling. I had no way of knowing if anyone would hear it or if it was already too late. Survivors had their own crises, but maybe somewhere, someone paused before hitting the 'delete' button. Maybe it was enough.

The novel on my tablet, still unfinished, waits for me. A digital remnant of a world now fragmented, cached, half-remembered. Maybe, even scattered, some part of us could still be salvaged from the darkness.

Chapter Text

June 7, 2028, 7:03 PM EST.

“The sea has finally come for us.”

Hugh Desmond watched as his home of Queens was battered by rain from above and flooding from below. He only saw destruction and carnage, but he assumed it would eventually clear up.

The Borough President of Queens, Hugh Desmond was formal and grandstanding, trying to run for the mayor of NYC when the hurricane hit. His primary goal was to make sure everything was “going as planned”; he tried to unite the left, moderate, and right parts of New York City’s politics.

He only saw destruction and chaos, but he assumed it would eventually clear up.

Shelby Sherman, a government official who took refuge in Hugh Desmond’s house, looked around. She had been getting news from the blaring television, which was barely functional with all the power lines being knocked around.

“MANDATORY EVACUATION ORDERS… NATIONAL GUARD… HUNDREDS OF REPORTED DEATHS… CATEGORY THREE… LAGUARDIA FLIGHTS CANCELED… SUBWAY SYSTEM FLOODED… MAYOR CONFIRMED DEA”

A blackout.

Shelby was repeatedly making calls to prominent officials, but without cell service, she had been getting no luck.

30 minutes later, at 7:34 PM, the Vanishing would happen, unbeknownst to Hugh and Shelby.

“Power AND water lines?!” Shelby screamed into a now-useless phone. “Hugh Desmond, what’s going on?!”

Hugh turned around only briefly, saying that “it’s fine”, before looking back at the window. The Borough President had been strangely meditative, as if he knew something had happened.

After an hour of waiting, a group of Navy sailors knocked on the door. Shelby rushed to answer them, but Hugh stopped her, slowly getting up and walking towards the door. “How can I help you, officers?”

“The Navy?” Shelby shouted from inside the house. “Is the entire US military landing at New York?!”

“Yes,” a seaman said grimly. “You’re the only official left in this area.”

“We come with strange news,” said another sailor. “We’ve lost connection to the mainland. However, we were able to establish a radio communication with the UK and Ireland. Apparently…” he looked around and hesitated. “I don’t know how to explain this. But it seems that every human on the continental mainland has disappeared.”

Hugh Desmond closed their eyes, in full contemplation, before opening their eyes again. His expression was neutral and apathetic. Shelby reacted far more naturally, shouting from inside the house.

“So that’s the Americas, Africa, Europe, Asia, Antarctica, and Oceania… all gone,” said Hugh.

“Not only that,” a junior seaman interrupted, “but it’s as if humanity never existed on these continents in the first place! It’s like the wilderness has taken over!”

What followed would be commonly known as the Double Tragedy. Chaos became rampant. Looting became widespread. Thousands of desperate people clamored their way across the East River and the Staten Island Sound only to be met with the emptiness of the mainland. It’s estimated that upwards of a million people died from the destruction, chaos, and starvation. It matched 9/11 in terms of sheer psychological impact, and perhaps exceeded it in damage done.

June 8, 2028, 11:55 AM EST.

“Listen up, everyone!” Hugh Desmond shouted on top of a ruined platform. It was an overcast sky; the rain had mostly dissipated. “National Guard and US Corps of Engineers, I thank you for your service. Our main goal is the Ravenswood Generating Station. Make sure to ask for help from any civilian engineers if you can. I want a small division to go to the Park Drive East pumping station in Queens, and if possible, we should have a small force secure the JFK and LaGuardia airports. Is that clear?”

The personnel cheered, although it was a strained cheer. They had all been through a lot, and Hugh Desmond understood that.

June 12, 2028, 6:18 AM EST

Shelby entered a large, aging building. A makeshift sign saying “QUEENS CITY COUNCIL” hung on the side.

“What’s up?” said a voice from behind. Shelby was surprised; she quickly turned around. She recognized the voice as Emilia Ramos, the strong and kind Borough President of Brooklyn. Emilia pulled a cigarette and lit it, urging Shelby to come with her.

Shelby and Emilia walked inside the building. “I’m not really sure,” she said. “I was an intern for the Washington D.C government. I was just here on a vacation, and then… all this happened. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

“None of us know,” said Emilia. “I was just trying to help my people in Brooklyn, but now it seems Hugh Desmond has this whole government idea, and he wants me in.”

Shelby looked around at the derelict offices. “I haven’t really thought about that. I mean, isn’t America gone now?”

Emilia raised an eyebrow. “Why would it be? Sure, the Constitution and White House is gone, but so what? The culture, customs, and ideals of America are still here.”

“New York is a city in perpetual motion,” Emilia continued. “People come in, and come out. The city will always be a bastion of change.”

Shelby looked in contemplative silence as the two of them entered a room. It was extremely dusty, but there was a small table and a bunch of chairs. There was already a bunch of people there- NYPD, National Guard, Navy, Coast Guard, and even an Air Force pilot; Hugh Desmond was sitting at the center of it all.

“Take a seat,” Emilia said; the two of them sat down.

Hugh Desmond looked at everyone and then stood up. He took a deep breath. “Greetings, everyone. It is time to form the Provisional Government of the United States.”

June 29, 2028, 9:31 AM EST.

Shelby Sherman and Emilia Ramos sat down in the same dusty room. This was their first meeting after the formation of the Provisional Government, and Shelby was excited. She finally felt like she had something important to do.

The room was significantly more crowded this time. More high-ranking Navy officers had arrived, but the same group of NYPD, National Guard, Coast Guard, and the singular Air Force pilot were talking amongst themselves.

Hugh Desmond arrived, immediately making the room quiet. His calm and stern demeanor was perfect for leading a group.

He immediately started talking. “We are the successors to America. I understand what we’re doing is not an easy task, but our leadership is necessary in helping and securing the remainder of the American people.”

“First, let’s review what we’ve done in the past 3 weeks,” Hugh Desmond continued.

A National Guard officer spoke up. “I’m happy to say that we have practically re-United Long Island under our control. The Long Island railroad system has been restored, and the productive lands of Suffolk County have been secured.”

Shelby then had a disturbing thought. “Wait, what about all the zoos in New York? What will happen to the animals there?” she whispered to Emilia.

Having somehow understood her whispering, Hugh Desmond turned her eyes to Shelby. “Thanks for bringing it up. The Queens Zoo has been occupied by a detachment of Navy officers. The domesticated animals were set aside as livestock, while the area of the zoo is being used as homes for these livestock. We are also planning another operation in Central Park Zoo, but there’s a big obstacle. A group of locals have orchestrated ‘Operation Noah’s Ark’, a plan to evacuate all animals to the mainland.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Shelby asked.

This time, Emilia spoke up. “We don’t want to introduce animals to the untouched wilderness. Who knows what ecological consequences will follow?”

Hugh Desmond nodded. “Naval officers, what is the status of our fleet?”

“We have secured most of our East Coast ships, but we need to anchor them to conserve fuel,” said a Navy admiral. “We’re in the process of acquiring yachts, sailboats, and other light boats from the civilian population.”

“And what about the Atlantic Seaboard?” said Hugh.

A Coast Guard officer turned to him. “We’ve absorbed Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, and Aquidneck. However, I don’t think we should go down to the Carolinas…”

Hugh Desmond looked at him curiously. “Why is that?”

“To put it bluntly, we’re running out of resources,” said the officer. “We need some sort of ration system in place before we can expand southwards.”

“We’ll figure out the rations soon,” Hugh responded. “But send someone to the Outer Banks at once! We need to be the clear successor to the USA, unless we want copycats to emerge.”

A Naval admiral stood up and looked at Hugh. “Unfortunately, they already have. A group calling themselves the ‘Minutemen’ has taken control of Staten Island. They’re composed of various competing factions; some Army generals, some Marines, some white nationalists, most of them anti-you.”

“And what’s stopping us from doing a little march there?” said Hugh Desmond.

2 hours later, on Staten Island.

“Listen up, USPG soldiers! This is our first real test, and we better root out these Minutemen before they establish a presence here!”

A former Navy officer, Donna Brown, was leading a few dozen young soldiers into a quiet, cramped part of Staten Island. It was now completely abandoned. Staten Island was eerily quiet, but Donna knew the Minutemen were here somewhere.

“Raise your guns,” she said quietly as they entered the Staten Island Borough Hall, supposedly the center of the Minutemen resistance. The soldiers looked left and right as the eerie silence continued. “Watch out for traps,” Donna said nervously.

They opened door after door, but there was nobody else in sight. Donna stopped and led the group into a large room.

The room was filled with notes and papers. On every single one of them laid a message: “Don’t think we’re done.”

Alas, they were right. They had seemingly scrambled to another far-out base. But, for now, the entirety of New York City- or what remained of it- had been united under the United States Provisional Government. Now came the hard part.

Chapter Text

Ocracoke Island is a small island off the coast of North Carolina. Once, it was a small tourist hub, known for its pirate-themed culture. Legend has it that Blackbeard himself roamed these same shores.

However, the Vanishing would force these islands to adapt or die, with Ocracoke having unique opportunities and challenges.



The first day was simply chaos. Cell service and power had gone out, and most of the tourists were confused about what was even happening. A quick expedition to the mainland showed something horrifying- everything had completely disappeared. Not only was there nobody, but there were no structures; it was as if human civilization never existed on the mainland.


The key figure for managing this confusion was the 21 year old Edward Tress. A native to Ocracoke, he knew a bit about living off the land. He first made a head count of everyone on the island.


“So, there’s 751 living on the island, as well as 18 people who came here from boats,” Edward said to the people of the island. “We’ll need to be careful to preserve water on the island. We might use wells, but we can’t let seawater come in. Our best bet is to ration the water supplies and build rain barrels.”


Immediately, the people of Ocracoke were put to work. Ninety percent of them would deal with water by digging wells, creating rain barrels, and generally leaving containers in the open to collect water. The other would use sailboats, rowboats, and rarely fuel-powered boats (nicknamed guzzlers by Ocracoke) to investigate what was truly happening. They would also fish right off the coasts of North Carolina to provide some much-needed food.


After a week or so, heavy rains gave the people of Ocracoke some much-needed drinking water. “Nature is fortunate for now,” Edward Tress announced during a campfire gathering, “but we need to be diligent. We can’t ruin the island that raised us.”


The next course of action would be to provide sustainable food. Fishing squads would venture on expeditions throughout the Carolina coasts, while the more home-minded would clean and cook the fish. Over the next few weeks, the island was relatively sustainable, but there was still the mystery of what happened to the rest of North Carolina- and the rest of the world.



That would be quickly answered on Year 1, Day 17 of the Vanishing, AKA June 23, 2028. There was little use of the Gregorian calendar anymore, but some people still used ‘2028’ in casual conversations. James Stonn (Edward’s partner) looked as a large guzzler entered the horizon from the north. “What’s that?” he asked himself. He summoned Edward Tress, now the de-facto leader of the island, to talk to the new yacht.

---


“Hello?” said Edward, confused.


The captain got out of the yacht. “Please, I’m friendly! I come from Hatteras.”


“Oh, nice to meet you,” Edward responded.


James interjected. “Please, we’re all dying to know what’s been happening. Do you have any information?”


The captain, named Trudy, sighed. “Nothing concrete for now. But rumor has it that all humans and structures on the mainland disappeared. We got a boat from Martha’s Vineyard, and apparently most of New York is intact. But anything besides that is wilderness.”


Edward looked at the captain, a weary look on his face. If what Trudy said was indeed true, then the world needed someone to rise up and save whatever was left. Perhaps it would be him.


“How are things on Hatteras?” Edward said.


“Not good,” Trudy responded. “We’re running low on food and water.


“I have an idea. If I come to Hatteras, I can help you.” Edward said.


 James looked at him, worried. “Don’t worry, James. I have a plan to get us out of this mess.” With that, Edward boarded Trudy’s yacht, leaving James to run the island in his absence.


The captain was reluctant, but she eventually agreed to take Edward to Hatteras. There, it was an ugly sight.


“We’ve had to resort to harsh rations to stay afloat,” Trudy said. Edward looked at the island, and it seemed an idea popped into his head. But it would take a while to formulate.


First, he did the same thing he did on Ocracoke-especially the rain barrels, since there was no good water on Hatteras. Managing the suburban communities was difficult at first, but the people were swayed by his leadership.


Thankfully, as Hatteras was running out of water, rain fell on the island. The people were joyful, but the joy quickly turned to fear as it turned into a thunderstorm.


As the showers poured and the thunder roared, Edward noticed a little girl looking around near the beach. He went out to help her.


“Come inside, little girl. What are you doing out there?”


Edward held his umbrella to protect the girl, who was shivering. “My mommy is somewhere else. I’m lost,” she said.


“Follow me,” Edward said calmly. The thunder boomed throughout the skies.


The two of them made it to an isolated shelter. “My mom’s name is Trudy. She’s so brave!” the girl continued.


Edward chuckled as he looked at the cloudy horizon.


Eventually, the storm calmed down, and the people of Hatteras rejoiced at their new water supply. But a tragedy had occurred- the captain, Trudy, had slipped and fell, breaking her legs. She looked at Edward on a makeshift bed, weary and broken, and closed her eyes. She would not be long for this world.


“What do we do now?” cried a teenage boy.


Edward realized what had to be done. He gathered everyone and told them his plan. “It is now time to form a new society! Hatteras and Ocracoke will unite to form the Outer Banks Republic!” Edward said as the people looked at him weirdly at first, then cheered.


Over the next few days, Edward and James would go back and forth between the islands, holding referendums and finalizing laws.


‘Finally, after the tragedy of the Vanishing, the people of the Outer Banks will unite to usher in a new era!’ This was the first line of the constitution, written and signed by most people in Hatteras and Ocracoke.


Eventually, the storm calmed down, and the people of Hatteras rejoiced at their new water supply. But a tragedy had occurred- the captain, Trudy, had slipped and fell, breaking her legs. She looked at Edward on a makeshift bed, weary and broken, and closed her eyes.


“What do we do now?” cried a teenage boy.


Edward realized what had to be done. He gathered everyone and told them his plan. “It is now time to form a new society! Hatteras and Ocracoke will unite to form the Outer Banks Republic!” Edward said as the people looked at him weirdly at first, then cheered.


Over the next few days, Edward and James would go back and forth between the islands, holding referendums and finalizing laws.


‘Finally, after the tragedy of the Vanishing, the people of the Outer Banks will unite to usher in a new era!’ This was the first line of the constitution, written and signed by most people in Hatteras and Ocracoke.

There would be a time of peace and prosperity, but it would last only for a few weeks. For one day, a large patrol boat would dock on the shores of Ocracoke. Edward carefully walked forward, and a single official exited the boat.


He stared deeply at Edward, his eyes wide and troubled. “I come on behalf of the United States Provisional Government. We are here to negotiate.”

----

On June 29th, 2028, an infamous deal would be made between the United States Provisional Government and the people of the Outer Banks.

Here is what it says:

“On this day forth, the people of the Outer Banks Republic, comprised of Hatteras and Ocracoke Island alongside the alliances of Roanoke Island and Bodie Island, will be acquired as a territory of the United States Provisional Government in exchange for one-fourth of all US navy ships being given to the Outer Banks islands for protection, alongside one-fourth of all future acquired ships.”


It was signed by Edward Tress, the leader of the Outer Banks Republic, and Collin Prancer, a young and naive government official. One look at this deal and it can be assumed that the USPG was majorly ripped off. A naval officer supposedly screamed at Collin Prancer for 10 minutes straight after learning about this deal.


However, it was not as bad for the USPG as it first seemed. It fueled their ever-growing desperation to take control of the East Coast as fast as humanly possible. Not only that, but it gave them a useful territory in the South, allowing them to finally eye the valuable Naval Air Base in Key West. With the large amount of new Naval ships, Edward Tress and James Stonn organized the Tress-Stonn Armada, better known as Blackbeard’s Boys.


They were undoubtedly a privateer force- they engaged in piracy and were directly given ships by the USPG. This proved to be extremely valuable (if not a bit controversial), as after the Vanishing, many cargo ships, both sailing and docked, were suddenly left with no destination. This made them easy pickings for pirates, and no pirate group in the Atlantic was more feared than Blackbeard’s Boys. They found undefended cargo and merchant ships, quickly hijacked them, took a big piece of the loot for themselves, and sent the rest to the USPG. The ships themselves were either reused as transport boats or salvaged for fuel and metal.


Over the years, Blackbeard’s Boys adopted various classical ideas of pirate culture. James Stonn created a set of pirate codes that were more egalitarian, Jolly Roger symbols were found on every boat, and sea shanties were common when sailing. However, some pirate stereotypes were not adopted- parrots were impossible to find, and burying treasure was usually seen as a stupid idea. Blackbeard’s Boys would also assist in the USPG’s battles against the Minutemen, gaining a reputation as ‘noble outlaws’. Eventually, the tale of Edward Tress and James Stonn would become legendary, and stories of their exploits would spread from island to island. 

Fun fact: Two of their descendents, Calico Tress-Stonn and Allison Serra, would become presidents of what later became of the USPG. But that's a tale best saved for later, when the ugly vine of politics take their hold on this family tree.

Chapter Text

June 12, 2028. Five brutal days.

The Seven Seas Vikings ship: a pinnacle of modern cruise design. Fitting over 3000 passengers, the ship's design is chic and luxurious. It’s considered the epitome of class… at least, before the Vanishing. The bridge is silent, except for a few innocent hums. The faintest hints of a morning light pierce the ship. The Seven Seas Vikings (and another ship, the Carnival of the Seas) have been docked for many days. Two people are currently inside the bridge: Captain Troy Smith and First Officer Warren Ross.

“Captain Smith… I think I’ve understood what’s happening. Apparently, everyone on the continents have vanished. They’ve disappeared… and the continents themselves have returned to a more natural state.”

Troy Smith looked curiously. “So I’ve heard, Warren. I’ve checked with the crew, and we can squeeze around 6 days of food with hard rationing. How are the passengers feeling about it?”

“It’s difficult to figure out,” Warren said. “I recommend you figure out for yourself.”

Troy stepped out of the bridge and into a central platform. A curfew had been enacted from midnight to 6 AM. As it was lifted, Troy watched as the ship slowly woke up. But soon, he had noticed something strange. Hundreds of children had gathered in one of the main decks, looking right at him!

Suddenly, the children started bowing at him. They remained in utter silence. A young boy, no older than six, appeared in front of Troy. How did they get there? Without speaking a word, the child pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.

Troy put it into his pocket. Immediately, the children all started walking out of the deck. The boy had seemingly disappeared.

It read one thing: “All hail the Mayan Jarl.”

He tried to pay it no notice. But this paper was far stranger than what he’d expect…

June 13, 2028.

A brilliant dawn had filled the ship with a mystical air. Troy took the paper out from his pocket and unfolded it.

“What do you think it means?” Warren asked, looking at the paper.

Trou read it aloud. “All hail the Mayan Jarl…” He chuckled. “This was given to me by a young kid. There were hundreds of children just looking at me, completely silent. None of them said a word, and after they gave me the note, they all disappeared. ”

“Well, at least they’re not traumatized,” Warren said.

“I’d say they are. It’s just a different kind of trauma… a more sinister kind.”

June 20, 2028.

An ominous fog filled the night.

“Why is it always just you in the bridge? Where’s everyone else?” Warren asked.

“Someone has to monitor things here, you know,” Troy said. “The rest of the crew is outside, maintaining order and stuff.”

Warren looked at the island, bursting with activity even at this hour. “After the curfew was lifted and the dock to Cozumel opened, I assumed we would all die. It’s grim out there, but not as chaotic as I first imagined. People have banded into little fishing communities, and the ship’s being used as a ‘home base’ of sorts.” Suddenly, a fierce knock came from the door. “Who’s there?” Troy shouted.

Reluctantly, he opened the door. A horrible sight awaited him.

A middle-aged guy forcibly led a group of blindfolded, restrained women inside. “Mayan Jarl… I have brought the necessary sacrifices.” The man was smiling with a terrible, cult-like fervor. Warren was struck with sheer rage; he immediately leaped forward and apprehended the strange man.

Troy looked on in confusion, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity. “What is this? This is just children’s stuff; why are you taking this ‘Mayan Jarl’ thing so seriously?”

“You don’t understand,” said the strange guy. “Everyone has seen the truth now. Even the other cruise ship! And the locals! Everyone has seen you as the rightful Mayan Jarl!”

Troy freed the women from their bindings. “I’m sorry about this. You can go now,” he said to them. Afterwards, he turned to the man.

“If you believe I am the true Mayan Jarl, then let the Mayan Jarl say this: human sacrifices, kidnapping, and abduction are never allowed! Tell this to these ‘followers’ of mine.”

After a few minutes, the two of returned to their normal duties. “You really believe this Mayan Jarl nonsense?” said Warren.

“Of course not,” Troy responded, “but it’s the only way they’ll listen to me. If i’m going to rule over a ridiculous cult, I should at least rule over a benevolent ridiculous cult…”

Years passed, and the Mayan Jarl’s authority could not end. The children, and even some delusional adults, would not allow it. After supplies ran out on Cozumel, the ship departed for Yucatan, forming the community of Mayagard. They had an advantage from the other communities in the Yucatan, with their powerful cruise ship offering food, supplies, and desalination. Mayagard was one of the founding communities of the Yucatan communities, being more isolated due to speaking entirely English. They still honor the Mayan Jarl, but it’s not that cult-like anymore. Every year, the people of Mayagard combine Rabinal Achi with a Viking Blót to make a truly bizarre event for outsiders.

Troy Smith never forgot about the group of women forced into the bizarre cult of his. Even if he tried to be honorable and just, how many horrible acts would be committed in his name? What other cults existed in the depths of the empty continents?

Chapter Text

“Is this what has become of our Commonwealth?”

-The last words of King Charles III

The Vanishing perhaps affected Britain and Ireland the least out of all nations. However, its role in the world was drastically affected.

Immediately, the reaction in Britain and Ireland was similar- confusion, chaos, and then fear. The UK called for all remaining Royal Navy forces to return to the Isles, an order that was- unlike in America- followed by all ships, who promptly returned. Immediately, the British government enacted food rations (although not as harsh as other countries) and gave subsidies to agricultural workers. A strange demographic shift also occurred in Britain and Ireland: a large wave of business owners and wealthy citizens from London and Dublin moved to rural lands to farm crops, while people in small cities and towns moved back to the capital cities to find jobs amidst a massive wave of unemployment.

The political context had drastically changed in the months and years afterwards. The February 2028 general elections in the Dail Eirann caused a massive shift just before the Vanishing. The coalition government between the two center parties had cracked, causing chaos and infighting as the Sinn Fein and other left-wing parties formed a coalition government. Immediately afterwards, the Vanishing majorly stressed Ireland, as all their imports and exports were now gone. The UK and the Republic Ireland expanded their economic ties and embraced a free trade treaty for non-agricultural goods. The short-lived but venomous chaos in Northern Ireland will be talked about soon.

Meanwhile, in the UK, a general election was set to occur in July 2028. The Labour majority was extremely small, with fears of having to form a coalition government. The party, although successful electorally, was filled with destruction and infighting as various factions clashed. However, there seemed to be an uneasy balance in the months before the Vanishing, as the centrist Starmerites and the leftist Corbynites agreed to promote party unity. This all crumbled when the Vanishing occurred, causing more and more new factions to emerge.

Meanwhile, the Conservative party was in the process of an ideological transformation. The right-leaning faction was being replaced, both naturally and forcefully.  A new political movement had emerged, with Marcus Night at the head. He used the Vanishing to further his existing ideology of syncretism and political unity; Night was called ‘barely a conservative’ by some. He was well-known for his socially left and economically right positions, and campaigned heavily in major cities. During the Vanishing, he organized food relief efforts for the poor and spoke about a “new future for Britain”.

The 2028 general elections transformed a slim Labour majority into a slim Tory majority, with many analysts wondering if Britain could ever be politically stable again.

Chapter Text

Martha Glasse and Selena Rivi could be considered the last humans of the Space Age.

The two of them were both born in 1999, making them 29 years old in 2028. Martha Glasse was from a suburban German family in Florida, while Selena Rivi was an Italian-Arab whose family migrated to Texas. They both had dreams of becoming an astronaut, so they applied to NASA in late 2024 after getting their degrees in physics and mathematics respectively. The two of them were accepted, and they slowly trained and learned in the Astronaut Corps. They first met in mid-2026, although historians have debated the exact circumstances. Nonetheless, here is the prevailing theory of how their conversation went:

***

“Have you come to join me?”

Selena Rivi looked back as a new girl had walked to her. She had taken a short break from her training at NASA and decided to relax at a nearby park.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you sitting here,” Martha Glasse said. “This park is a really nice place.”

“There’s still room, if you want.” Selena moved herself to allow for Martha to sit on the bench.

Martha sat down, noticing Selena’s insignia. “So, you’re part of NASA? Which branch?”

Selena was a bit shy at first. “Well, nothing major. I’m starting training to be an astronaut.”

“Oh, that’s such a big thing!” Martha responded. “I’m training there as well. It seems like I’ll see you around a lot!”

Selena grinned slightly. She looked at the endless fields, with their lone bench as the only man-made object for miles. The scene was complemented by a beautiful sunset, which had turned the sky into a tapestry of winding colors.

Martha turned towards her. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? All of… this, inside a pale blue dot. Even if we go out into space, I’ll still miss what Earth has to offer.”

Selena nodded. “Oh, I’m running my mouth again!” said Martha. “My apologies.”

“No, no, please continue,” Selena responded. “I love the way you talk.”

Martha smiled. “I’m just wondering… isn’t it wonderful how humanity always continues on? Well, it’s not like we don’t face problems. The first of the Apollo missions ended in disaster. But still, NASA perservered, and they ended up putting a man on the moon just a few years later. I suppose that’s the whole idea behind human nature. No matter how horrible the situation becomes, the spirit of humanity will always continue.”

***


Soon afterward, Martha and Selena received an exciting message: they would both be selected on a mission to the International Space Station. They would mostly do final preparations to prepare for the de-orbiting of the ISS. By early 2028, they were sent on a SpaceX capsule and docked to the ISS; they were tasked with staying there for a few months. However, the two of them would have to leave far sooner.

On June 7, 2028, the two of them saw the world remake itself. They were shocked and horrified, combined with the loss of all their communications networks for a while. They were essentially a stranded island, hovering hundreds of miles above Earth.

The ISS orbiting above the Vanished Earth


Selena and Martha assumed some sort of apocalyptic event hit Earth- but what was it? They decided to wait it out; perhaps some fragments survived. Their current food and water rations left them with around 12 weeks until they were forced to return. They patiently waited, making sure to stretch all their resources to await some kind of contact. Thankfully, around the third week, they received a message.

Meanwhile, on the surface, the only surviving space agencies were the UK Space Agency and JAXA. The latter had a more robust communications network; they immediately got to work establishing communications with satellites, especially the ISS. Thankfully, a few radio towers in places like Australia and some careful engineering allowed for both the UK and Japanese space agencies to make limited contact with the ISS.

Both the UK and Japan understood that sheer panic and confusion would befall Martha and Selena if they learned about the Vanishing. Thus, they worked together and made sure to never directly say what was happening. They only gave out the instructions for the emergency landing, which was to be conducted over the North Atlantic Ocean.

Martha and Selena looked sadly as they abandoned the ISS and entered their re-entry module. They would be the final residents before its inevitable crash landing. Would humanity ever aspire to build such a thing again?

Miraculously, the re-entry worked well, and the two astronauts were rescued by the Royal Navy, where they learned about the Vanishing. Their reaction was confused, but with a strange hint of optimism as well.

The final SpaceX satellite ever made; it was remarkably hardy for such a precarious landing.


Martha Glasse and Selena Rivi were hailed as international heroes; their rescue was seen as a beacon of hope for survivors of the Vanishing. The British government, especially under Marcus Night, reveled in this attention, and the two astronauts were treated as heroes of a new age.

However, as for Martha and Selena themselves, they swiftly disappeared from public life, living their days near a small farm in northern England. The ISS de-orbited and crashed into the Indian Ocean in late 2028; JAXA and the UK Space Agency were disbanded a few years later. The pale blue dot only wanted itself; nothing more.

The final frontier has been closed off for now.

Chapter Text

1:30 PM, June 7th, 2028

The old City of Ghent, Belgium

Cameron was late; his phone was dead, and his girlfriend had just missed the tram. Lisa, his girlfriend of a year and a half, was in a state of frantic anxiety. Her parents, hunkered down in their Newark home, were facing the wrath of a merciless hurricane that was viciously assaulting the East Coast. The howling winds and torrential rain painted a scene of chaos, and her mind raced with concern for their safety amidst the storm's fury. Cameron and Lisa had traveled to Belgium seeking a tranquil escape after the stress of finals at university. Their destination was the enchanting bell tower of the Church of St. Nicolas, a place that promised not only breathtaking views of the picturesque blend of the old and new city but also held a special significance for them. It was here, amidst the charming cobblestone streets and the gentle echo of history, that Cameron planned to make a heartfelt proposal. They had first crossed paths at a festive Christmas party, and it seemed fitting that the spirit of Santa could bless their union once again in this magical setting. Just moments before the joyful celebration of St. Nick's blessing, Lisa found herself in the confines of a bustling hotel lobby, her mind racing as she worked tirelessly to coordinate a proper evacuation of her family home, thousands of miles away. With urgency pulsing in her veins, she and Cameron decided to stick to their plan and meet at the majestic St. Michael Bridge. The bridge, an iconic symbol of strength and resilience, awaited them amidst the swirling chaos of her thoughts. “It’s probably best to keep a distance from everything,” she declared, her tone reflecting a fierce determination to stay focused amidst the turmoil of her responsibilities at that moment. After navigating the maze of clearances to ascend the tower at 1:30, Cameron received a message at 1:15 PM that set his heart racing. It was from Lisa, informing him that her brother was relocating them to a nearby FEMA center, and thankfully, they were all safe. However, there was a delay—an impassioned Climate Change protest march was blocking her path, making her journey to him considerably longer.

As Cameron braced himself for the uncertainty, his phone flickered ominously, signaling its impending shutdown. The last text he managed to read before it went dark captured his anxiety and hope: “Missed the tram, but I will walk to you.” He glanced down at the G-Shock watch that Lisa had gifted him for his birthday, its sturdy design glinting in the afternoon light. The clock read 1:33 PM. As he turned his gaze back to the horizon, he spotted Lisa in the distance, her silhouette becoming clearer as she approached. She was speed-walking across the bridge, her long hair trailing behind her like a banner in the wind, her determination evident in her brisk pace. He smiles and taps his watch, feeling the excitement of the moment. Yet, an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him, followed by a nagging headache. As he glanced up, she had vanished, leaving him in a whirlwind of confusion and shock, grappling with the sudden emptiness around him. But not just her; the buildings, other people who were simply by themselves, a tram with a single carriage poised to fall into the river as the bridge is predicted to collapse—all of it set, by a grassy embankment and a few tall trees, as if they’ve always been meant to be there.… Amidst the chaos, the air was filled with piercing screams, the sound of metal crunching as cars collided, and frantic shouts echoing from the riverbank. Boats, once calmly drifting, suddenly capsized, their occupants flailing desperately, as if they had vanished into thin air.

Cameron stood frozen, rooted in place, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if an unseen force had yanked him away from the joy he had just experienced. The vibrant colors of the world around him seemed to blur, replaced by a surreal haze that engulfed his mind, leaving him adrift in a moment that felt like a haunting nightmare. And the only remnant of the woman he cherished, embodied in a shattered man’s memories, haunted by the ghost of her absence. In his trembling, a once-vibrant ring now stood as a lonely symbol, a glint of love that had inexplicably vanished like mist in the morning light.…

Chapter Text

In the wake of the Vanishing, the United States Provisional Government, the emergency civilian authority presiding over what remained of New York City, was forced to make difficult decisions. The city was, for all intents and purposes, left to fend for itself. No trucks would be crossing the George to replenish the city’s rapidly dwindling food stores. No ships would be docking in the harbour to unload desperately-needed pharmaceuticals. No planes would be landing at JFK to carry them off to safety.

Every decision had become a fight for the city’s survival. If New York hoped to carve out a future for itself amidst the great unknown, it was acknowledged that the USPG would need to trim the fat - to make more from less.

The zoos were among the first to go. It made sense, really. By the time the rationing laws took hold, most of the city’s zoos had already been reduced to bare-bones skeleton crews. They did their best, and I admire them for that, but their fates had long been sealed when the rationing laws redirected all foodstuffs and building materials elsewhere. Many of those who remained at the zoos, those whose love for their animals kept them anchored in place, were forced to dig into their own rations to keep their wards fed. Even so, they refused to back down, not even when the USPG cut off all power to the zoos.

The public was divided, of course. For many, the zoos were a much-needed morale booster in a time when there was little else to be hopeful for. People loved the animals. They found hope in watching the red pandas play in Central Park and in watching the sea lions splash about in the pools of Queens Zoo. If these critters could tough it out, why couldn’t they?

The thing is, you can’t eat hope.

At first, the intrusions were small in scale. The USPG requisitioned the acres of lawn and green space flanking the zoo grounds, converting them into makeshift vegetable gardens. The lands were tilled and seeded with radishes, kale, and spinach - hardy, fast-growing crops that could soon be reaped to stock the emptying food pantries. For a while, it seemed that the city could persevere, and that its human and non-human inhabitants could cross the finish line together. It seemed that the city could have its cake and eat it too.

How nice it would’ve been if this were true.

People waited for their crops to grow, all the while their empty stomachs gnawed and gnashed, desperate for reprieve. The USPG was left with little choice but to step in again. This time, they asked the zoos to hand over their domestic animals - the gentle cattle and curious waterfowl that once populated the city’s petting zoos and play areas. It was a difficult ask, and many tears were shed as their caretakers watched the city gather up every last highland cow and shetland sheep, load them onto the backs of trucks, and haul them off to Central Park. Those who were young and healthy were carted off to makeshift livestock pens, where they would live the rest of their short lives under the watchful eye of the USPG’s newly minted Department of Food and Agriculture. Those who were old and lame were sent off to be slaughtered, so that their meat could be butchered and parcelled off to feed the waiting masses.

Of course, the hunger never stopped. It eventually gnawed its way through every jerkied flank and serving of bone marrow stew. There were simply too many mouths to feed and not nearly enough food to go around. The USPG approached the zoos again, this time with an itemized list in hand. They had crunched the numbers, so they claimed, and had identified several species that they deemed to be too ‘metabolically inefficient’ - those which simply ate more than their fair share and offered nothing in return. Times were tough, the USPG explained, and it was simply unfair to let these animals live when so many people still went unfed. For each of these animals that was allowed to exist, an entire household would go hungry.

What remained of the city’s zoo staff deliberated among themselves, agonizing over a decision that seemed impossible to make - that is, for all except those at Queens Zoo. When presented with the USPG’s numbers, they saw them for what they really were: a shopping list. For the staff of Queens Zoo, who had grown as dependent on their wards as the animals were on them, the demand was unconscionable. They responded with a resounding “no”. Onlookers reported that the zoo’s staff chased the USPG’s representatives off the premises and set about barricading themselves in.

It didn’t take long for the USPG to rally a response, and when it did, it did so with force. Humans and animals alike were sent into a panicked frenzy as the USPG stormed the grounds of Queens Zoo. The cracks of gunshots, each firing off a round that was only ‘less than lethal’ in theory, made quick work of any stragglers whose dissent failed to waver when faced with the muzzle of a rifle. In a single day, the zoo’s residents were thrown into the backs of armoured vans. The humans were handed quick sentences and carted off to prison camps, where they’d pay off their sentences filling the mass graves on Hart Island. The animals - every bear, bison, and beaver - were hauled off for processing. What couldn’t be butchered was ground up into fertilizer.

The USPG’s show of force rang loud and true for those remaining at Prospect Park and Staten Island Zoo. By the end of the week, what remained of those two zoos’ staff had quietly quelled their ambitions of dissent and ceded the remaining animals under their care. The same couldn’t be said about those holding the line at Central Park Zoo.

Whether by call of duty or unabashed stubbornness, the skeleton crew of Central Park Zoo had no intent of standing down. Nevertheless, they knew that so long as they remained in place, the winds of fate would only send them down the same path as their peers from Queens Zoo. They knew that anyone remaining on the zoo’s premises by the time of the USPG’s inevitable arrival, whether they be human or animal, would have their bodies put to work in the name of progress. They decided that their salvation lay in the American Mainland - the Empty Continent.

Working through the dead of night, the zoo’s skeleton crew set in motion the plan for their daring escape - Operation Noah’s Ark. At this point, their numbers had swollen nearly tenfold, inflated by the addition of a volunteer force of sympathetic citizens and animal-loving co-conspirators. They came from all across the city - New Yorkers who had come to see the animals as a beacon of hope, and who were determined to see that same beacon shine bright from the safety of the American mainland.

Admittedly, their stirring rally cry of freedom made for a rather peculiar sight. On the greens of the Central Garden, the crew had assembled a haphazard caravan of bicycles, rickshaws, and a single solar-powered ice cream truck. They worked tirelessly, securing a menagerie of confused and heavily sedated animals into their getaway vehicles. One woman, a former zookeeper, had a sleeping snow monkey strapped to her back in what could only be described as a makeshift baby carrier fashioned from an American flag. To her left, a man, whose fondest memories of his late daughter had been made at the zoo, tucked an unamused gentoo penguin into his coat as he positioned himself on a sports bike.

All that separated these people - and the several hundred animals between - from freedom was a two-mile dash to the piers on the Hudson River. Unimpeded, the trip would take them no more than 15 minutes. If they managed to reach the pier undeterred, they would make contact with a group of sympathizers who had gotten their hands on a beaten-up fishing boat with just enough fuel to ferry them to the mainland.

Their plan had every opportunity for failure and only a slim chance of success.