The End of the World Has Truly Come

Hell was empty.

The Demons were on earth.

At that very same moment.

Elsewhere on Earth.

It truly felt as if the world had become a living Hell.

New York, the underground shelter on 43rd Street. The ceiling was very low, half the fluorescent tubes were dead, and the half that remained lit gave off a constant, irritating buzz. The air was mixed with the smell of sweat, rust, disinfectant, and the sour rot brewed from fear that had been suppressed for far too long.

More than two hundred people were packed into this old subway station converted into a shelter, a space originally designed for eighty.

They sat back to back, knees pressed against knees.

Domingo Sanchez shielded his wife and four-year-old son in the innermost corner by the wall. He was from Honduras. Three years ago, he had crossed three borders to reach this "promised city," washing dishes in the back kitchen of a Chinese restaurant in Queens, working eighty hours a week, and had never once complained.

Because he believed there was opportunity here, that the streets here were paved with gold, that the future here belonged to anyone willing to pay the price.

Now, he gripped his son's hand, his knuckles white.

"Mom, why did the sky go dark?" Alessandro's voice came muffled from Maria's chest, full of sleepiness and confusion.

He had fallen asleep in his mother's arms earlier, and when he woke, he found that the world had changed color.

Maria did not answer. Her lips were trembling. She did not know what to say.

Beside them, a white man in a faded leather jacket with greasy hair suddenly stood up. "Damn it! I knew it! I knew this would happen!"

His voice was shrill, ricocheting back and forth through the cramped space. "Those