[ WP ] All 10 billion humans in the world wear wristbands that display their rank in terms of access to global resources in real time . Yours just jumped from the middle of the pack to # 19 in a span of 10 minutes .

5,000,000,001. That's a pretty big number. If it's money, you're set for several lifetimes; if it's a golf score, hang up the clubs and kiss the fairway goodbye. But if it's a measure of how essential you are in the chain of 10 billion people, how important it is that you receive food and other vital supplies, it means that you're essentially nobody. Not low enough to show that you're really important, not high enough to show that you're particularly despised; right in the middle of average, where nobody takes notice of you. 
 
 I suppose I should n't complain about being ranked 5,000,000,001. Truth be told, I never really had to wait too long for anything, and I ca n't recall the last time I got told `` no'' when I asked for something important. The folks down at the IQC ( International Quartermaster's Consortium ) did n't know him by name or anything, but they did n't bat an eye when I requested 3 additional units of household water per week, or when I asked for those 10 cuts of almost-expired beef for that birthday cookout. 5,000,000,001 was, in retrospect, a mighty fine place to be. But that was 30 minutes ago; and a lot can change in 30 minutes, apparently. 
 
 I stepped out of the shower to hear my StrapRank ( tm ) buzzing. That's the thing that the IIRB ( International Individual Rankings Bureau ) assigns you at birth, which tells the IQC folks what rank you have, and therefore how much and what different kinds of resources you can be given according to your place in society. It buzzes whenever your profile data gets modified by the Bureau; usually it means someone was born or died, and so your rank has fluctuated mildly as a result. For the longest time, I would always bounce between 5,000,000,001 and 4,999,999,998, given normal deviations. 
 
 `` Huh,'' I wondered aloud as I picked up my StrapRank and looked at the display. `` # 500,000,000''. From five billion and one to five hundred million - that's an enormous jump; there's no way that's right. I tapped the device on the counter a bit, figuring that it had just gotten stuck drawing the numbers. ``.... mmm, nope, that's still five hundred million'', I mumbled from beneath my furrowed brow. Maybe the shower condensation got into it and fried it? Great - these things take *forever* to replace. I put the StrapRank down and decided to go back to getting ready for work. 
 
 At least my cell phone worked around damp environments, I thought, as I removed a set of earbuds and put my phone away; I sprang for the extra waterproof case because I like to listen to music while I'm in the shower. The waterproof headphones were an easy sell too; I really enjoy my showers, so being able to just plug up and sink into the heat without external distractions is pretty nice. Sometimes I'll miss a phone call or a package delivery, but hey, I need my `` me time'', dammit. 
 
 I stepped back into the bathroom after putting on my shirt and pants, and grabbed my wristband. `` This thing's lost its mind'', I remarked as I read the display. 734,000. Seven hundred thirty four thousand. There was no way I'd suddenly jumped so many ranks. A few dozen, sure, maybe - but several billion? I fished down into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. 
 
 The first few calls had trouble getting through - some kind of stupid cell phone network congestion problem, or at least that's what the recording said. I had to try five or six times before I was finally able to get a connection. 
 
 *ring ring* Ugh... the bureau is terrible at answering their phones. 
 
 *ring ring* I wonder if the local Bureau office is open today? I could just walk in and -- 
 
 `` Thank you for calling the International Individual Rankings Bureau,'' the voice on the other end droned on in a bored, monotone voice that could only be found in a government telephone call center. I picked up my StrapRank and briefly ran down the situation. `` And now I'm 500,005, apparently.'' 
 
 The voice on the other end perked up. `` How long ago did it start?'' 
 
 `` Maybe an hour'', I replied. 
 
 `` Please hold''. Oh good. I put the cell phone on speaker and continued getting dressed while I waited. My wristband showed 425,924. It sure was going down awfully fast... 
 
 `` Hello?'' there was a new voice on the other end of the phone. This one sounded significantly more interested in my problem than the last. `` Hello, are you still there?'' 
 
 `` Yeah, I'm here -'' I tried to respond, but there were quite a few sirens heading past my window. My area of town just had n't been the same since all those people in the 7 billion bracket moved in. `` Can you repeat that?'' 
 
 `` My name is Anthony, and I'm an IIRB technician. I was sent here this morning to investigate a problem being reported with numerous wristbands, very similar to the problem you're reporting now. Can you tell me what your wristband is showing now?'' 
 
 `` Looks like 250,000'', I said. `` This thing's broken for sure. How fast can I get a replacement?'' 
 
 There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. The sirens were gone now, and somewhere a car alarm was blaring. I dug at my ears with a q-tip. 
 
 `` I said how fast can I get a replacement? ``, I repeated into the phone, picking it up now. 
 
 `` There is nothing wrong with your wristband'', Anthony said slowly. `` Do you know how the wristbands work?'' I could hear glasses clinking and rattling on Anthony's end of the phone. 
 
 `` Not really,'' I said, putting the phone back down on speaker and starting to put on my tie. This guy is n't paying attention; either that or I suddenly had an entire fleet of previously unknown rich uncles die. That'll be the day. 
 
 `` They are activated when they are attached to your wrist and become tuned to your particular heartbeat and rhythms. They then phone back to the IIRB central database to say they are attached to you, and the IIRB database then computes and returns your rank to your wristband.'' 
 
 `` Right, I figured that'', I replied. `` But why is mine plummeting faster than Brendan Fraser's career? It's not like I'm suddenly more important than anyone else.'' 
 
 `` Everyone gets more important when there are less of us.'' Anthony's voice was deadpan, calm, matter-of-fact. What the hell does that mean? Did most of the planet suddenly vanish? `` What does your wristband show now? ``, he continued. 
 
 `` # 19'', I said. Suddenly those 2 digits seemed to be so much more important than the sum of their parts. 
 
 `` Mine shows # 18, and I'm the last one in this office. I do n't know how much longer I have or you have. But something is happening, and it's happening to all of us.'' I heard the telltale glug-glug of a bottle pouring, and the satisfied `` aaahh'' that only comes after a stiff shot. 
 
 `` Your wristband is n't malfunctioning. The human race is disappearing. All of it. It's just us and 17 others left still around.'' 
 
 I stared at my wristband in disbelief. `` No fucking way,'' I said. `` This is some stupid fucking practical joke. You must be friends with Bob or Sheryl, and you guys have cooked up some bullshit -'' 
 
 `` Look out your windows'', Anthony cut me off. His voice was still deadpan and calm. I went to the bedroom window and threw back the curtains. I dropped the phone and my wristband to the floor. I had missed a lot more than a package delivery while I was in the shower with my ears plugged. Cars were ran off the side of the road, with no drivers. Baby strollers were in the middle of the street, unattended and apparently empty. A `` happy birthday'' balloon floated by with no owner. An airplane could be seen descending in the distance - going way too low - before going out of sight. I heard the distant thud of the exploding aircraft and felt a twisting pain in my stomach. 
 
 `` I - I... What... How?...'', I stammered as I looked at the scene outside my home. The phone was still on speaker, apparently, so I could hear Anthony's voice in response, like it was coming from the end of some long, distant tunnel, on the other side of some impossibly long distance. `` I do n't know'', Anthony replied. `` All I know is we -'' 
 
 I was suddenly crushingly aware of the silence on the other end of the phone. `` Anthony? ``, I inquired as I bent over to look at the phone. The call had not dropped. `` Anthony? ``, I said again, as I picked up the phone. `` Anthony! ``, I shouted into the microphone. `` Anthony you sunnuvabitch this is n't funny! ``, I yelled. But the only sound I got in response was the sound of my StrapRank buzzing as my number changed from # 19 to # 18. 
 
... It's been a little over 30 minutes now. By my best guess, we've lost something like 10 billion people in the course of those 30 minutes. I'm down to # 1 as I finish this. I'm recording this on my cell phone's voice recorder and then powering it off in the hopes that someone will find it, and maybe understand what happened. Because I damn sure do n't. 
 
 It's a hell of a thing, realizing that you're suddenly becoming extinct; going from 1 in 10 billion, to just being the last one. Never before, have I ever wanted so badly to just find a big crowd and blend in. Maybe 5,000,000,001 was n't so bad after a --
