[ WP ] In a post-apocalyptic wasteland , you 're not tasked with restoring humanity but instead , ensuring its destruction .

“ It did n't work. ” 
 
 “ Well, it kind of worked; just not all the way ”. 
 
 “ No, I ’ m telling you, your magic fire dust shit didn ’ t work! ” 
 
 “ Well, surely you must have done something wrong.. ” 
 
 “ Stop fucking around, old man! I want my steel back! ” 
 
 I listened to the exchange from my corner of the bar with half-hearted disinterest. I was really only listening because there wasn ’ t anything else interesting happening. I could have pointed to any one interaction between two individuals and found the same sort of dialogue taking place. 
 
 Everyone was cheating everyone. 
 
 This was understandable, given that there was no substantial justice system any more, and there wasn ’ t really much of a drive for anyone to do anything except survive. 
 
 I took a swig of brown-ish water from the tin cup in front of me. 
 
 It had been less than a year since the big bombs were dropped. Everyone saw what was coming, but no one knew how to stop anything. How does one speak reason into chaos? That had been the assumed mentality, and it was affirmed when everyone started firing at once. 
 
 The last known official report said that the only country not involved *or* targeted was New Zealand. Even fucking Greenland got involved. 
 
 The exchange between the two gentlemen across the room from me was getting heated. Not wanting to deal with any kind of mess, I downed the rest of my muddy water and walked through a hole in the wall of the decrepit building. 
 
 I knew what I had to do, but I wasn ’ t really sure how to go about it. 
 
 A sharp cry emanated from the building I had just left. The sound turned slowly from screaming to gurgling and gasping. 
 
 I quickened my pace. With any luck, the survivor of the interaction had had their fill and wouldn ’ t be seeking out any more trouble. 
 
 “ Hey there, feller! ” 
 
 Only a fool depends on luck. 
 
 “ Don ’ t keep walkin ’! I know y ’ can hear me! ” 
 
 I stopped, but didn ’ t turn around. 
 
 “ What ’ s in yer bag? ” 
 
 I turned around. 
 
 “ Nothing you need. ” I said calmly. I was telling the truth. 
 
 “ Oh, I highly doubt that, ” said the man. It was the one who felt he had been cheated of his steel. I suppose anyone could have seen that coming. Still, I felt sorry for the old man still inside the bar. It probably wasn ’ t a pleasant experience to take one ’ s last breaths in solitude. 
 
 The young man and I stared at each other for a while. He clearly wasn ’ t going anywhere until he got something. I decided to fill the silence. 
 
 “ It ’ s a detonator. ” I said. 
 
 “ A detonator? ” asked the man, raising his eyebrows. 
 
 “ Yes, ” I said. 
 
 “ Why wouldn ’ t I need that? ” asked the young man, flashing a smile. 
 
 “ Because it doesn ’ t do anything. Not yet, anyways. ” 
 
 “ Building a bomb, are ya? ” 
 
 “ Sort of…well not really. ” 
 
 It was surprisingly nice to be talking about it. 
 
 The man scrunched his nose and squinted. 
 
 “ What else do you do with a detona— “ 
 
 The man clutched at a crossbow bolt stuck in his neck. 
 
 “ You forgot to ask about what I had up my sleeve ”. I said. 
 
 I turned and kept walking, stuffing the small crossbow back into my tunic. It was nice to talk about, but for all I knew someone could be listening, and just because we were almost extinct didn ’ t mean there wouldn ’ t still be the odd humanitarian survivor. 
 
 The young man was right, after all. 
 
 * “ It didn ’ t work. ” * 
 
 I was going to make sure it *did* work, so that it would never happen again. 

