... I repeat, do not exit your homes at this time. If you live in an urban center, it is advised that you seek shelter. Backup generators have been activated; and the police have been dispatched to help with the rescue efforts...   The emergency radio my father gave me blairs out the repeated message over and over, reminding me of how doomed we are. New York City, as strong and as beautiful as she is from the skylines, was now a living nightmare to be in due to the massive earthquake that tore it to shreds, pulling the root of foundation out from beneath us and shredding it into a flowery pulp. Some buildings, sturdy as trees, remain standing-- I couldn't tell if they were Deepcore Foundation or what, but that didn't mattter to me right now. My brother's calling me on my phone, but I hardly register it at the present moment; as I've had a more pressing matter on my mind.   It doesn't take long for me to find the home my girlfriend lives in, the ceiling caved in. I fear for the worst as I run in.   She's screaming, her mother and father were crushed and she's currently sitting with glass lodged into her leg. As I pull her out of the rubble, crying as I see her bleeding, I hear her TV-- still on, power still reaching it, and I hear the voice speaking on it; a newcaster we both would've made fun of days ago practically bawling, makeup running down her face.   America wasn't the only country hit. The entire world had gone to shit.

— Exerpt from Out Of The Blue, Into The Black: The First Year After The Withering by Ophelia Littauer.