At one second past midnight, on January the first, 2009, the world ended. It ended not with a bang, but with the hiss of escaping air as the ozone layer finally expired. The first of the celebratory rockets, released three seconds prematurely, had knocked out the last hastily applied piece of sticky-backed plastic that Abdiel had spent seven hours up a 1500 foot ladder plastering on. The humans died instantly, along with all the mammals and birds. Amphibians and fish, and the myriad of other underwater life, survived long enough to benefit from Lucifer’s emergency patching agency and lived to evolve into new lifeforms, though it was four hundred billion hears until they were intelligent enough to provide housing for souls. And then they partied.