The world was disintegrating. With this in mind, Kuroo Tetsurou clicked his lighter open. Shut. Open again. And shut once more. He stared out into the distance—Tokyo's famous skyline had been flattened into the earth. Legs wobbling, he dropped to his knees, metal lighter falling from his hand. A drop of blood landed on the scratched surface, having traveled all the way down from an untreated shoulder wound.
An urban wasteland.
Someone was crying—it sounded close, yet distant. He felt his neck crick as he turned his head.
With a dull rock in his stomach, he watched as a young woman with a squalling baby strapped to her back crawled forward. Her legs were bleeding stumps, her mouth opening and closing periodically.
Kuroo snapped out of it.
Silently, he approached the dying woman, undoing the strap that attached the baby to her.
The baby cried even louder, stinking of piss and shit and diaper heavy with watery stools.
It's over, he thought. We're all going to die.
He was too tired to fight it.
Even if the beast had been stopped in the middle of the city—of what was left of it—the radiation fallout would be devastating. Millions of people had died. Even more had lost their homes, hungry and dirty with nowhere to go. He was one of them. Him and this miserable child who hadn't even had the chance to live a full year before facing judgement.
"There, there," Kuroo said aloud, bobbing the child up and down. "You're alright."
Alarm klaxons rang.
"We'll stay here," he continued, clutching the baby to his chest. He felt a wet spot of filth stain his shirt. "They'll come save us."
The sun rose over the horizon.
Shin Godzilla stood, frozen in place and tail raised.