Standing there alone, the ship is waiting. All systems are go. Characters: Everybody going to space and (if you want to give any dropped characters a sad send off) anyone not going to space. Setting: THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT. Content: SADNESS. Nick Fury. Violence. Probably sex, lbr. Summary: The world's ending. Save some people, go to secret government meetings, loot Saks Fifth Ave., have your last latte, have your last Earth-bound hook up, find your starship mates. You do you. Notes: In a few days I'll put up a post of Magneto sending all the ships out and that can be used as a collective 'crash landing wherever/getting control of the ship to fly to new places/etc' kind of thing. We can discuss in chat where we want all our little groups to end up.
New York had weathered its fair share of catastrophes and crises, and its people were accustomed to living in an almost perpetual state of emergency. This was the price you paid to share real estate heroes. So when the news called for evacuation and rescue workers came banging at front doors, the whole affair was met at first by jaded city natives, more irritated than panicked. Exasperated officers tried herding reluctant old men from buildings in neighborhoods where they insisted they'd lived all their lives and wouldn't be leaving now. Harried mothers demanded time to corral their children and pack up their important possessions. Grumbling, weary New Yorkers left their homes, with no answers to their questions and no idea of what was actually going on. Evacuees were taken underground into massive hangars populated with starships. Their annoyance turned to unease as people began to understand the gravity of their situation; this latest horrible unknown threat, was not like all the disasters before. This was something new, something to be afraid of.
Answers did little to ease growing fears. Scientists the world over held press conferences trying to explain an inevitable cataclysmic dimensional event that no government, no superpower, no magic on earth could stop. It would potentially destroy the universe unless the Earth was tucked away somewhere safe. Safe, but uninhabitable to its children. Experts gave meek reassurances that the planet could eventually be recovered and returned to this universe, that someday people would return home. But if they wanted to survive, the whole of humanity would have to leave the Earth for space, and they would have to do it now. Before they scurried off with their families for guaranteed seats on ships, officials made hollow promises that there were plans in place. The ships would form a habitat in space, everyone would see their loved ones again, there were absolutely enough vessels to carry the world's population into the stars. For the people watching, who were on the verge losing everything they had ever known, distant hopes for a bleak future were not enough.
The rising tide of terror and tension finally broke when some intrepid fatalist programmed a doomsday clock on the displays in Times Square, counting down the few hours until the world ended. New York devolved into sheer animal terror. What had begun as a sudden but organized evacuation by neighborhood became a mad dash by wild crowds for the nearest safe hangar. Anguished New Yorkers were turned away from full ships, unwilling in their panic to seek out their designated departure points. Others refused to even board until they'd found their family and friends. New York's bars were filling up as fast as it's churches, and smoke and shrieks choked the air over streets teeming with frantic mobs. The opportunistic looted, the terrified rioted, and the hopeless set the city, their home, ablaze. As time and the countdown moved forward, the body count rose. No horror here amid the chaos compared to the uncertainty of what was coming. This was not a storm the world would survive. The end was near, and not everyone could be saved.