The test doesn't lie. She's pregnant. She offers a reserved smile to her partner as they squeeze one another's hands. It's only a few weeks along. Still, there's not much time to decide what to do before the calendar whittles their choices away. "We think we want to keep it," she says. The doctor nods. "I understand that you feel that way now, but there are other options that you may regret less. If you decide to gestate, I can't stop you. But the state does require that you look at this information before confirming your plan." With shaking fingers, the woman accepts the literature. It's a pamphlet entitled This Could be Your Baby with my face and life history on it. The bottom asks, in large letters: Is your desire to parent worth their lifetime of suffering? The woman, horrified, schedules an immediate termination. The scene repeats itself around the globe. Gradually, population numbers dwindle. The last person wades into the ocean and allows the waves to carry them out. A peace that the planet only vaguely remembers returns. The human race comes to an end, not as an act of hatred but as one of supreme compassion. A lone Taco Bell stands as a sentinel, the Triplelupa advertisements in the window serving as a poignant reminder of all that was and should not have been.