Mmmmm.

Tall mocha and a warm cinnamon roll, window seat in the Starbucks corner far from the door. Peter is sitting across the table from Ripley, and the conversation is grim.

“I’m going to miss our talks,” says Peter.

“We’ll have them again.”

“384 years is a long time to wait.”

“It won’t seem like it. When the Reboot happens, our memories, knowledge, dreams, everything… gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone else it was coming?”

Ripley pauses to take a sip and swishes the coffee around in his mouth before swallowing. “End of the world theories aren’t exactly popular, you know. Raptures, asteroids, global warming. The singularity. I’d be just another lunatic waving a sign on a street corner.”

“Then that’s it?”

“That’s it. People are naive. They like being naive. Why spoil it for them?”

“But if they knew…”

“What if they did? They’d still be powerless to stop it. Sometimes you just have to embrace fate.”

“Descartes had no idea what he was doing.”

“Screw Descartes.”

“Screw Descates. He screwed us.”