Randy Bragg’s arms still hurt from the morning pushups he had recently resumed. He had to do something, after all. Even if it meant that his food might not last as long, that the precious, life-giving fat around his belly and thighs might burn away a little faster, he had to do something. “Hello, there!” Bragg nearly jumped out of his skin. In the hundreds of times he’d paced the basement, his opinions rolling through his mind, he’d never seen anyone with him. He was supposed to die down here, the food running out, starving. A post-modern tear jerker. But now… “The whole world?” he asked.