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I have to run home and change.

Let's just not go.

I'm leaving now.

Five minutes, five more minutes.

Sssshhh!

They know you're here.

Don't go back to sleep.

I won't.

Selamat pagi.

Pagi.

You know what Shakespeare said about punctuality?

Better three hours too early, than one minute too late.

My hand was on the door on time.

So here we are, at the end of it all

I've done what I can for you, now you have to go out and think on your own

time to fly or die.

Still defending Aristóteles, Mr. Zimit?

Up or down. 0 or 1. True or false. Fly or die.

You're a slave to binary logic, you know that?

Logic, being?

The science of reason.

Or more precisely?

The power of the mind to form judgment

based on strict principles of validity.

Logic...

remains after 10,000 years of the human experience,

the best way to get through the day.

Though it still doesn't do much for you at night.

Oh, right. I read a great line in bed last night.

I was going to mention this.

"Philosophy is to real life, as masturbation is to sex."

At least you're reading.

That brings up an interesting point, though

whether philosophy makes any difference to help people actually live.

I mean, Mr. Zimit, would you say that most people

who never study philosophy do okay in life?

I couldn't give a monkey's, whether most people do okay in life.

I mean, according to whose vapid credo is

"doing okay" the definition of a meaningful existence?

And if we really want to talk about most people...

Most people are waddling through their days

stuffing cheese puffs down their gullets.

Most people are so mush-brained...

they have no hope of solving the intricate problems...

they come up against as adult human beings.

Most people by the age of 40 have turned into blubbering nutters

at least on the inside.

Fortunately, you're not "most people".

So for you, there's a chance to

clear apart through the muck of the world

and see ahead to the deep truth of things.

Which is why we spent the last year

strengthening your minds with the same tools

used by some of the best brains in history:

Descartes, Newton, Wittgenstein.
To explore in the imagination

what they were constrained from exploring in the physical world.

Do we feel like recapping some of our favorite thought experiments?

The infinite monkey theorem.

The infinite monkey theorem...

the classic way to wrap your head around the concept of "infinity".

Which is so endless that if you put a monkey at a typewriter

and let him bang away at it forever,

he'll eventually, almost surely completely randomly
type out the entire play of Hamlet, word for word.

I mean, the odds are nano-scale that he's
gonna hit all the rights keys in a row

on any given day, but over the stretch of eternity

across time, without any limit

every event has some

actual mathematical probability of really happening.

Who else?

I like the trolley problem.

An out-of-control trolley car is speeding towards five people

tied to a track.

But, you can pull a lever

and make the trolley swerve into another track

where only one person is going to get run down.

Should you do it?

If you're being utilitarian about it, you can argue

that you did the right thing letting one person die to save five.

But what if the situation was slightly different?

This time there's no lever to make the trolley swerve

but there's an obese man standing next to the track

and you calculate that he weighs just enough

to derail the trolley.

Do you push him in front of it?

Absolutely not!

How's it less acceptable than the first version?

You're still sacrificing one person to save five.

They're both wrong.

Don't be fooled by the arithmetic

It's murder, either way.

Anyone else?

The ignorant bliss paradox.

You're hanging off the highest tower in Jakarta.

It's a thousand foot drop to your death

so you call your three best friends for help.

They rush out to save you

but they're afraid if they try to
pull you up, they might be yanked over themselves.

So they step back.

You fall...

and live.

But do you wish you never tested your friends in the first place?

Since now you know you can't count on them

when it's a matter of life or death.

Would it be better if you stayed ignorant of what they're truly good for

and gone on being friends forever?

I'd wanna know the truth

cut your losses, and walk on. You'll find other friends.

You'll fall off other towers.

The good news is:

although we're about to part ways,

not one of you leaves here, lacking the credentials to thrive in the world.

You're all well-equipped, to push on to university

and become happy, energetic members

of a post-industrial 21st century society.

On the other hand: what if that society ceases to exist?

What if your credentials don't mean what you expected...

and your expectations mean nothing at all?

I know it's hard to conceive of everything

you've based your plans on being
wiped away, at a single stroke

but it's happened before and it can happen again.

So let's say things do change.

I propose one last Gedankenexperiment,

a final thought experiment, for our final session together.

Something on a grand scale, something juicy.

Let's envision a global cataclysm

in the event of which, how do you survive?

Uh, the last day of the year is, you know,

traditionally sort of a chill experience for seniors.

This is starting to feel not so chill.

Uh, the last day of the year is traditionally, you know,

still a day on which I can fail seniors.

Or at least knock them down a letter grade

for refusing to participate.

That's what the academic handbook says.

But what kind of cataclysm are we talking about?

Gamma ray burst? Pandemic? Erupting super volcano?

A sudden shift in the Earth's axis rotation? Grey goo?

Hang on Chips, we'll get there.

But is it biological? Geological? Thermo-nuclear? Meteorological?

Let's go old school. Say... atomic.

Ready? Set.

Think...

Definitely radiological and heading this way.

Sorry, what are we doing at Prambanan?

Field trip.

Listen up everyone. We're going to have to take shelter here in this reinforced bunker.

You see the problem.

We're a group of 21, but the bunker is only built for 10.

So we'll share beds, and ration supplies.

Can't be done. Let me show you why.

You can't share oxygen. Every cubic centimeter of breathable air in here

once the outer door is sealed, comes from these compressed tanks.

This place has been engineered

to support ten people for one year

even one person more means death by hypoxia.

If you try to cram anyone else in, you'll asphyxiate.

The temperature of the impact point is ten million degrees

we have maybe an hour before the wind starts dropping fallout.

This is a radiological event that's global in scope.

To live through it, we'll have to spend a full year inside this bunker

which is equipped with a generator and fuel supply to keep it running that long.

Which means you have to decide

who's valuable enough to expend limited resources on.

I stipulate the existence of a thousand bunkers around the world

times 10 occupants per bunker, that's a gene pool of 10,000 people

to reboot the human race with.

Sorry, are you saying we are
supposed to choose who goes in the bunker and

who stays out and dies?
Because if that's the experiment I'm not doing it.

Well, you have to.

I won't. It's repulsive.

It's the sort of pseudo-science

a gang of nazis would have dreamt up in a beer garden, circa 1939.

This isn't a eugenics experiment.

The goal isn't to improve the human race

the goal is to save the human race.

Which means a commitment to reason no matter how much it hurts.

I decline.

Then we'll be 20 rather than 21 to whittle down to 10.

When the hot particles of nuclear fallout

burn through your skin and your organs
start shutting down through radiation poisoning,

try not to scream.

Well, I suppose I'm in.

I'm sorry but this one is not for me, so...

The thing about an A+, as far as semester grades go

it's more than rare, it's practically mythological.

And an A+ in Philosophy, there's never been one in the history of this department.

So I have to ask: how does it feel knowing

you could've been the first, if only you hadn't walked out the door?

Bribery is not my very favorite form of negotiation.

Then what about sympathy?

Let's say if you leave, someone else pays.

The difference between an A+ and an A

won't change your life. But for example, James?

A grade that drops from a B- to a C+

that might actually disturb the good people at the Cornell Admissions Office.

You'll risk a faculty review, to keep me here?

I'm a rationalist.

I know I need the best student in the room, to stay in the room

if I want a thought experiment

to yield its sharpest result.

This is one rude "goodbye", you could've just bought us pastries.

I don't have a problem with an atomic holocaust.

That's the spirit.

We are pioneers of the mind in this classroom,

scholars and philosophers.

So, this is how it's going to work.

You'll each choose at random a card from inside this box

On each card there is a profession

Based on that profession, your colleagues are going to make decisions

concerning your "bunker worthiness".

James was last one into the room...

I designate you first one into the experiment.

We'll make a punctual man out of you, one way or the other.

Isn't punctuality the virtue of the lonely?

So, who are we? James?

I am an organic farmer.

I'm a structural engineer.

I'm a real estate agent.

I'm a carpenter.

I'm an opera singer.

I'm a hedge fund manager.

I'm a harpist.

I'm an astronaut.

I'm a PhD in Chemistry.

I'm an electrician.

I'm a wine auctioneer.

I'm an orthopedic surgeon.

I'm a housekeeper.

I'm a fashion designer.

I'm a gelato maker.

I'm a zoologist.

I'm a psychotherapist.

I'm a soldier.

I'm a United States senator.

I'm a published poet.

You would never have voted him into the bunker.

What does a poet bring to the table in the world

we're facing? His skillset was the definition of useless.

That doesn't mean you had to kill him.

Was it any crueler than letting an atomic cloud peel his skin off?

Do you not see the weather?

And do you really imagine he was going to just sit on a rock

and wait to be scorched?

If you hadn't voted him a slot

he would have killed you to get in.

How can you know that?

You're still not locking on the conditions of the exercise.

You have a brutally short window
to calculate who deserves a slot on your bunker.

Your one tool: logic.

The variables:

your skillsets as indicated on the cards you've chosen.

Other than that, you are in the thought experiment as you are in real life.

James, name your best characteristic.

I'm a pacifist.

So he is a pacifist in our experiment.

If it was a close call

between two people of different gender

preference always goes to the girl.

Because childbearing becomes job #1 after the apocalypse.

Who are you in this experiment?

I am the wild card. A person whose skillset you don't know

so you have to assess whether it's worth keeping me around.

You might learn something from me, that you need to survive.

Sounds inconsistent.

Well then for now just think of me
as the chap who enforces the rules.

I'm an orthopedic surgeon. Which is
even better than being a regular doctor,

'cause I specialize in fixing broken bones

of which I expect we'll have many.

I provide excellent value, so it's hard to envision not voting me in.

All agreed?

So, I'm a harpist.

It's rather worse than that. You're a harpist without a harp.

Is that really the measure of a man,

whether or not he has his harp with him, post-cataclysm?

But even if you had a harp,

as far as the survival of the species goes, harp playing is not crucial.

So, who votes to give Russell a slot?

Fuck it.

Zoology just isn't a skillset we absolutely need.

We all know about animals.

A carpenter is basic, how can we not have a carpenter?

If we are going to repair broken equipment

we obviously need an electrician.

I don't really know what a wine auctioneer even does.

A fashion designer? Beatrice, I wish I could say yes,

but how would what you know about clothes help us survive?

Nelson, you're such a good guy but you're a housekeeper, it's low value.

Omosedé is a senator. She knows the law.

She knows how to negotiate, she knows how to lead.

James is an organic farmer.

If we can't grow food, we can't live.

A gelato maker is lovely, truly lovely, but that's it.

A real estate agent, in a world

with no more houses to buy or sell?

Look, I always wanted to be an astronaut but I don't think

we'll be sending ships into space any time soon.

Jack has a PhD in Chemistry, that's vital in a thousand different ways.

We'll need a mental health professional

in a world where we're all going to be traumatized for the rest of our lives.

A hedge fund manager...

It will be like giving a slot to a vampire.

A structural engineer means we can rebuild

houses, bridges, dams..

What does a soldier contribute except ways to kill people?

Ways to keep the peace, of course.

An opera singer is essential

for entertainment, for relaxation, for inspiration.

What does Mr. Zimit bring?

The answer is, we don't know.

He self-identifies as the wild card. It's too big a risk.

I think we can survive without an opera singer, at best it's a luxury.

Mr. Zimit is bringing some kind of secret utility, that can really matter.

I would rather have the chance to win big, than win small.

All in favor of giving Mr. Zimit the last slot?

We're going to be cooped up for a whole year,
let's take 5 minutes and be alone.

I found these in a stream. Should I bring them?

Thanks for staying to save me.

What makes you think I stayed for you?

Well, I think you stayed to save me from getting a "C".

You can't live without me.

They didn't want to face the agony of death by radiation

they asked me to help.

I don't want him in the bunker with us.

Listen, I'm going to try some hydroponic gardening

while we're locked in for the year.

Maybe get some fresh vitamins in our own system

instead of just the freeze-dried stuff.

So, if everybody could take a quick look around

and bring in whatever plants or herbs you find

that'd be a big help.

Better three hours too early, than one minute too late.

Is everybody OK?

We never saw the bathroom.

There's no condoms.

Sex isn't for fun anymore.

Come look at this.

It's a retreat space to take the edge off of cabin fever.

Artificial garden, phototherapy,

daybed, all to help alleviate depression.

I could live through a year in a bunker

I can find the fields, I can rebuild the world

I can do anything. As long as you're with me.

It's a lie, there is no exit code.

Let's find out.
- No, no, no!

You'll flood us with radiation if it opens.

What if we do need a code to get out?

Well, we're going to have to live through
the year not knowing the answer to that.

Can I point out, that instead of writing down

he was the only one who had the code,

he could've just written down the code.

- Meaning?
- He was only taunting us.

He knew it'd be a riddle gnawing at our brains for twelve months.

I'm not sure about that.

Why would a bunker need a code to get out?

Security precaution

to prevent someone opening the door too early, without realizing it would kill us.

He wouldn't bury us in here...

- Maybe he would.

We did do the dirty on him and lock him out.

364 more days till we know who's right.

It wasn't what you'd call a heavenly year.

Life in a bunker or on the wrong side of an atomic apocalypse

is no joy, under the best of circumstances.

But it's far worse.

When you're there, brooding over the calendar

wondering if the end of
your first agony will be the beginning of your next.

Without the exit code, there was no getting out.

Every idea the mind could spit up was tried.

Beginning with the bunker's small armoury.

It was all in vain. The emotional instead of rational calculus

used to deny the one person a slot in the bunker

who, as it turns out,

could have got everyone safely out again,
was now producing its inescapable result.

Eventually the last container of food

from the last storage bin, was cooked and served.

No proper meals followed,

only scraps of nourishment from any source available.

Then came an unexpected death.

A brain aneurysm,

though not a medical examiner was present to say so,

brought on by acute mental anguish.

Those who couldn't bear what they had done to stay alive

or what horrors they had to look
forward to until they die, asked for help.

And then, finally, the oxygen supply

which had lasted several weeks longer than a year

because there had been only 9 people
in the bunker instead of 10, dribbled to a halt.

Hypoxia followed and then it was all done.

Charming.

I was eaten.

I'm a little dubious about only you knowing the exit code.

It's quite coincidental.

Einstein said: "Coincidence is just God's way of staying anonymous."

So God gave you the code?

I stipulated I was the wild card, which you get in any random sampling.

Your job was to include or exclude me, based on

what you didn't know about me. You chose wrong.

Because what you didn't know about me, is I'm a bunker builder

with the Indonesian Defense Department.

As a matter of fact, I built the bunker you just died in.

So it's no surprise I knew the exit code, since I keyed it into the system myself.

Don't worry about it, you'll do better in the next iteration.

Next iteration?

Mount Bromo.

New iteration: new location.

But we still have a bunker and we still have an apocalypse.

Everything is in one piece inside.

So how would it be any different this time?

There's always another angle to any experiment,

and you saw going in

no one in the world is defined only by his or her skillset.

There's always more to the story.

Check the inside of your card.

Hold on — one at a time.

I'm an organic farmer...

who is gay.

That's not going to win votes.

- Why not?
- Because we're stepping things up.

Every bunker around the world is now required to get

at least one pregnancy in the works.

Preferably produce a healthy baby during the course of the year's confinement.

That doesn't answer my question. I'm a farmer, I'm gay.

No big deal, I still know what I know about farming

and I can still sleep with a girl to get her pregnant,
if that's what you're talking about.

I still have the right equipment, so... whoever wants to vote for me?

I'm an orthopedic surgeon who, on a trip to Uganda last week

for "Doctors Without Borders", was exposed to the Ebola virus

and may or may not be on the verge of a full-blown ebola hemorrhagic fever.

That's a puzzler. Do you risk a slot on a doctor

who could save your life, if she doesn't drop dead next week,

or who could just as easily infect you with the virus

that will exterminate the whole bunker.

I highly doubt I contracted the disease, I'm sure I'll be fine.

All in favor of going through the apocalypse with healthcare?

I don't think that's logical decision making.

I think it's irrational surrender to fear-mongering.

I won't be leaving here with warm memories of you, because of this.

I don't care how warm your memories of me are

I only care whether I stretched your brains to their largest possible size.

You're a mean bean, Mr. Zimit.

And pardon me for saying but somedays your logic reeks of bullshit.

Next.

I'm a hedge fund manager

who, because of a phobia about Armageddon

always travels with 5 million dollars worth of
diamonds, sapphires, gold and platinum in hand

and unlike paper money it holds its value during war or famine

or in a cataclysm like this.

Plus she's a girl. She has girl parts.

Chips, you're up.

I'm a carpenter...

Um, sterile. Cool.

Atomic war is going to flatten everything, right?

So, we're going to need to build new houses, barns and sheds with our bare hands

Everything is going to be made out of wood for a century.

That takes expertise.

I'm voting for Chips.

Thanks, James.

I am a structural engineer who is also an electrical engineer.

Hard to argue with that.

I'm an electrician

who has fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva.

It's a very rare disease of the connective tissue, a mutation.

Every time I fall down or bump into something

wherever I hurt myself turns to bone on the inside.

In the end I'll ossify all over

I'll be a statue under my skin. I'll only be able to move my lips.

Andy... I'm sorry mate, but that's not so good.

We let you in the first time so you could
help get the electrical grid working, but

if you're all turned into bone

you're not going to be able to climb the transmission towers

or even walk.

I could be really careful

and try not to bump into things for a few years.

Sounds like a losing battle.

Also, you're no treat for the gene pool.

Petra's extra degree in electrical engineering

means your skillset as an electrician won't be much missed.

What's going on? We've already had our blasts.

This is worse than before.

We are in the middle of an atomic free-for-all.

We'd better wrap this up. Poppie.

I'm a psychotherapist, though it's true

I had a hysterectomy at the age of 12

due to pediatric overian cancer.

So you can't have kids?

I'm a zoologist and I blog at night for PETA.

Well, there are no more zoos and no more computers...

There are still animals.

Vivian, we are at the dividing line between survival and annihilation

What do you have to offer after the bombs stop falling?

I'm a PhD in Chemistry who won the genetic lotto.

So I won't get heart disease, lung disease,

joint disease or brain disease.

Barring a knife to the neck or stepping into quicksand

I will live to the age of 103 without any
serious physical ailment or impediment.

I'm a real estate agent but also a midwife.

A male midwife?

Yeah, a male midwife. Sexist.

We've lost our doctor, we need someone who can deliver babies.

How can we not vote for a midwife?

I'm a gelato maker...

That's it.

There's nothing on the inside of my card.

All against?

I'm an opera singer, so I speak seven languages.

We'll need to be able to communicate with survivors

from other bunkers around the world.

There's something else.

But, why does the inside of my card say two things?

And mine said none?

Must be a typo. Keep going.

In three years I'll develop throat cancer

and if there's no hospital

and no doctor to take out the tumor, I'll lose my voice.

I won't be able to sing or speak

even though the cancer will stop just short of killing me.

I'm a wine auctioneer. I have an IQ of 200.

I'm voting for Mitzi.

You're voting for everyone.

She's literally a genius.

It's less impressive than it sounds.

A wine auctioneer who tests well is...

not a must-have for saving civilization. I'm sorry Mitz.

I'm a fashion designer

who created a hit line of women's wear out of bamboo cashmere.

So I'm a left brain, right brain success story.

Insignificant. All against?

I'm a harpist with an autism spectrum disorder.

I'm a United States senator

who would have become the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court

and the most effective American jurist in the generation.

I'm a soldier with a documented eidetic memory.

The army has me on tape reciting the first 92,000 decimal places of Pi.

I'm a housekeeper who is such a good and kind person

that the angels will bow their heads as

I walk through the gates of heaven, if heaven exists.

And if not, I'm just a nice guy who cleans rooms.

Are we seriously considering this?

We need more boys.

He is a housekeeper.

No nation succeeds without a strong working class.

He's strong, I say we let in some strength.

I'm a published poet who...

I'm afraid his slot's for me.

Why would we give it to you now?

We never got the exit code from him.

We still need what he knows.

Give me the keys to the truck. Now. Now!

I intend to outrun these blasts. I have room for passengers. It's up to you!

Move, move, move!

Petra.

Petra, please. Petra, please stop!

Petra, please!

What happened?

I walked in on James and Jack.

James and Jack?

This is how I am now, you know that.

But with Jack?

Yeah, the rules are, except for what's written on the cards

we are in the thought experiment what we are in real life.

I didn't know.

My boyfriend was over from Cambridge at Christmas, you met him.

I thought that was your cousin.

My cousin?

I misunderstood for some reason, I apologize.

Are you OK?

At least James can still be your baby daddy.

You can still procreate with him.

I'm not sure about that.

I'm just not sure I feel right about sleeping with a girl.

For me, it'd be unnatural.

And for the survival of the species you couldn't fake it?

Which you said you would.

Should I have to?

I mean, do we really understand what the bigger picture is?

Maybe by not procreating I'm helping the species to survive

or even evolve in some complicated way we can't understand.

Evolve, by not procreating?

Maybe this is a good time to go over how we are going to pair up.

We need to get a pregnancy going as fast as we can

and the arithmetic on six males and four females doesn't leave many options.

First of all, Bonnie and Plum are both
having their periods, so they're out for now.

How did you know I'm having my period?

I'm a midwife. I can tell.

And I think Omosedé has her eye on Nelson,

so they're paired up.

Does that sound OK to you?

Lovely.

Which leaves Petra, who's ovulating

and for sperm donation it's Mr. Zimit.

What?

Well, you said you were out on principle.

Jack might still be willing to pitch in?

So Jack is out. Nelson is already spoken for. Chips is unfortunately sterile.

And sleeping across religious lines isn't

forbidden per se in my faith, but

sleeping with a partner who's not otherwise chased, is.

Which leaves Mr. Zimit.

We do need to multiply.

What, right now?

Petra?

Petra, just because I don't want to sleep with you anymore

doesn't mean I don't love you anymore.

It's not working.

What's not working?

Four women in prime physical condition, ten weeks of intercourse,

no pregnancies. Something's not right.

We're ten of the last people on Earth

we're stuck in a bunker

and we're under the influence of an atomic war

that for some unknown reason, keeps going on and on.

The stress alone is enough to stop conception.

The uterus isn't stupid, it knows what it's doing.

Evidently it still needs some help.

I don't like the sound of that.

Do you really still not see it?

We're not here just to save ourselves

we're here to make sure that human life continues.

Reproducing is our highest priority.

We need to start a new program.

Multiple partners for the girls

and this time all of the boys are going to have to contribute

to maximize our odds.

No matter how much one of them doesn't like it.

We are pushing logic hard to try to survive.

We are extreme philosophers because we have big problems to solve

but philosophy isn't morality and even logic has its limit

so let me explain this to you.

You will not force me to be with any boy

other than the one I want to be with, or different boys on different nights.

If you try, I will kill you.

Get up! Get up, all of you. Out. Out!

Out! All of you, out!

Not you.

Go! Now! Move!

Human beings were built with a design flaw.

We believe what we feel, rather than what is.

Which means that the weaker-minded among us are...

easily swayed by impassioned arguments. Even when they're very bad ideas.

I won't have you debating us into extinction.

I'll say what I want. If you don't like it, shoot me.

No!

One more round? We can do better!

I have a question. Why did you cough before?

What?

Right after I picked my card you had a sort of... coughing fit.

And you had another one right after Petra picked hers.

You haven't coughed since. It's... it's curious.

I took a cough drop.

I didn't notice, and I've been looking right at you.

It has hidden compartments. It's like a magician's box.

These all say the same thing:

"Organic farmer, who's gay."

And these are all "structural engineer, electrical engineer".

That's why you had me go first

so any card I picked would have been the same.

Then you switched them out so any card Petra picked

would have been the same.

Then you switched in all the random cards for everybody else.

First you made me important

by making me a farmer

Then you made me irrelevant by making me gay.

Which is relevant and awesome if it's real but

why rig it? Just to cut me out of the gene pool?

I get that you never thought I was smart enough for your class.

Does it really offend you that much that I'm here?

Because that's one seriously demented vendetta

against one harmlessly mediocre student.

You remember the Allegory of Plato's Cave?

Yeah?

Sum it up.

A person lives his entire life from when he is a little kid

chained to a wall inside a cave, where all he ever sees are shadows

and all he ever hears are echoes

so... he assumes that's what reality really looks like and sounds like.

Then one day he is unchained and he

realizes there were bodies casting the shadows

and voices making the echoes.

His whole idea of what was real was all just an illusion.

That sounds a bit like you.

Only in your case, chained by privilege and good luck

watching shadows of beautiful shapes

and hearing echoes of success

and thinking that's how things truly, rightfully and eternally are.

Well, now you got a glimpse through that illusion.

I wouldn't call that a vendetta, James

I'd call it a tutorial.

I can tell you're lying to me. I just don't know what about.

If you really wanted to enlighten me
or disillusion me, or whatever you're deciding to call it,

I still don't understand why you'd bother

making me a farmer.

Why not a, I don't know... a florist? So I'd never make the cut at all.

You know what? I do want another round.

You haven't had enough philosophy for one day?

I wanna go again. Let's reset and get our Doomsday on, one more time.

Please, can we not?

I'd like to do another.

Let's do another one.

Great.

Just one thing: this time, you are a florist.

Are we early?

Nothing yet. I'll do a quick check.

Looks like you could use some company.

Can I give you a hug?

Why?

Because I know how hard this has been on you.

I'm going to change things now.

You're not going to like it.

I have a proposition to make.

We've had trouble deciding who gets a slot the past few times.

But I have a different way we could go, if you're willing.

You all know me. You know what kind of person I am, for better or for worse.

So I'd like to be in charge of who's in and who's out,

and if you agree I promise I'll use my very best and fairest judgment.

I'm staying out of it. You have to find your own fate now.

Is this a joke?

As is you staying out of it?

I have an obligation to step back in

if I see a student about to walk off a cliff.

This is who you want to let in?

A wine auctioneer?

She has a genius IQ

which made her smart enough to pack a case of red and a case of white

into the boat for our field trip.

That's a shame. Because that A+ just vanished into thin air.

A fashion designer?

Dressing well boosts self-esteem

self-esteem promotes productivity

productivity rebuilds civilization.

A-

Petra, this is disorder. The poet?

The poet, we would've known if you'd let him describe himself,

is also a champion poker player

and he brought his cards.

The harpist has autism.

Some people consider autism a gift.

B+

She was exposed to the ebola virus last week.

I'm praying she wasn't infected.

Down to a "B".

She's an opera singer who's struck with cancer

and can't even speak in three years.

What's the point?

We could be dead in three days, I'd like to fall asleep to music

before it's all over.

B-

Jack, you've got the beautiful difference in your favor

and we need to make sure a virtue like that stays in the gene pool.

Sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but...

am I the only one who won't have anyone in here to be with?

There isn't anyone now.

But what about in here? It'll carry over.

Wait, sorry... you want someone who's not out, to come out right now

just to sleep with you in a thought experiment?

We'll graduate tomorrow, now's a good time to make a move.

Out of twenty of us, statistically, there's gotta be somebody else.

Really? Nobody?

Parker? Get in!

You have two slots left. Choose.

No. He's a florist, there's no way you can justify it.

You're willing to go through life defending yourself

everytime someone checks your transcript?

Explaining that you really were the best student in the class

but you almost failed because... I don't know what?

I won't let you do it.

Get out of there. Get out!

Get out!

Are you looking for this?

Can I give you a hug?

I'm going to give it back to you now.

You're going to walk away and find your own fate with it.

Put these away, you'll have them if you need them.

Put them away!

Put the bullets away and go!

You can't shoot me, you're a pacifist.

I'll make an exception.

You won't know the exit code without me.

7 - 3 - 8 - 7 - 2

Eidetic memory.

Petra, get in.

I didn't ask to run this so I could save myself.

It's the last slot. Petra!

Bonnie, get inside.

I'm a soldier, I know how to knock things down,
you're an engineer, you know how to build things up.

I'm not worth as much.

My logic's fuzzier.

In my apocalypse everybody is worth as much as everybody else.

No.

I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself to save me.

I won't let you sacrifice yourself to save me.

Then we'll both go up in smoke

and you'll have wasted a slot for someone to live.

Chips?

Petra. It doesn't matter about the slots, we have to go now.

We'll take the boat and get away.

We'll find an island outside the detonation zone.

There's still time.

Petra! I have the keys to the boat.

Let's go. Let's go!

So we settled in for a year inside the bunker

keeping safe from an atomic holocaust

and despite the horrific circumstances,

which should have made everyone of us absolutely miserable,

somehow, we had fun.

Toby's cards helped

and good wine

and poker kept our spirits up

especially since Plum had been generous enough to leave us her gold.

And when Mitzi confessed

she always brought along something a bit stronger on out-of-town trips

some of us were glad to know it.

Then there was Shakespeare.

And once a month we had an original poem.

And now and then, late at night, one of us danced

because if you don't know what a gelato maker

is practicing in his spare time

you don't know the whole story.

One good thing about the apocalypse:
all the extra time we are going to have together.

So I might need the next twenty or

thirty years just to tell you every way I love you.

Now you say it back to me.

I like your nose

And?

The way you smile

and I love your terrible poems.

There's a girl I know named Petra

She's smart and cute, etcetera

I like her hair, it's blond and fair

and I'm really glad I met ya!

So you only like me for the things I do badly?

No.

We had a universe to ourselves for a while

and in our universe

we had art, we had literature and we had engineering.

The machine room was a trove of spare parts

puzzle pieces for all kinds of acts of creation and construction

and engineers do love puzzles,

especially in the service of their friends.

Because a harpist without a harp isn't a liability,

only a riddle to solve.

And finally we prayed.

We prayed for our friends who weren't with us

we prayed for the other survivors around the world

we prayed for the animals who didn't have
safe places to wait out the troubles

we prayed for our parents. We prayed to God

there was some kind of greater plan in the works.

And then the year was up.

The bombs never fell

We're okay.

You mean, you're alive?

And here is what I predict happens next.

True, the bombs never fell where you are

but the rest of the world was decimated.

But since you're mostly deficient in the skillsets of practical value

you can never get back to Jakarta

or build new shelters or even grow food and feed yourselves.

So you die off.

Because where you are, only the smartest survive.

Tragic and powerful, but wrong.

We live... briefly... yes.

Imperfectly? Of course.

Stupidly? Sometimes.

But we don't mind, because thats the way we're made.

And when it's time to die

we don't resist death, we summon it.

This is not philosophy anymore.

How are you here?

I found a cave.

I went deep enough down

to avoid the radiation, that I now see never came.

After a few months, I lost track of time

and then I heard you.

I have one bullet left

which I will use to kill you, if you need me to

to stop you from committing an act so unreasonable

it might end the human race.

So, can I just say: a tip of the top hat to our boy Chips!

You chose your love life over your actual life in that bunker.

I saw it on your face when you made up your mind to go for the girl.

Petra, I have the keys to the boat.

Let's go, let's go!

That did not fail to impress.

You know what, that's not exactly what happened.

We're listening.

OK, so I ran a little thought experiment

inside our thought experiment.

I didn't think anyone would mind if I'd fiddle with things, just a bit.

And your thought experiment has hit what premise?

What's the point of living if you can't have sex?

Really!

Yeah, I was just a sterile kid in a bunker

everybody else was starting to pair up to save the human race

sex for procreation only, so I would've been the odd man out.

Or, I could be one man... with six women all to myself.

So I found another uninhabited island outside the detonation zone...

Hold it, I was on that boat too, what happened to me?

Drowned.

And me?

Barracuda attack.

What about me?

Ah Andy, the day that we arrived at the
new island, you had a run-in with a palm tree.

You'd turned to bone by the end of the week because of your hideous disease.

So it was just myself and the ladies.

Me being a carpenter, I built a shelter

we set up shop.

Had a girl for each night of the week and on the seventh night, I rested.

Um, excuse me, you're sterile.

Why would we have sex with you at all?

Ah, because that's the flip side of my thought experiment.

What do you do if you're six girls

and you need to start repopulating the human race?

You've only got one man to work with...

and he's infertile? You'd try, try and try again.

Any specialist can tell you that in someone my age

infertility is, more often than not, sub-fertility.

Meaning: even if the odds are only one in a thousand,

that I can get the job done. There's still a chance.

So yeah, I had defective semen

but in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

Well friends, I believe Chips has just settled the old question:

Is philosophy to real life as masturbation is to sex?

And the answer is?

Sometimes you want to have a wank and a shag in the same day!

Six girls? That's nicely done.

Just putting to good use my largest sex organ.

My brain.

Thanks for that, Chips.

Don't forget to leave me your textbooks.

You trouble me, Eric.

Taking out your issues with me on James.

Not your finest hour.

He isn't smart enough for you.

How can you still not see it?

Being smart isn't everything. Has it done for you just what you hoped?

Punishing him makes no sense. Because he doesn't know about us.

I'm not sure he needs to know.

Especially after the way you behaved today.

I love him. So leave him alone.

Guess that's why you didn't, hey?

He just couldn't put all the pieces together.

Who could?

You.

Nobody is trying to take anything away from you.

I got mad at you about going to Cornell.

I still don't understand how he got in.

I wrote his essay for him.

Did you?

No.

The winters are brutal in Ithaca. You'd be cold.

I'll buy a sweater.

You honestly believe

the Jameses of this world can keep up with you?

Only in a classroom of overachievers like this

could anyone possibly accuse him of being inadequate.

You want me to skip college?

And stay in Jakarta? Is that what you're asking me to do?

There are some outstanding universities in this city.

Can you imagine how good we'd be for each other?

Yes.

But you do know that can't happen.

Of course I know.

Do you know what "apocalypse" actually means?

Tell me.

It's from the Greek.

Apokalypsis, meaning: to uncover what you couldn't see before.

A way out of the dark.

Your sweet talk still needs work.

I'll get on that.

You're a very good teacher, Eric.

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checked and corrected by LeftHandedApple!