Original subtitles

[dramatic music]

- [Narrator] What would happen

if every human being on Earth disappeared?

No matter how we might vanish,

this is the story of what could happen to the world

we leave behind.

Now on Life After People.

[police siren wailing]

The cities we built turned untamed wilderness

into fortresses of concrete and steel.

But when we're gone,

mother nature reclaims what's hers.

[dramatic music continues]

In New York City,

new residents take over the concrete jungle.

- What used to be sidewalks and streets

is now a wild tangled green.

- These monkeys are highly intelligent.

They would very quickly become the smartest

species in all of New York City.

- [Narrator] Once the theme park capital of the world,

Orlando is swallowed up by the swamp..

- Very little of Orlando would survive.

The city will be fully absorbed by the swamp

it was built on hundreds of years ago.

- [Narrator] And Rio De Janeiro succumbs

to the surrounding rainforest.

- Picture it, mud, fertilizer, human and industrial waste.

That toxic cocktail jumpstarted a botanical explosion.

- [Narrator] In a world without people,

the planet's most significant cities will be overrun,

[fire burning]

swallowed whole

[loud explosion]

and taken back by mother nature.

[dramatic music continues]

Welcome to Earth,

population zero.

[dramatic music]

The city that never sleeps is silent.

There are no crowds in Times Square

and no tourists in Central Park.

[dramatic music]

Towers of glass and steel still stretch toward the heavens,

but from the skies themselves,

relics of mankind shatter the quiet.

[loud explosion]

- On the busiest day,

there can be around 9,000 individual helicopter trips

crisscrossing New York City.

[helicopter whirring]

- [Narrator] Empty helicopters rain down upon the sea

and debris tears through shops, theaters,

and apartment buildings.

[loud explosion]

- It isn't just the impact.

These choppers are carrying hundreds of gallons of fuel.

Each one of these things is like a hand grenade

the size of a rhino.

The destruction would be intense.

[fire burning]

- [Narrator] These places were once filled with life.

Now, there are no crowds to scream,

no eyes to see the wreckage.

[dramatic music]

But the shattered glass

and broken concrete aren't just open wounds.

They're open invitations for new inhabitants to creep out

from the shadows of Central Park.

- It's actually teeming with hundreds

of species of wild animals,

hawks, owls, ducks, squirrels, raccoons,

bats, and even coyotes.

[coyote howling]

- [Narrator] From within the depths of the park,

animals begin to emerge,

but in one corner of the park lies something stranger.

It's home to a whole menagerie of predators, pests,

and exotic creatures.

[birds gawking]

- At the southeast corner of the park

sits the Central Park Zoo.

It was established in 1859 kind of by accident

with a stray bear tied to a tree.

Before long, people started donating other animals

to the park, and eventually, the zoo became official.

It housed over 130 species

from tropical birds to snow leopards.

- Most would not be able to even escape their enclosures,

and they would die of starvation

or dehydration in a matter of a few weeks.

But not all habitats have a roof.

- Some animals live in open air enclosures

like snow monkeys or Japanese macaques,

but it's just a short swim and a climb,

and they're out of there,

which is exactly where hunger would take them.

- These monkeys are highly intelligent.

They would very quickly become the smartest

species in all of New York City.

[dramatic music]

- [Narrator] A host of strange creatures

roam beneath the branches of Central Park.

Some hunt,

some hide,

but the most intelligent among them recognized

that there's a world outside the park,

unguarded,

torn open,

and full of opportunity.

[birds gawking] [dramatic music]

A thousand miles from the concrete jungle

of the big apple,

there's another city.

Carved out of the deep murky swamps of Florida,

a glittering fun house built on a wetland graveyard.

Orlando.

- Orlando isn't just a theme park hub,

it is the theme park hub.

There are 12 major theme parks.

We're talking hundreds of rides

and enough hotel rooms to house a small city.

- Almost as many people live in Orlando

as the entire population of Kansas,

and the whole city is built on swamp land

that would be unlivable if it weren't for human engineering.

- [Narrator] Over decades, we drained the swamps,

buried them beneath pavement and crowned them with rides.

One week after people,

theme parks are empty

and rollercoasters stand frozen,

waiting for riders

who will never come.

But there's something else humanity left behind,

something volatile,

and it could reshape the landscape,

not in decades, but in moments.

- In most cities, fireworks are a once a year event.

But in Orlando, fireworks are a nightly spectacle.

- Some of the bigger fireworks shows

use up to two and a half tons of fireworks.

They're packed into tubes called mortars

and controlled by a computer.

- [Narrator] At one of the small parks,

there are hundreds of mortars packed,

lying in wait for a show

that will never begin.

In the time of people,

fireworks were canceled when thunderstorms were forecast.

But now there's nobody watching

and no one to safely store them away.

- Fireworks usually go off one at a time,

but a lightning strike could just set 'em all off at once.

[eerie music]

- [Narrator] And Orlando has a secret in its skies,

it's the thunderstorm capital of the United States.

[thunder roaring]

- The entire state of Florida has the highest lightning

density in the country.

Each year there are over 285

individual lightning strikes in any one mile radius.

- [Narrator] The mortars lie silent, but exposed.

When a thunderstorm rolls in,

all it takes is a single bolt

of lightning crackling toward them.

[lightning roaring]

[loud explosions]

- A single bolt is 50,000 degrees.

That's more than five times hotter than the Earth's core.

- That would happen to be like a car bomb exploding.

[fireworks exploding]

It would leave the crater 15 feet wide

and send a shockwave out a mile away.

[loud explosion]

- Within a few hundred feet,

the devastation would be a immense.

Rollercoasters, twisted warp,

rides and attractions crumble and burn.

[fire burning]

- [Narrator] Orlando is on fire,

but there are no sirens, no firefighters,

and just two feet below the ground lies a sleeping giant.

A vast web of pressurized natural gas lines

ready to ignite

and spark Orlando's return to the swamp.

[dramatic music]

4,000 away lies one of the biggest cities in South America,

a place known as much for its wild rainforest peaks

as for its endless nights of celebration,

Rio de Janeiro

- During Carnival, Rio de Janeiro

becomes something else entirely.

Five days of nonstop music,

parades, and revelry.

Between locals and tourists,

as many as 11 million people will crowd into the city.

[dramatic music]

- [Narrator] Gone are the sounds of revelry

and lively samba music.

Now the streets of Rio are quiet as a tomb.

But high above the city,

one pair of lonely eyes still keep watch.

[inspirational music]

- Christ the redeemer is one

of the most iconic statues of the world,

with its outstretched arms

representing protection and peace.

It is made

of 635 metric tons of reinforced concrete,

which makes it twice as heavy

as the Statue of liberty,

even though it's only half as tall.

It's one of the new Seven Wonders of the World.

- [Narrator] Christ the Redeemer's arms

stretch out over Tijuca National Park,

the only rainforest inside a major city.

- Tijuca National Park is within city limits,

making it the world's largest urban forest.

It covers 15 square miles.

For comparison, that's 10 times larger

than New York City Central Park.

- [Narrator] And where there's rainforest, there's rain.

[thunder roaring]

Thunderstorms strike here even more often than in Orlando,

and there's one starting to darken the sky.

[lightning roaring]

- Brazil is the most lightning prone country in the world.

It gets hit up to 80 million times a year.

And Christ the Redeemer stands on the peak

of Corcovado Mountain, 2300 feet above the city.

That's the highest point in Rio, making it the prime target.

[dramatic music]

- [Narrator] But unlike Orlando,

Christ the Redeemer is ready.

For decades, lightning has lashed this peak

and the statue towering

and silent was built to withstand the assault.

[lightning roaring]

[dramatic music]

- Christ the Redeemer has lightning rods

to harmlessly transfer all the electricity

from a direct lightning strike into the ground.

But over time, as storms grew more and more frequent,

the system needed upgrades.

- Lightning rods were also added to the statues arms.

In 2021, the crown of rods in its head

was made four times bigger and the base

that helps dissipate electricity was expanded.

- [Narrator] Now, after people,

the statues' lightning defenses are frozen in time.

They'll never repaired, never replaced,

and beneath its feet, the earth is shifting.

Relentless rain seeps into the hillside

loosening the soil until slabs of land

begin to slide toward the city below,

groaning as they break free,

a landslide that threatens

to devour everything in its path.

One week after people,

Rio de Janeiro lies silent and exposed.

[dramatic music]

And on the hillside above, something sinister is stirring.

The heart of the city is glass, concrete, and steel.

But between Rio and the towering peak,

are ramshackle neighborhoods hastily stitched together

like a house of cards clinging to the slope.

- Brazil is famous, or maybe infamous, for its slums.

There are these huge communities known as favelas,

where people who can't afford traditional housing

basically improvise their own

and they build shelters out of wood scraps,

bricks and sheet metal.

- Favelas, by definition, are not planned.

They're just built wherever people can find space.

And sometimes that means people are building

on top of old landslides.

[dramatic music]

[constant beeping]

- [Narrator] Rio's automated rain gauges trigger alarms

when the threat of landslides is high.

Now, they're screaming.

A shrill warning echoing through empty streets.

There's nobody left to hear them

and no emergency crews to respond.

- Rio's sirens would warn residents to evacuate

or kick response teams into high gear.

With enough time to prepare,

crews could pile sandbags, build temporary barriers,

or even use heavy machinery to excavate channels.

[loud rumbling]

But in a life after people,

there's nothing to slow this landslide down.

[landslide roaring]

- It isn't just the ground sliding down the hill.

It picks up whole houses, trees, power lines, power poles,

all of that goes down,

swallowing up whole neighborhoods in minutes.

And the speed is terrifying.

A landslide can travel at 35 miles an hour.

Think of that.

That's faster than Usain Bolt in his prime.

[loud rumbling]

- Many favelas rely on makeshift drainage ditches.

Human waste, industrial runoff and garbage,

all collect into the same channels.

When a landslide hits, all of that waste gets swept up,

creating a wave of toxic sludge.

[sludge rumbling]

- This isn't just a wave, it's a collision,

like an asteroid crashing into the low lying neighborhoods.

Glass would shatter block after block after block.

- [Narrator] With no one to rebuild them,

Rio's favela's are crushed beneath tons of sliding earth,

their bones splintered and scattered.

What will come creeping in

from the surrounding jungle to replace them?

[dramatic music]

In New York City,

there's no one to stop Central Park

from straining past old boundaries,

working new growth into every crack and crevice.

Snow monkeys that escape from the Central Park Zoo

now roam the grounds and leap between treetops.

But hungry eyes are watching them.

- Monkeys aren't the top of the food chain.

We know that there are wild coyotes

living in Central Park already.

Coyotes don't eat monkeys in the wild,

but I'll bet you they'd do it in Central Park.

- [Narrator] Driven by instinct and hunted by predators,

the monkeys flee the wild for something far stranger,

a place built for power and wealth.

Its opulent skyscrapers once occupied by the 1%,

Billionaires Row.

Now, the towers stand empty, ripe for a new kind of tenant.

- Billionaires row isn't for the rich,

it's for the filthy rich.

The average unit is worth around $22 million,

and the most expensive was listed

for $238 million a few years ago,

making it the most expensive

home in the country at that time.

- The crown jewel of Billionaire's Row

is the tallest residential tower on the planet,

it's pinnacle stretching 1,550 feet into the New York sky.

It's the Central Park Tower.

- This tower was built to squeeze

the maximum number of floors into one

of the smallest plots in midtown Manhattan.

The result is this super slender skyscraper

that is 131 stories tall.

[dramatic music]

- [Narrator] A high-end department store

takes up the first five stories of the tower.

And thanks to damage caused by a crash helicopter,

what was once an exclusive entrance,

is now an easy way in.

- Inside the flagship department store,

snow monkeys would've had 360,000 square feet

spread over seven floors.

That's a wonderland of open space ,

of soft furniture and endless places to climb.

[dramatic music continues]

- They'd have designer clothes to nest in,

dry goods to feast on,

six different restaurants with non-perishables.

They're living better than most New Yorkers today.

- [Narrator] The monkeys are thriving,

but they're not alone.

Something else has crept in,

something silent and slow moving, but destructive,

and it's already spreading

through the interior like a disease.

[dramatic music]

In Orlando, what began as a spark, is now an inferno.

[fire roaring]

And lurking just beneath the ground

is a dangerous relic of human civilization,

one that won't just feed the flames, it'll supercharge them.

- Normally when there's a fire,

the fire department will coordinate

with gas and utility companies to cut off services

to stop the spread.

But this can't happen if there's no people.

[loud explosion]

- Florida has a network of natural gas pipelines

that's 46,000 miles long.

That's enough to reach orbit and come back,

and it's all just two feet below the surface of the Earth.

[dramatic music]

- This vast web of pipes and joints

needs constant maintenance.

And now, there are no technicians

to conduct routine inspections, no one to make repairs.

A slow leak that could have been fixed

with the turn of a wrench,

hisses its way toward the surface,

and without warning,

an entire city block erupts,

setting off a chain reaction

that will eradicate nearly all that humanity built.

[loud explosions]

- The initial explosion would be about 3000 degrees.

That would be enough to melt nearby cars.

Connected homes would go up in flames

and other structures connected

to the pipeline would become little fire bombs.

[loud explosions]

- Eventually, the explosions

and fires are gonna reach gas stations,

and at that point,

its higher neighborhoods are gonna disappear in flames.

[fire burning]

- [Narrator] Orlando is a blaze,

and even as it burns,

there's something watching just beyond the fire line,

patient,

ancient, unmoving.

The swamp is waiting,

ready to rise from the ashes.

[dramatic music]

[dramatic suspenseful music]

- [Narrator] Just weeks after people, a fire is raging

through Orlando like a hungry beast,

consuming what mankind left behind,

clearing the way for nature to take the city back.

- With nobody to fight the blaze

that's raging through Orlando,

it could very easily turn into a firestorm.

Basically, the fire takes on a life of its own,

and for lack of a better term, starts breathing.

- As the heat rises to 2,000 degrees,

the firestorm sucks in cold air at ground level

and feeds on the oxygen.

This suction creates winds as strong

as 100 miles an hour

and pulls in anything that will burn.

- [Narrator] At this rate,

the city of Orlando will be burned away in weeks,

but what's left behind won't just be rubble.

It'll be a clean slate, a chance for the swamp to reclaim

what was always rightfully hers.

[dramatic suspenseful music]

15 years after people, the once manicured lawns

of Central Park are overgrown.

New saplings rising from the thickets.

Animals now rule, and their kingdom is growing,

taking root in even the most luxurious buildings.

- The Central Park Tower, once the crown jewel,

isn't looking so regal these days.

It's used

to being pampered just like its former ultra rich residents.

Glass, polished, steel, shine,

but the shine is gone.

- The window seals are the weak link.

Without upkeep, they're breaking down.

Moisture seeps in, glue and sealants fail, trouble follows.

- [Narrator] The snow monkeys were just the first wave

of the wildlife invasion.

As time passes, mother nature moves in

and makes herself right at home.

- Birds find new places to roost.

Mold creeps into the drywall.

Every crack becomes a foothold for something green.

A little dust, a little rain, a few seeds dropped by birds,

and boom, you've got trees growing in penthouses.

- [Narrator] The residential tower

is no longer a condo building, it's a habitat,

a vertical wilderness reaching toward the clouds,

but the new ecosystem is built on the bones

of a civilization lost

and gone, along with everyone who knew how to maintain it.

- A building that thin is at the mercy of the winds.

When the winds are strong,

it literally sways like the deck of a cruise ship.

In fact, it can even cause motion sickness.

- The way Central Park Tower sways puts a lot

of strain on the structure.

To counteract this dangerous movement,

there's a tuned mass damper installed

in the top floor of the building.

- I think it was a giant pendulum, a huge mass

that swings in the opposite direction of the wind

to keep the tower stable.

- But like everything,

this device requires regular maintenance

and repair to work properly.

- The damper is monitored by a system that can adjust

as conditions change.

But even though it's automated, it requires power.

So Central Park Tower's damper system

has gone dumb, if you will.

- [Narrator] Central Park Tower was designed to react,

locked in an endless dance with the wind,

step by engineered step.

After people, how long before the music stops?

[suspenseful dramatic music]

A few miles away, the Statue

of Liberty is trapped in an unwanted embrace.

The stifling arms

of an invasive vine called Virginia Creeper

grasping at her base,

and methodically working its way upward.

- Virginia Creeper can grow as much as 20 feet per year.

With no one around to eradicate it,

with no animals to feed on it,

there's no reason why it wouldn't be able

to cover the entire statue.

- [Narrator] This iconic statue that once welcomed people

to New York is now being swallowed by it,

and the worst of the damage is coming from inside.

- Time has been chipping away at her copper skin,

but wildlife has been throwing punches as well.

Peregrine falcons have made a nest of her crown.

Their poop is basically jet fuel for corrosion.

It's highly acidic, especially when it builds up over time.

It can eat away at almost any surface.

- Where the copper panels are gone, the metal ribs

and staircase are wide open to the elements,

and damage is spreading fast.

- This isn't the first time she's been in trouble.

Back in the '80s, her iron bones were so rusted

that they had to be completely replaced with Ferralium.

That's a super strong stainless steel designed

to withstand water and weather.

But even this super material has its limits.

Its lifespan is around 50 years.

- [Narrator] Fed in toxic water pools

at her base, soaking into the seams and joints.

Rust creeps along the connection points

like a cancer.

[dramatic suspenseful music]

25 years after people, Orlando was a charged skeleton

of its former self.

Now, the swamp is moving in to reclaim the city,

and an insidious vine called kudzu is creeping

and coiling on whatever remains.

- This vine doesn't just grow, it conquers.

And kudzu actually loves fire 'cause all of the ash

and decomposing rubble creates a nutrient-rich buffet

that the kudzu is there to dig into.

- Its root system can weigh up to 400 pounds buried up

to 10 feet deep so it can handle heat

that would vaporize other plants.

Imported from Asia back in the day to stop soil erosion,

kudzu has now gone full villain mode.

It now smothers over 7 million acres in North America.

This thing can grow a foot a day,

and it roots itself anywhere the stem touches soil.

That's why they call it the vine

that ate the South.

Without anyone to clear them,

there's no drainage.

And so flood waters will continue

to rise and the swamp will pretty quickly consume

what's left of the city.

- [Narrator] Without humans to fight it back,

kudzu takes over everything: burnt buildings,

twisted roller coasters, melted ferris wheels,

all wrapped tight in endless green vines.

- And it doesn't stop there.

Orlando's 95 miles of canals

and pipe systems are now completely clogged.

- In the time of people,

millions of dollars were spent every year on mowing,

and landscaping, and pesticides,

all to control kudzu, but not anymore.

[suspenseful dramatic music]

- [Narrator] Manhattan is surrendering to nature.

Sidewalks split by roots, vines crawling skyward,

and parks spilling into the streets.

But above the encroaching forest, a shadow still looms.

Central Park Tower.

The lower floors of the tower are full of life.

The snow monkeys aren't just hanging on, they're thriving.

In fact, many new generations have now been born.

- If they're having babies, it means they're doing well.

They get enough food, low stress, healthy.

It's a New York City survival story.

- Snow monkeys are the Swiss army knives

of the animal kingdoms: smart, tough and adaptable.

They're cool with humid summers

and just as happy in blizzards and sub-zero temperatures.

They'll eat just about anything.

Bugs, plants, bark, even dirt if they have to.

- [Narrator] For decades,

Central Park Tower has stood tall, a sentinel

and a sanctuary, but year after year, wounds have worsened,

scars have grown, until its flesh is torn open,

bones exposed, and the winds continue to howl.

The Central Park Tower is now leaning hard.

It was designed to cut through the wind, but not like this.

The wind isn't just blowing around the tower anymore,

it's barreling down into it,

effectively turning it into a giant sail.

- Gusts slammed into the structure,

and inside the luxury apartment, everything is chaos.

Walls crack, Italian marble counters split,

glass showers explode like grenades.

[glass breaks]

- Then, the worst case scenario,

the tuned mass damper fails.

Dampers like this have a 20-year lifespan

before major mechanical components need to be replaced.

It would most likely just seize up

and become 1,000-ton deadweight.

- [Narrator] The tallest residential tower ever built

is now straining

to stay upright, weighed down

by exhaustion like a prize fighter,

two dazed to defend himself.

- So that massive weight that used

to keep the building balanced is now doing

the exact opposite.

It's leaning with the wind, dragging the top

of the tower even further off center.

Somewhere around the 80th floor,

the whole structure's finally gonna give out.

The pressure cascades downward,

each floor pancaking onto the one below it

in a chain reaction of absolute destruction.

- [Narrator] In seconds,

the entire top half of the tower breaks off

and crashes down, smashing into nearby skyscrapers.

Along billionaire's row, buildings topple like dominoes.

- There's a reason we don't let old buildings just rot.

We bring them down carefully and strategically,

because if a building falls on its own,

it doesn't just fall,

it takes the neighborhood with it.

[sediment crackling]

- [Narrator] Nearly 5,000 miles south in Rio de Janeiro,

the rainforest isn't content to slowly creep in.

It's racing through the city, impatient,

eager to erase what humanity left behind.

- After the landslides had tore through the hillsides,

and 20 years without people,

Rio would've turned into a green house on overdrive.

Picture it, mud, fertilizer, human

and industrial waste, all just stewing under

the city's heat, humidity, rain, and blazing sun.

That toxic cocktail jump-started a botanical explosion.

- [Narrator] But high above the city,

one of the wonders of the world, Christ the Redeemer

might be just as mortal as the civilization

that left it behind.

- The 14 vents built to let air flow

through the monument are now acting like double agents.

They let in dust, humidity, and driving rain.

And once water gets inside, it's game over.

Metal rusts, stairs corrode,

and molds seeps into every corner.

- And then you have gravity.

It has been pulling on those arms

since they were raised into place.

And every crack, every little bit

of rust is increasing the stress on the metal structures

that support those arms.

- To make matters worse, the lightning rods,

which are there

to protect the statue, are past their expiration date.

The wires are frayed and soaked through.

So one well-placed bolt from a tropical storm,

which roll through several times a year,

and that iconic statue takes a direct hit

with no defense left.

- [Narrator] Lightning slams into Christ the Redeemer,

the force sends shock waves

through the statue's weakened arms.

They begin to fracture

until they can no longer hold.

100 years after people,

New York City doesn't look like a city anymore.

- What used to be sidewalks

and streets is now a wild tangled green.

Trees are bursting

through the asphalt of Times Square.

No more poodles in designer jackets.

We have coyotes trotting down Broadway.

- [Narrator] Relics of humankind can be seen everywhere,

but they no longer serve any human purpose.

- Balconies and fire escapes becoming makeshift planters,

and up top, rooftops turn into forest,

where full grown trees are swayed,

where open air bars used to buzz.

- The bones of the city

are still standing stone, steel, brick.

But now, every wall, every roof,

every window ledge has something growing on 'em.

It's like a green roof on steroids.

- It's surreal.

A vertical wilderness draped over a forgotten city.

- [Narrator] On Liberty Island,

the statue that once stood for human freedom

and equality,

that once welcomed the world's huddled masses,

has been shown no quarter.

Her base is strangled

by Virginia Creeper vines, roots buried deep

in cracked stone.

Her copper skin is torn,

her steel bones ravaged by rust and decay,

and each passing day could be her last.

- Even when the statue was at her best,

a 50-mile-per-hour wind could make her sway

as much as three inches in the body,

but six inches in her arm.

That arm and torch, 42 feet of unsupported metal,

is the statue's biggest structural weakness.

- With the steel connections between the pedestal

and statue now weaker than ever,

and the lower structural beams exposed to the elements,

the entire statue begins to tilt.

- Corrosion has eaten away at her once-sturdy 440,000-pound

steel frame.

In her prime, she could withstand gale force winds,

but now an average breeze, much less

the weight of too many pigeons on her crown

could push her all the way over.

- [Narrator] With a final agonizing groan,

metal bends past its breaking point.

The statue wrenches free of her pedestal

and collapses in a heap.

After 239 years, Lady Liberty watches over New York no more.

- It's a more realistic ending

than the one envisioned in "Planet of the Apes,"

but it's equally jarring.

- [Narrator] In Orlando, what mankind built

has been all but swallowed up.

Gone are the concrete roadways,

replaced by creeping vegetation

and the teeming waters of the swamp.

- That's exactly how the alligators like it.

Water everywhere.

Mother nature is rewinding centuries

of construction, draining, reshaping.

Orlando is getting pulled back into the swamps.

- Wooden homes not consumed in the firestorms

are rotting piles of mush.

Concrete buildings are draped in vines

and moss, like something pulled right out

of an "Indiana Jones" movie.

- [Narrator] Humanity may be gone,

but the swamps are far from empty.

New creatures are creeping out from every corner,

some of them predators and some of them prey.

- Florida is home to one

of the world's most diverse populations

of reptiles and amphibians.

Some of them are native to the state, like the alligator,

and others are not.

But in this new wild kingdom,

someone is always looking to pick a fight.

- 200 years after people,

the Orlando we once knew is gone.

In its place

is a soggy maze of swampland ruled by the animal kingdom.

- This is what Florida was supposed to look like.

Lush wetlands home to hundreds

and thousands of unique species.

- [Narrator] The apex predator

is an ancient reptile now restored

to the top of the food chain: the alligator,

and its only challenger is an outsider,

a deadly invader called the Burmese python.

- Originally dropped into the wild by careless pet owners,

these snakes don't just survive, they thrive.

- Back in the '90s when these guys showed up,

the population of raccoons, possums,

and rabbits nose-dived almost immediately.

- These snakes can grow up to 20 feet long

and weigh 200 pounds.

- Gators bite with a bone crushing force

of 2100 pounds per square inch.

But pythons don't need sharp teeth to win.

They're stranglers, not biters.

- Now, it takes a very long time to suffocate an alligator,

but it can be done.

- And the python's happy to play the waiting game.

[dramatic suspenseful music]

- Even when the python wins, it can still lose.

In 2005, a Python tried to eat a six-foot gator,

and its stomach literally exploded,

but that doesn't stop them.

- [Narrator] This is the brutal rhythm of nature,

an endless cycle of kill or be killed.

And in Orlando, in the aftermath of mankind,

the swamp always wins.

In Rio, the rainforest has hidden

what little remains of what humanity left behind.

Streets that once echoed with music

and revelry are now shrouded beneath blankets of vegetation.

- The Atlantic Forest

once covered nearly 400,000 square miles

of Brazilian coastline.

Just 200 years after people

and Tijuca National Park would've reclaimed

a lot of that coastline.

No longer just a park,

but a thriving rainforest.

- Now, only the solitary statue of Christ

would stand out among the greenery that's

masking everything that humans left behind.

- [Narrator] In New York City,

once America's ultimate urban jungle,

only jungle now remains,

and towering trees fill in the gaps

between the crumbling ruins of the Big Apple.

- In a city is built up as New York,

super structures like Central Park Tower

would long have failed,

but the more tightly packed buildings of brick

and stone would linger a lot longer than we might think.

- Maybe it would look like Hashima Island off the coast

of Japan, where a mining town

has been abandoned since 1974,

but the buildings are all still standing,

a living museum of the past.

- Or Angkor Wat, Cambodia, the ancient capital

of the Khmer Empire,

where 900-year-old stone structures are still standing

and bear the weight of trees and vines growing on them

and clinging to their walls.

- [Narrator] Two centuries after people,

there are no fishermen, no nets.

New York Harbor has been returned to the seals,

and oyster beds clinging to the coast.

- A glimpse of what New York Harbor

would've looked like before human intervention.

- [Narrator] All across the globe,

cities have been swallowed up

by the wilderness people once tamed,

with only ghostly ruins left to remember us.

- No matter how significant our contributions,

our monuments, our meccas, there is some comfort in knowing

that the world will keep turning.

Mother Nature will right our wrongs

and find a balance with or without us.