No, this wasn’t some “unstoppable natural disaster.” This was us—humanity doing what we do best: screwing things up. War after war, conflict after conflict, we took a sledgehammer to the foundations of what made this planet great. We had chances— plenty of them—but instead, we doubled down on hatred, division, and an endless cycle of destruction. Why? Because that’s just how we operate.

At first, there was a sliver of hope. Maybe we could have cooled things down, patched up the fractures. But nope. We threw gasoline on the fire. Every political assassination, every border skirmish, every environmental crime—and don’t forget the tiny fraction of people profiting as they cashed in on our misery. Arms deals, backdoor alliances—it was like some twisted Monopoly game, and we were the pawns, diving headfirst into chaos like a bunch of idiots. Their wars, their profits, our lives.

Over the next century, the cracks in society split wide open. Ideological, nationalistic, and ethnic tensions—anything that could divide us did. Propaganda fueled the fire, planting seeds of fear and hatred, and we fell for it. Neighbor turned against neighbor, cities fell to ruin, and what remained of the global economy crumbled into dust. People lost everything—jobs, homes, their loved ones—and when you’re that far down the rabbit hole, you’ll follow anyone offering a way out, even if it leads to nowhere.

And what about the so-called “global powers”? Did they step in to save the day? Hell no. They played both sides, manipulating conflicts, exploiting crises, then turning their backs when the flames grew too high. The major players—once titans of innovation and unity—saw their own empires burn, too. Cooperation was a fantasy, and competition was a grim reality.

So now, here we are. The Earth, once a paradise of vibrant ecosystems, is now a barren shell. Nature, after being trashed for decades, has finally had enough. Forests burn, oceans rage, storms tear through everything—but it doesn’t stop there. Radiation zones, left behind by nuclear wars, have turned entire regions into uninhabitable dead zones, silent and poisoned. It’s all just the planet’s way of saying, “Screw you.”

Somewhere, deep in the ruins, there’s a whisper of what could’ve been. If we’d just stopped fighting long enough to figure it out. If we hadn’t been so busy trying to destroy each other, maybe—just maybe—we could’ve made this planet a place worth living in. But that ship has sailed, hasn’t it?

We tell ourselves we’re better than animals. That we’re governed by reason, not instinct. But look around—do you see any reason here? No, just the aftermath of millennia of infighting and destruction. We like to think we’ve evolved past the point of living in caves and throwing rocks at each other, but we’re still just territorial apes with wonder weapons.

All that’s left now is the bitter taste of regret. This planet, once a beacon of hope, a place where humanity could have forged something beautiful, now stands as a monument to our arrogance, ignorance, and our tragic inability to learn a damn thing from history.

Take one last look around—this is the future we chose.

Imagine this happening to the world we live in now. It’s not as far-fetched as you’d like to think. Maybe it doesn’t look this apocalyptic just yet, but give it time. We’re already tearing ourselves apart—bit by bit, nation by nation, region by region. And amidst all this chaos, there’s something basic, primal, something we tend to overlook: food.

It’s the one thing that ties us all together in a world hell-bent on tearing itself apart. No matter how fractured we become, food will always be what brings us back to our most basic, human selves.

Food is fuel. Every meal powers our bodies and minds. Without food, the machine grinds to a halt. It’s simple math— food equals life. 

Food is hunger. That gnawing feeling in your gut reminds us that, no matter how evolved we think we are, we’re driven by the same biological need as our ancestors. 

Food is vulnerability. It humbles us, exposing our fragility. The lack of it turns the strongest into desperate creatures, willing to do anything to satisfy that fundamental need. 

Food is feeding. It’s caring for others, from a mother breastfeeding her child to a stranger handing you a loaf of bread. 

Food is insurance. It’s the unspoken guarantee that power can be wielded without firing a shot. When used strategically, it forces hands and shapes decisions. Shift the direction of policies, or subtly influence the outcomes of agreements. 

Food is memory. It connects us to our past, to loved ones long gone, to moments and places we thought we’d forgotten.

Food is sensation. The crunch of an apple, the warmth of soup, the tang of something sour—it is a sensory experience. It makes us fully present, grounding us in the moment, in the here and now. 

Food is desire. It reminds us that while survival is necessary, also comfort, indulgence and pleasure. 

Food is connection. It’s a bond, a universal language that everyone speaks. 

That’s why we’ve put together this issue of Humans as Us. We’re not here to preach about unity or paint a rosy picture of what the world could be. We’re here to show that, in the end, what truly binds us is our shared need for food and the humanity found in those stories. When borders shift and ideologies crumble, food remains—a constant reminder of who we are and how connected we really are, no matter how divided the world seems. 

Welcome to Humans As Us. 

Let’s start with a meal.