“Interesting place you’ve chosen for our final meeting,” said Mr. Gray, nodding up at the blistered face of Lady Liberty. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses… sounds almost like our job description.” Mr. Gray flicked a speck of ash from the sleeve of his charcoal Armani suit with a well-manicured finger. “Terrible what they’ve done with the place.”

“I always had a fondness for the States,” replied Mr. Beige. He himself was decked out in sandals, cutoff jeans, and a ‘Give Quiche A Chance’ t-shirt. “All the best music came from here.”

“Yeeeeees, I heard some of it,” said Mr. Gray, looking out over the expanse of wreckage and slag that had once been New York harbor. He began singing in a low voice. “Ice, Ice Baby.”

“Oh do be quiet,” said Mr. Beige. “You spent too much time amongst the Europeans I think; you’ve adopted that snobbish Continental attitude. How can you possibly complain about American music with the scunge that passed for food over there? Cock-a-leekie soup? Spotted dick? What was that supposed to be anyway? It sounded like something you’d contract, not eat.”

“I can’t help it,” replied Mr. Gray. “I always felt at home there. The traffic in London and Rome… Ahhhhhhh. Rampant chaos.”

“You must have never visited Boston then. Those people didn’t even obey the laws of nature.”

“Rank amateurs. A Roman cabbie could have navigated Boston with his eyes closed.”

“That I don’t doubt,” said Mr. Beige. “I never met one that drove with his eyes open.”

“My, aren’t we a bit tetchy today,” remarked Mr. Gray. “Afraid that you’ve lost?”

“I am not tetchy,” grumbled Mr. Beige. “I just cannot abide smug superiority. And no, I’ll have you know that I’m not worried in the slightest about our little bet. Human nature wasn’t as wicked as its reputation… in the end they were good, decent folk. The final tally will prove that.”

“Some of them maybe,” said Mr. Gray. “I’ll give you that. But I think that you’ll find in this case the majority rules, and as most of them were vicious little animals…”

“Confident of a victory, are we?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Bit over confident, if you don’t mind my saying,” muttered Mr. Beige.

“Say whatever you wish. It will not change the outcome,” retorted Mr. Gray.

“One way to find out,” said Mr. Beige, pulling a small, leather-bound notebook from his hip pocket and waving it like a flag. “Let’s tally up.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Gray. With a casual flip he retrieved an identical notebook from the pocket of his suit coat.

“Pompous ass,” murmured Mr. Beige.

“Git,” whispered Mr. Gray.

Side by side they began to walk around the island. They had taken less than a dozen steps when Mr. Gray pulled up short.

“Hang on a moment,” he said. He stroked his chin, and then with a smile snapped his fingers. Behind them Lady Liberty began a long, majestic nose-dive into the ground.

“Hey,” shouted Mr. Beige, when the noise faded. “What did you do that for?”

“Same reason I ever do anything,” said Mr. Gray. “Because I can.”

The scales were colossal, two giant, gleaming bowls suspended in the air on a sizzling cloud of ether. Between them a massive golden arrow pointed straight up at a red slash mark drawn directly onto the face of reality. Mr. Beige and Mr. Gray walked up to the scales and opened their respective notebooks.

“Shall we begin?” asked Mr. Gray.

“No time like the present,” replied Mr. Beige.

“Certainly,” said Mr. Gray, and read the first name on his list. A single gray pebble fell from the tortured sky, landing in the bowl on his side with a ringing sound. The arrow twitched towards him. Mr. Beige read a name, and a tan pebble fell into his bowl. The arrow centered itself.

Back and forth they went, name after name, covering all of human history, as the pebbles fell and the arrow rocked back and forth.

“Richard the Third.” Ding.

“Joan of Arc.” Ding.

“Charles Manson.” Ding.

“The Dalai Lama.”

Dingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingding.

And on, and on, and on.

“Oprah Winfrey,” said Mr. Beige. A gray pebble fell into the opposite bowl. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “I would have sworn…”

“Cheer up,” said Mr. Gray, smirking. “You got Reagan after all, and I didn’t see that one coming.”

And on, and on, and on… until they reached the end.

“That’s it,” said Mr. Beige. “Everyone who ever lived.” Together they peered at the arrow. It was perfectly vertical.

“Well now,” said Mr. Gray. “There’s a surprise.”

Mr. Beige looked betrayed. “Shall we do deeds as a tiebreaker, or do you want to declare a draw?” he asked.

“Deeds, by all means,” said Mr. Gray. “No way will that score evenly.”

“Fair enough,” said Mr. Beige. “Protecting the young.” Ding.

“Tribal warfare.” Ding.

And on…

“Free trade.” Ding.

“Slavery.” Ding.

And on…

“Blood drives.” Ding.

“Karaoke.” Ding.

And on.

When they reached the end of the list Mr. Beige and Mr. Gray let their notebooks drop to the ground. Together they turned to face the scales.

The arrow was still exactly upright.

“Impossible!” spat Mr. Gray. “How could they have passed their entire existence and then ended it in perfect equilibrium?”

Mr. Beige eyed the arrow. “It actually does make sense,” he said at last. “Think about it. The scales, them, us… in the end the universe is all about balance, isn’t it?”

“How shall we settle our bet then?” asked Mr. Gray. “Who gets all of their souls? We can’t just leave them in limbo.”

“Looking back on it,” said Mr. Beige. “It was a bit childish of us to bet the souls of the entire race on the basis of their behavior… so why not end as we began?” He set a hand out palm up and banged his other fist into it. “Ready?”

Mr. Gray smiled. “For the lot of them? I’m game. Ready.”

“Rock, paper, scissors…”

“Shoot!”