All language subtitles for Life.After.People.S03E03.1080p.WEB.h264-EDITH_track3_[eng]

[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.