From April 22nd, Tuesday, to April 24th, Thursday

April 22nd, Tuesday.

That small, decrepit house looked like something out of a horror movie: a wooden shack on the edge of town, with peeling paint, broken windows patched with cardboard, and a yard full of weeds and rusting trash. The place didn’t even have a fence, but it had electricity, thanks to a power pole just a few meters away.

In the middle of all that filth, one figure stood out. A young man with fair skin, around five-foot-seven, with straight brown hair, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and a red scarf, was adjusting a lapel mic. His name was Benoît, better known online as the wetuber BenBizarre.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Tache?" asked Ben, looking around.

"Yeah," replied Tache, a tall black man, six-foot-six with broad shoulders, a large afro, a beard, and a big, pale birthmark on his right cheek. He was holding a camera in one hand and a phone in the other. "It’s all in that Headmag social media group. This is Zek’s house."

"Headmag? People still use that? And how did they even find his address?"

"Folks found it years ago. He showed the outside of the house in one of his videos, so..."

"Okay, okay. I believe there are people crazy enough to figure that out. I just can’t believe the legend lives in a dump like this..."

"This dude’s so screwed, charity won’t even help him, Ben..."

"You complained the whole trip, Tache. Just stop for five minutes."

Ben knocked on the metal door of the shack, making a hollow sound. After a few seconds, he knocked again. Nothing.

"Man, we got duped!" Ben groaned.

"Try again. Third time’s the charm," said Tache.

Ben knocked a third time, and finally, they heard slow, dragging footsteps. The door opened to reveal a man in his forties, with long, curly, greasy black hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in months. His beard was enormous and just as filthy, and his eyes looked like they hadn’t seen sleep in twenty years.

"Look, if you’re from some church group going door-to-door, I don’t want to know about it," the man said.

"You’re Zek Prophète, right? Man, it’s an honor. I’ve been watching your videos since I was a teenager!" said Ben, smiling.

"You guys cops?" asked Zek suspiciously as he scratched his head and neck slowly. His movements were so sluggish he looked constantly doped.

"No, no," said Ben, stifling a laugh. "I’m a wetuber. I make videos about internet legends, urban myths, and lost media. And you, my friend, are an internet legend."

"You recording this?" asked Zek, eyeing Tache.

"We can cut anything you don’t want, man. But people have been wondering why you disappeared. After all these years, your prophecies... they’re coming true. The Pope, the meteor... everything you said is happening," Ben said.

"Yeah, I saw it on TV. I posted a video after years talking about it. But I didn’t even see people talking about me. Didn’t even feel like going back to the internet, man. I just posted and left."

"Millions of people are watching your videos, man. On Wetube, Squawk, PikPok, Quickilo... even on Headmag!"

"Millions, man? Where were they when I had to sell my computer to buy food?"

"Gotcha," thought Ben with a sly grin.

April 23rd, Wednesday.

That Wednesday night, BenBizarre’s channel posted the interview with Zek Prophète, racking up 159,000 views within the first twenty-four hours.

"Zek, why did you disappear from the internet?" asked Ben, pointing a mic toward him.

"Man, I always had haters. People always cursed me out in the comments. They made jokes, clipped things out of context. They found out where I lived and sent church people, cops. At some point, I just couldn’t take it anymore and quit."

"And when did you start noticing these end-of-the-world things?"

"Man, I was still a kid. I was in church with my parents, and I looked at the cross, man. And I heard a voice say to me, like this: ‘You are the prophet. You will see the end.’ And I saw it, man. I saw the meteor coming like this..."

Ben almost laughed at Zek’s explanation but tried to keep his composure.

"And ever since then, you’ve been trying to warn people?"

"I try, man. I found evidence—on the internet, in newspapers, magazines... the Pope already knew, man. And all the presidents of the most powerful nations knew too. The billionaires... Only now they decided to tell normal people."

"And now everyone’s saying you were right, huh?"

"Everyone, man..."

Ben gave a subtle nod, and Tache moved the camera, showing the conditions of the shack where Zek lived with his mother, a nearly eighty-year-old woman who at that moment was muttering to herself, sitting on the old sofa.

The walls were covered in mold. The roof was full of leaks. Zek’s sleeping space was an old twin mattress on the sticky floor, littered with cigarette butts. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and rotting food.

"Smells like hell..." thought Tache as he panned the camera back and forth.

"Guys, look at Zek’s situation. He deserves better. A man who predicted the apocalypse can’t be left to rot in isolation like this," said Ben, sounding as concerned as possible.

"We’ll leave a QR code and a donation link in the description, right?" said Tache.

"Of course. And we’ll teach Zek how to use the internet better too, so he can earn a bit of money and improve his life, whether the world ends or not," said Ben.

"Think I’ll be able to buy a new computer?" asked Zek.

"Of course! But tell me, Zek, how do you and your mom get by like this?"

"With the little pension money she gets."

"And you never worked?"

"I tried. But it never lasted long. I always talked about the apocalypse, man..."

The video was already flooded with comments. “I thought he was crazy, but he was right all along.” “They kicked him off the internet because he was RIGHT.” “Donating now. Zek deserves this.” “They treated him wrong.”

Within hours, Zek’s account had amassed thousands of euros, and without the self-proclaimed prophet even knowing, part of that money was being redirected to Ben’s account. He hadn’t done this out of pure kindness. He knew that the bigger Zek got, the more views—and money—they’d make.

April 24th, Thursday.

Social media and the interview video’s comment section were now filled with debates. Old fans welcomed Zek’s return with open arms, while skeptics accused him of being a fraud taking advantage of people’s fear.

"Zek is a prophet! He deserves everything he’s getting!"
"This guy’s just a washed-up lunatic. He’s exploiting this for cash."
"You laughed at him, and now you’re throwing money at him? Hypocrites."

331 days left.