From June 2nd, Monday, to June 6th, Friday

June 2nd, Monday.

The storm from two weeks ago had passed. There were no more strong winds or thunder, but the rain continued—relentless and monotonous. Flooded fields and waterlogged streets had become a common sight.

School was emptier than ever. Before the Pope’s revelation, the place was full of students and noise. Now, all the third-year classes had been merged into one. Many students had dropped out. Some were taken by their families to join pilgrimage groups forming across the country. Other people gave up entirely—choosing instead to travel, drink, party, join radical communities, or simply vanish.

There were even groups of teenagers who had run away from home to form survival cults in the mountains and forests, giving in to every form of earthly pleasure. To top it off, entire small towns were reported to have emptied out overnight. It was all anyone talked about on the news.

It was the first day of classes for the newly merged “United Third Year” class. Gabriel tried to appear enthusiastic as he discussed math formulas that seemed far too complex for the average person to understand.

Iris sat near the window, staring at the rain, not paying attention. Jonas, behind her, was on his phone checking if Zek had posted a new video—which he hadn’t since the day after the storm. Renata was in the back, hoodie up, pretending to sleep. She had gotten even quieter in recent days.

With class nearly over, Gabriel noticed most of the students were apathetic, even shy around their new classmates. He grabbed some sheets of paper and began handing them out.

"Let’s have some fun, folks. Sudoku. It's not pronounced as 'sudokoo' it’s  pronounced as 'sudohku'. Math doesn’t have to be boring. Let’s keep our brains sharp," the teacher said as he handed them out.

"If the world’s ending, why do we need to keep our brains sharp?" said Diane, taking one of the sheets.

The room stayed silent until Gabriel replied.

"Because we’re still here. And while we’re here, we should do something meaningful," said the teacher, handing out more sheets. "And whoever gets it right gets an extra point on the test."

Some students decided to give it a try, while others just spent the remaining minutes chatting.

"You guys saw that the Louvre is practically empty? People are going in just to take selfies with the Mona Lisa, man," said Bernard.

"My cousin in Paris said someone graffitied ‘too late to repent’ inside Notre-Dame and no one cleaned it up," said Nathan.

"And this rain that won’t stop? This isn’t natural. It’s punishment... or a sign," said a girl.

"It’s just climate change..." a boy replied.

"Dude, it’s raining in the Sahara. You REALLY think that’s climate change?" said Jonas, already fed up with the classroom chatter.

"Bunch of idiots..." Renata muttered as she kept drawing in her notebook—and to her surprise, she noticed someone watching her sketches.

It was one of the students from the other third year classes. A boy with curly blond hair, blue eyes, a notably large nose, and a red, white, and blue striped scarf that looked too heavy for him.

"What are you looking at?" Renata asked grumpily.

"Your drawings. You’re really good," the boy replied.

"Yeah, right. Everyone says they’re just scribbles."

"You’ve got a unique style! Don’t let what others say get to you. What’s this one?" he asked, pointing to a peculiar drawing.

It was a sketch of what looked like a turtle descending from the sky, its shell shaped like a meteor. Below the turtle were panicked people with cartoonish expressions and a priest pointing a cross at the monster.

"Is that the meteor that’s coming?" the boy asked.

"And if it is? What’s it to you?" Renata replied.

"Do you think this whole end-of-the-world thing is nonsense?"

"I do."

"And you express your ideas?"

"What is this, some kind of interview?"

"No... I just want to get to know the people I’ll be studying with. I think if you speak your mind about something controversial—whatever it is—you’re being brave."

"And what do you think about all this end-of-the-world stuff?"

"I’m still undecided. Oh, I’m Lucien," the boy said, extending his hand, which Renata ignored completely.

Elsewhere in the city, Zek was recording another video, showing the outside of his shack. Most nearby trees had been knocked down—along with some electricity poles—and debris littered the area. Yet the shack where Zek and his mother lived, which barely stood upright before, remained intact, not a scratch on it.

Zek turned the phone camera on himself, recording in the rain holding a can of beer that cost twice as much as the usual cheap brands.

"My faithful... sorry for worrying you. Nothing bad happened to me or my house... I just needed a break... shoutout to BenBizarre... helped me with donations, helped me do livestreams, look... I used to wonder, man, how I’d get one or two euros to buy a can of beer..."

Zek took a swig, finishing the beer, then walked into the house and tossed the can in the trash. While recording, his mother tried to duck away from the camera.

"Quit it with that damn internet nonsense, boy!" the elderly woman complained.

"The messenger, the prophet, he is spared..." Zek muttered, eyes wide at the camera.

June 6th, Friday.

The marble halls of the United Nations headquarters in Geneva were filled with the kind of theatrical panic only a global crisis of epic proportions could bring. Outside, the rain poured endlessly.

Inside the grand Assembly Hall, hundreds of national leaders, diplomats, and advisors sat under flickering lights—victims of storm-induced power fluctuations. Suspended screens displayed, in several languages, the emergency session’s title in bright white letters:

"Planetary Emergency Resolution: Response Strategy for Meteor Apophis."

At the podium stood France’s president, Pierre Archambault—a white man with thin graying hair, blue eyes, a long sharp nose, and a square jaw.

"We cannot face annihilation with folded arms while we pray!" declared the president, slamming his fist on the table. "Science must prevail! Future generations depend on it!"

In the U.S. delegation sat President Harmony Lakes—a sixty-year-old woman who looked forty thanks to plastic surgery, with bleached blond hair and almost orange skin from excessive tanning. She wore a pink dress, sunglasses, and probably had a liter of silicone in each breast. A former pop star who somehow became a populist president.

"Like, science is important, but so are good vibes. Maybe we shouldn’t provoke the space god in the meteor? Let’s think about that and meditate," said the American president, flashing peace signs.

"You’re all idiots! You wouldn’t last a week in the Soviet Union! We shoot it! Boom! Problem solved!" shouted Konstantin Dobrovolsky, Russia’s president—a chubby man with black hair, blue eyes, and a walrus mustache. It was his first time at a UN meeting in years, after nearly five years of conflicts with neighboring countries.

"It can’t get worse than this," muttered Edmilson “Traquinas” Barreto, Brazil’s president—a tan man with bleached hair and a thin mustache.

Pope Adrian VIII took the podium, replacing the French president, and began to speak.

"Brothers and sisters of Earth. The Sacred Revelation was granted to me in a divine dream. This meteor is not merely a rock—it is the Chariot of Judgment. Destroying it is to deny God’s mercy. Any attempt will be considered blasphemy!"

The debates in the UN hall raged on—until the main screen behind the stage began to flicker. Then a man appeared on it: a thin white man with glasses, messy black hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a filthy lab coat. He looked like a nobody—but this was Keith Nelson, one of NASA’s most important scientists.