From June 15th, Sunday, to June 19th, Thursday

June 15th, Sunday.

"Attention, children of judgment... WE'RE LIVE, MOTHERFUCKERS!" Zek shouted as he started his stream, slamming the table so hard that instant noodle cups and beer cans spilled all over the floor.

The chat went wild. “Dude’s drunk again,” “THE OLD LADY SCREAMING IN THE BACK HAHAHA.”

Still fiddling with his audio settings, Zek muttered curses and profanity in a baffling mix of French, Latin, and utter gibberish. Then, staring intensely at the screen, he opened a game.

"Yo... they gave me this game, man... on Vapor, man, that’s where you buy games for PC, man... it’s called Black Souls 2, man..."

Zek started playing, getting frustrated and overreacting every time he died—until the game and the stream began lagging, which made him even angrier and prompted him to close the game entirely.

"Goddammit, we try to record and this shit lags, I thought this computer was good, man, the one BenBizarre gave me, man..."

He grabbed another beer can and downed it in one go, then chucked it out the open bedroom window, letting the rain pour inside. Between gulps, Zek shared absurd stories from his life.

"I was born in a barn, man... not like Jesus, no, man, a real barn, man, right next to a dead goat..." At that point, Zek’s eyes widened even more as he took another swig and burped loudly. "That dead goat, man, it gave me... its blessing, man. Made me immune to 98% of diseases, man... they tested me as a lab rat in Germany, man..."

The chat exploded with laughter—until Zek decided to switch tones and get serious, since many were begging him to talk about the end of the world.

"Fuck all this end-of-the-world shit, man... there's no meteor and no doomsday, man... look... these politicians, man... these billionaires... Melon Tusk... yeah, Jeff Benzine... man, you’re not escaping in no rocket or bunker, man... they’re coming for you too..."

But Zek’s drunken ramblings and Dionysian drinking spree were soon interrupted by the voice of his elderly mother in the room next door.

"ÉZÉCHIEL, DAMMIT, KEEP IT DOWN, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!" she shouted.

"WHAT?! YOU NEVER BELIEVED IN ME, WOMAN! NOT EVEN NOW! FUCKING SLEEP THERE AND LET ME STREAM!"

Half the chat was in stitches; the other half wanted Zek’s head on a plate. The more he read the chat, the angrier he got. Then he stood up and walked over to the window. He opened his arms, soaked like a stray mutt as the rain poured in, and started shouting so loudly that he could be heard clearly even away from the mic.

"YOU WANT A MIRACLE, HUH? YOU WANT PROOF, HUH? THIS RAIN IS GONNA STOP! IT’S GONNA STOP RIGHT NOW! WHO’S COMMANDING IT? THE PROPHET! I COMMAND THE RAIN TO STOP IMMEDIATELY!"

Zek dropped to his knees, dramatically and silently—and then, miraculously, within seconds, the rain stopped. Not just near his house. The rain that had been drenching the entire planet stopped instantly.

Breaking news reported that global precipitation had suddenly ceased, an unprecedented phenomenon that left meteorologists stunned. Videos popped up from around the world—London, São Paulo, Tokyo, Nairobi, New York—people pointing at clear skies, some even filming the rapid dispersal of clouds. The streets fell silent. There was no scientific explanation.

Zek’s livestream chat erupted. Clips of him yelling at the rain to stop went viral even more than before, landing front-page spots on major global news sites. The drunk man who had just been yelling at his elderly mother was now more famous—and more influential—than ever in a collapsing world.

June 17th, Tuesday.

Another chaotic meeting unfolded at the UN headquarters in Geneva. Security had been doubled—so had the shouting from world leaders. An aide was vomiting, and a national flag lay crumpled on the floor, ignored by everyone.

"Silence. SILENCE! We won’t end the world by screaming at each other!" Archambault shouted.

"My people deserve the truth! If that man—that so-called ‘prophet’ lunatic—has any power, then what are we doing here? What about NASA’s weapon?" roared José Távora, the prime minister of Portugal, a man with black hair and a thick mustache.

"We won’t abandon science. Prometheus is still our best option," said Rakesh Rajput, India’s prime minister, calmly.

"Faith doesn’t necessarily mean surrender. But denying the miracle of the rain stopping is madness!" countered Robert Brown, the UK prime minister, a refined gentleman with a monocle and an impressive mustache.

"The rain stopped on command. Our academics are reviewing interpretations right now. This is divine proof," said Luigi Scalfaro, president of Italy, whose mustache rivaled the Portuguese and the Brit’s.

"Blasphemy!" rebuked Sheikh Mohammed bin Nasser Al Otaibi of Saudi Arabia, dressed head-to-toe in white.

"Or it’s just an extremely rare climate anomaly. You’re all acting like medieval peasants!" said Mari Kekkonen, Finland’s prime minister—a blonde woman with piercing blue eyes.

As the big shots continued their deranged arguments, a live broadcast from Mexico appeared on the main screen, showing that the Mexican Congress had approved an "apocalyptic code." Religious laws were being enforced, and opposition leaders were being arrested. A video showed the Mexican president holding a Bible in one hand and the Constitution in the other. He threw the constitution to the floor and began stomping on it with a laugh that sounded more like a goat's cry.

Some politicians applauded. Others were horrified. Within hours, other countries followed suit: Hungary, Egypt, Peru, Iran...

All passed apocalyptic laws—aligning governance with the Pope’s prophecy, or simply to suppress rebellion. Mandatory worship days and executions for "false prophets" were enacted. Some countries even banned alcohol sales, sparking even more unrest.

In Brazil, protesters stormed and destroyed government buildings after alcohol was banned. Reports said that even some politicians have died. The chaos only stopped when President Traquinas said that "It was just a prank."

In retaliation, Canada banned apocalyptic preaching as a national security threat. South Korea shut down temples. Riots broke out in Berlin after an apocalyptic mob set a library on fire.

By the end of that day, Yannick Fongang, the Secretary-General of the UN—a Cameroonian man wearing glasses, a yellow, green, and red tunic, and a traditional hat—gave a somber statement to the world.

"We tried to unite, and we failed. We built bridges for centuries, and today, each one has been burned. May the end be merciful."

June 19th, Thursday.

The news showed nothing but escalating chaos. All schools in Argentina were closed. Stock markets crashed as religious banks pulled support. Militias formed in the U.S.—both for and against the prophecy. Factions in the French parliament proposed deporting non-apocalyptics.

Satellite images showed more and more temples being built, even in remote and inhospitable places, like mountaintops or deserted islands.

Some of Zek’s followers began marching through the streets, wearing tunics made from plastic bags and chanting what sounded like a distorted mantra:

"The one who stopped the rain will stop the meteor."

275 days left.