From June 23rd, Monday, to June 29th, Sunday

June 23rd, Monday.

Gabriel had finally memorized the names of all twenty-one students in the new third-year class. Albert, Bernard, Caroline, Diane, Édouard, Iris, Isabel, Jérémie, Jonas, Laura, Lilianne, Lucien, Marceline, Monique, Nathan, Pierre, Quentin, Renata, Sylvain, Théophile, Vivianne. The next class was geography, another subject he had taken over due to the low number of remaining teachers.

"You’re going to need the geography textbook, from what I’m seeing in the former teacher’s lesson plans. Was anyone here a class rep before the rooms merged?" Gabriel asked.

Everyone went quiet, until Édouard raised his hand.

"In our class it was Bernard and Nathan, until Ms. Fournier removed them!"

Just hearing the name Fournier sent a chill through the room.

"I don’t remember that name," Gabriel said.

"She left right before you came, the day after the Pope’s prophecy. She said ‘education had no place in a dying world,’" Iris explained.

"We elected Bernard and Nathan democratically, but when they went to pick up the textbooks, she stripped them of their roles and held another election in secret! A true coup d’état!" Édouard added.

"She demanded posture from everyone in class—even from my eyes, and I’m cross-eyed!" said Pierre, a blond boy with a bowl cut and strabismus.

"She yelled so hard at Laura for copying an assignment from the internet that she started crying! ‘The machine’s learning, not you!’" said Jérémie, a tall black teen with a faint teenage mustache.

"Oh, shut up!" Laura snapped. She was tall and—putting it gently—quite chubby, with straight brown hair.

"She screamed at me when I asked if she smoked, because she always had a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in her back pocket. ‘My vices are mine, not yours!’ she said," Sylvain added, a tanned boy with black hair in a pompadour.

"And that math teacher before Mr. Gabriel, who called me a gossip?" said Monique, a black girl with a red tiara in her afro.

"Okay, okay, enough. Bernard, Nathan—go grab the books, and don’t make me regret trusting you!" Gabriel said.

"We like you, teach! You’re not all stressed and arrogant like the others..." Iris added.

"If most of them weren’t such little demons...," Gabriel thought.

As soon as the duo returned with the books, Gabriel started handing them out while singing another song climbing the charts.

"Maintenant je suis doux, doux, doux, doux..." the teacher sang, while the students tried not to laugh.

"Teach's got no brakes, too..." Nathan whispered, almost laughing, to Bernard.

After another long day at school, Jonas came home, tired but hoping for a bit of normalcy. But when he opened the door, he saw his sister Thérése sitting on the floor holding a rosary. What really caught his attention, though, was that the house was empty. No couch, no TV, no rug, no table, no curtains. Not even family photos or crucifixes.

"Thérése! What happened? Thieves?" Jonas asked, panicking.

"No... it was Grandma..." the girl answered.

Jonas looked into the kitchen. No fridge, no stove, no plates, no microwave. The bedroom he shared with his sister? Completely empty, except for the bunk bed. Furious, he stormed into their grandmother’s room, pounding on the door.

"Grandma! What did you do?" Jonas asked.

His grandmother opened the door, wearing a pure white dress and wearing the vacant expression of someone sedated.

"Jonas! Praised be. You’re back!"

"What happened to our stuff?"

"I gave it away, or sold it. Everything we didn’t need was sold or offered to the Church of the Radiant Return. The priest said it was time to let go of earthly anchors."

"You sold everything and didn’t even ask us!"

"All you and your sister need to do is pray and fast. Accept the sacrifice. We will be rid of this mortal flesh, my love. Only those who prepare their souls will be saved. Don’t you understand?"

Jonas clenched his fists, his stomach twisting—not from hunger, but from betrayal. His grandmother had always been religious, but this was madness.

"You didn’t even think about what we’d eat! You didn’t think about me or my sister! You want to save our souls, but you’re destroying our bodies!" the boy shouted.

"Fasting is purification."

Jonas simply turned away, struggling to contain his fury and avoid saying something he’d regret. If his grandmother was too busy fasting and hallucinating, then he would be the one to take care of his sister.

June 24th, Tuesday.

"Jonas? Where are you going?" Iris asked, seeing him heading in the opposite direction they usually walked.

"I have something to do. Go without me."

Construction sites for bunkers were popping up across the city—some funded by the government, others privately owned. Anyone with money or connections could buy a ticket to survival. Jonas didn’t care about the work. He just needed euros. Enough to buy food. He got turned away at two sites. At the third, he approached the foreman—a broad-shouldered man missing two front teeth and a chunk of his left ear.

"You wanna work here? How old are you, kid?" the foreman asked.

"Eighteen," Jonas lied. "Please. I can do anything. Clean, lift stuff. I have a little sister..."

"You think you’re fooling me? You’re carrying a backpack and it’s school dismissal time. You’re too scrawny for concrete crews. But... the porta-potty tanks need draining and cleaning. Literally just shit. You in?"

"I can handle anything as long as my sister can eat. No problem if I’m underage?"

"The world’s ending, kid. I don’t give a damn about paperwork. Come after school. Five euros a day."

Day after day, after class, Jonas picked up trash, swept rubble, cleaned porta-potties, always covered in stench. He earned a pittance—but it was enough to buy food for himself and his sister, secretly, without his grandmother knowing. If she was too far gone, then he had to be the responsible one.

During breaks, he scrolled through news on his phone. Crime was rising steadily. Apparently, some people no longer saw the point of laws in humanity’s final days—or were committing hate crimes against those who didn’t share their beliefs.

June 29th, Sunday.

"MY FAITHFUL ONES! IT’S TIME FOR THE APOCALYPTIC SUNDAY STREAM!" Zek bellowed, holding a beer can and wearing a "Gussi" t-shirt that probably costed a small fortune.

Zek’s room was now packed with bizarre decorations: a flamingo lawn ornament, lava lamps, a life-sized cardboard centaur, a taxidermied ferret wearing sunglasses, a neon sign that read "I warned you", and a brand-new TV still in the box—as if using it would ruin the “new stuff” vibe.

"Look, my faithful ones... I got some new stuff, man..."

Zek opened three boxes, showing off more pointless junk: a fish-shaped toy that sang a creepy song in Chinese while wiggling, a spaceship-shaped frying pan, and a gold-plated toothbrush.

As always, the comments section was divided. Some praised him and laughed, while others mocked him—saying he didn’t know how to cook or brush his teeth anyway. Then Zek began reading the chat and got angry.

"‘Zek, weren’t you gonna help the poor?’ I did, man! I spent 3000 euros buying booze and cigarettes for the homeless! Damn, man, I wanted to buy a car, but I don’t know how to drive. Look, I wanna be a singer, man... record a music video. I’ll ask BenBizarre to help, man. And if anyone insults me on Squawk, I’m suing, got it? Let me log into Squawk, man."

Zek logged into his Squawk account—and found the same chaos as always. Half the users were praising him, the other half cursing him out. But one comment from someone called @meteorman42 stood out.

"What? ‘Zek Prophète only talks crap, he’s a drunk who yells at his elderly mom.’ Oh hell no, I’m not letting that slide..."

Zek began furiously typing a reply, and the chat went nuts. Meanwhile, Renata sat at her computer, got surprised—her Squawk post about Zek was getting tons of likes, and Zek himself had replied.

"Hehehe... got mad, clown?" Renata said to the screen, smiling.

Her first smile in weeks.