Jane had not slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw empty cars… screaming faces… the sky splitting open.
By morning, the world looked bruised.
Smoke lingered over the city like a wound that wouldn't close. Sirens had become background noise. Helicopters moved constantly, but there was no sense of rescue — only surveillance.
Her penthouse TV flickered back to life around 7 a.m.
This time, it wasn't static.
It was emergency footage from across the world.
Cities burning. Coastlines flooded. Hospitals overflowing. A clip showed a river turned dark, people screaming that the water was undrinkable.
Jane's chest tightened.
A verse she hadn't heard since childhood whispered in her mind:
"And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven… and the name of the star is Wormwood… and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter." — Revelation 8:10–11
She grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.
"No," she muttered. "This is coincidence. Climate disasters. War. Terrorism. Something explainable."
But the excuses sounded thinner now.
Her phone buzzed again.
GLOBAL PEACE COALITION — OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
The same man appeared on the screen. Calm. Clean. In control.
Adrian Vale.
"People of Earth," he began gently, "we are facing a convergence of global crises. But we will not fall into fear. Together, we will rise into unity. A new global system is being formed to restore order, provide resources, and ensure peace."
Behind him stood leaders from multiple nations.
One government.
One authority.
Jane listened closely.
"This will require cooperation," he continued. "Travel, trade, and aid distribution will soon operate under a unified identification system to prevent chaos and hoarding. Details will follow."
Jane frowned.
That sounded… extreme.
But outside, the world was collapsing.
Maybe extreme was necessary.
"And he causeth all… to receive a mark… that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark…" — Revelation 13:16–17
Her stomach twisted.
She muted the broadcast.
A sudden scream echoed from the hallway outside her penthouse.
Then pounding footsteps.
Jane hurried to the door and looked through the peephole.
A man was running toward the stairwell, crying, "They're gone! My wife — my baby — they're gone!"
Another woman collapsed against the wall, sobbing prayers.
Jane backed away slowly.
So many left behind.
Just like the Bible said.
Then came a knock.
Three quick knocks.
Not strong. Not confident.
Nervous.
Jane hesitated before opening the door slightly.
A man stood there, breathing hard. Mid-20s. Attractive. Stylish even in distress. His shirt was wrinkled, hair messy like he'd been pulling at it.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I live on the sixth floor. Elevators stopped for a while — I had to use the stairs. I just… I didn't want to be alone."
Jane studied him.
His eyes were red like he'd been crying… but there was something else there too. Fear, yes. But also desperation of a different kind.
"I'm Jane," she said stiffly.
"Angelo," he replied.
He glanced over her shoulder into the luxury of her penthouse. "Wow…"
Jane didn't miss that look.
"You can come in," she said, mostly because the hallway noise made her uneasy.
He stepped inside, staring at the skyline.
"Do you think… this is what I think it is?" he asked quietly.
Jane crossed her arms. "Mass hysteria. Government cover-up. Something like that."
Angelo swallowed.
"I was live streaming when it happened," he said, voice shaking. "People in my chat just started saying their families disappeared. Then my neighbor ran out screaming that her husband vanished in front of her."
He rubbed his face.
"I grew up Catholic," he added softly. "I haven't stepped in a church in years but… I remember the sermons."
Jane didn't want to hear it.
"People vanish all the time in disasters," she snapped. "We don't know anything yet."
Angelo looked at her — really looked at her.
"You don't believe in God, do you?"
Jane didn't answer.
Outside, thunder rumbled… but there were no rain clouds.
The sky had turned a strange copper shade, like the world was lit by a dying fire.
"The sun became black… and the moon became as blood." — Revelation 6:12
Angelo walked closer to the window.
"Something's wrong," he whispered. "And that man on the broadcast… he makes it sound okay. Like this is some reset."
Jane hugged herself.
"I think people just need hope."
Angelo gave a hollow laugh.
"I think people just want to feel good," he said. "Forget fear. Forget guilt. Forget consequences."
Jane glanced at him.
There it was.
The hunger in his voice wasn't for safety.
It was for escape.
For pleasure.
For anything to drown out conviction.
Lust didn't always look seductive.
Sometimes it looked like someone trying not to feel empty.
A distant explosion shook the glass.
Jane flinched.
Angelo didn't.
He just kept staring at the sky like he already knew…
This wasn't the end of chaos.
This was the beginning of judgment.
And neither of them had been ready.