Up there there's no stage, no lights, none of that movie stuff, just space and presence, and even so it feels heavy because when the one in charge observes in silence, it's because they've already decided something, and God looks down, sees cities breaking down, people running, animals changing, plants blocking paths, and pauses for a second at the house where a guy is typing as if the keyboard were the last thing holding the world together.
God: and son… he is good
Jesus: I handpicked him, Father. I saw him under pressure; he doesn't break easily.
God: You've always liked stubborn people.
Jesus: It's not stubbornness, it's persistence; he thinks before acting and continues even after making mistakes.
God: And you think that's going to stop what's coming?
Jesus: He doesn't hold you back... but he gives you a chance.
God: chance… you always come back to that word.
Jesus: Because without it there will only be punishment, and I don't want that.
God remains silent for a while, gazing further afield, seeing swarms of birds streaking across the sky, seeing empty roads with things moving where they shouldn't, seeing stagnant water with uneven surfaces, and then returns his gaze to the same point.
God: So you want to give a gift?
Jesus: It's not a prize, it's a tool.
God: a tool becomes an easy excuse.
Jesus: only for those who already want to sin.
God: and for him
Jesus: For him, it becomes a responsibility.
God breathes briefly, as if accepting without saying that He accepts.
God: then I'll give something too.
Jesus: I thought you were only going to harden the other side.
God: I do both.
Jesus: You always do
And down there, without sound, without effect, without brightness, nothing simply appears beside the keyboard: a simple, heavy ring, just the right way, with a folded piece of paper like something from the past, and the cursor continues blinking on the screen as if nothing had happened, until the eye pulls the movement and the hand stops in mid-air.
He glances sideways, not understanding at first, picks up the paper, opens it slowly, as if he's seen too much strangeness in the last few hours to react quickly, and reads.
— I am furious… but my son chose you… and as a father I love my son… and I love you too… those with good hearts are my children as well… so I give you a gift… this is a storage ring… with a thought you can store whatever you want… five cubic meters… don't expect infinity… expect responsibility
He stands still for a second, paper in hand, looking at the ring as if it were just another piece of the puzzle, but it isn't, and his head tries to piece together everything that happened the night before, and it doesn't quite fit, but it makes enough sense to accept.
He picks up the ring, twirls it between his fingers, feels its real weight—it's not an effect, it's not a trick—he puts it on slowly, without haste, like someone testing an expensive item, and takes a deep breath.
Thank you, Dad.
He doesn't get up, doesn't look at the ceiling, doesn't make a scene, just speaks softly and that's enough, goes back to his chair, pulls up the keyboard and continues writing with a different kind of urgency now, because besides surviving he understood that he has a responsibility.
— One more thing, listen to this carefully because it will hurt to read, but it will save people. Humanity is now going to show its true face; it's not just monsters out there, there are people in here too. If you think nobody will eat human flesh, you're wrong. There will be people doing it, there will be people losing everything and becoming what's left.
He pauses for a second, remembering a comment he read, remembering a video he saw, and continues, more intensely.
There will be people using women as objects, as trash; there will be people discarding those who can't keep up; there will be people using the weak as shields, as cannon fodder. This will happen; it's not theory, it's not pessimism, it's human nature when everything breaks.
He types more firmly now, without beating around the bush.
Don't trust everyone, and don't trust just because you know someone. Trust is a decision, not a habit, and it hurts to say this, but even family can become a problem when hunger enters, morality leaves through the door. So observe more than you speak, test before trusting, and distance yourself quickly if you sense something is wrong.
He opens another tab and starts saving things that are still loading.
— save the map, download what you can, print if you have it (paper doesn't fall apart when the power goes out), mark the route, mark water sources, mark shelters, mark high points, mark hospitals, mark everything you can because when the screen goes black, the paper will still be there.
He remembers the radio and starts writing again.
— Save the distress frequency; if the military is still active, they will use the standard channel. Pay attention; if you have a shortwave radio, use it; learn how to use it now, not later. And if you have a working TV, check if they are setting up a safe zone, check if there are open routes, check if there is an evacuation route, but don't run anywhere without thinking because traps also exist.
He tests the ring without thinking much, just on impulse, grabs an empty can from the side, thinks about putting it away, and it disappears—not with any effect, not with any light, it vanishes as if it had never been there. His eyes widen for a second and he lets out a soft voice.
— Damn it…
He doesn't waste time opening shows, he just mentally registers them, goes back to the keyboard because now he knows he can carry more, but he can't carry everything, and that weighs more than it helps.
— Another important thing: weight and volume are key factors now. Don't take everything, don't try to be a mule. Choose carefully what you carry: food, light water, plenty of basic tools, a simple first-aid kit, and nothing that will slow you down when you're running, because you are going to run.
He remembers the evening's training session and writes as he speaks.
Don't enter a dead end, don't enter a corridor without a second option, don't go up without knowing how to go down, don't go down without knowing how to get out, always think of an escape route because courage without a way out becomes foolishness.
He changes his tone to be a little more direct.
— Don't make unnecessary noise, close the door slowly, tread lightly, speak softly, avoid metal, avoid glass, avoid anything that gives away your location. Sound now calls out things you don't want to encounter, and call out quickly.
He runs his hand over his face and continues.
— Learn to observe patterns, but don't trust them because what's changed yesterday isn't valid today, and today isn't valid tomorrow, so adapt all the time. Look at your hand, look at your eyes, look at your movements, look at your surroundings; everything speaks volumes if you pay attention.
He opens up another field and writes about health.
— take care of small wounds, don't let them get infected, clean them, cover them, change the dressing if possible because hospital isn't an option for most people right now, and infection kills more people than a direct attack, so don't take chances with a silly cut.
He looks at the ring again as if remembering something.
— Use what you have wisely, don't keep useless things, don't clutter your space with nonsense. Prioritize what keeps you alive in the next few hours, not the next few months, because no month exists if you die today.
He returns to the harsher warnings.
— If you see an armed group, don't go in, don't approach, observe from a distance, assess the exit strategy, assess the risk. Armed people without coordination are more dangerous than monsters because they make the wrong decisions quickly.
He types more slowly now, as if he knows that each line could be the last one someone reads.
— Help whoever you can, but don't kill yourself trying to save everyone. Choose carefully when to act and when to leave, because a dead person helps no one, and a alive person with their head on their shoulders helps more than one.
He looks at the blinking connection bar and speeds up.
If the internet goes down, don't panic. Switch to radio, switch to a short signal, leave a simple message with the time and place, arrange a meeting point with someone you trust, and be punctual because being late becomes a risk.
He takes a deep breath and closes
Humanity hasn't ended, but it's not the same anymore. We're going to see things we never wanted to see and do things we never wanted to do to stay here, so decide now who you want to be in all of this because it will take its toll on you.
He sends it again to everything he can, copies and pastes it, throws it into more channels, throws it into more groups, pins it wherever he can, and stares at the screen as if waiting for an echo, and beside him, the simple, heavy ring on his finger, reminding him that now, besides surviving, he carries more than ammunition; he carries choice, and that weighs more than any weapon. Meanwhile, up above, silence returns, and God and Jesus say nothing more because now is not the time to speak; it is the time to see what each one does with the little they received and with the much they lost.