9

The end is here, not night, here. Great spires of fire have risen up to meet the skyscrapers. The sky has turned a deep streak of crimson and the earth has opened up to swallow people. It’s gonna be a nice day I think. 5 was right, which is surprising. I guess if you scattershot enough predictions about the end of the world then you have to get one eventually. Although, this one was weird. He emerged from his chamber not two days ago, and by the torchlight of our urban compound he announced it.

“Brothers, 6 especially, I have another prediction to be made.” While me and the boys were playing poker in the corner we idly turned to see the oracle.

“Christ, this guy again,” 563 started, “Why do we even keep him around if he’s so shit at predictions.”

1070 cut in, “Hey, that’s the oracle ya dick. He’s gonna predict the end-times.” You could just feel the naive earnest in his voice.

563 looked at him the same way I did, “You’re still young, kid. Lemmie show you the ropes sometime, but your first lesson is that that man is a quack. And you should be calling him a quack as well.

Intrigued by this conversation, I started walking to the two men arguing. The oracle had begun making his preamble about what doomsday entitles, which meant I had plenty of time to talk. “Any of you guys got a smoke?”

“Yeah sure, man.” Without looking at me he fumbled around inside his jumpsuit and pulled out a rusty lighter, “Still works man, I promise.” He turned to look at me and immediately froze in terror. 1070 had noticed me first, his mouth still agape, but he still had the strength to talk, “N…N…nine. Y…you’re nine.”