He nods.

“Take care of yourself, man.”

And he sets back out down the road.

Camillo calls an Uber.

Camillo calls a priest.

Priests are not as interested in reports of the Antichrist as he would have hoped.

He fills out the diocesan form to request an exorcist, even though it's not really what he needs.

He starts a blog.

antichrist-tracker.tumblr.com

The next time he sees Z, he has a bigger backpack than usual. And a burrito.

Actually, they all have burritos.

The only follower whose name Camillo never got is peeling the paper on his off in a long spiral. When he sees him walk by the food court table where they’re all parked, he looks like he’s suspicious he might try to grab it.

Camillo snaps a photo for his tumblr, which has six followers so far.

Z grimaces and covers his face with a paper plate.

“Hey!”

"Hey is for horses."

He captions it The Antichrist and his followers at lunch.

“It’s cool,” Z says to Cato from behind his plate, although it doesn’t sound cool. “We’re not sticking around that long.”

"--you're leaving?"

He should have expected this. Z told him the first time they met: he travels around. Probably you can't deceive sufficient elect if you stick around in one place.

“I mean…yeah,” he says, plate still up.

"You can put that down. I'm done taking pictures."

It's unexpectedly devastating. That's it? They came, they're going? The Antichrist is leaving his life just like that?

Is this really all God wants from him?

He lowers his plate cautiously.

“…you seem kind of broken up about it,” he says, inviting clarification.

He needs to think.

No. He can see all the thoughts laid out in front of him like a labyrinth. He doesn't need to trace the path to know it leads to the exit.

"When?"

“Tomorrow morning.”

"Where've you been staying?"

“…you want an address?”

"I'll doxx you on my tumblr."

He snorts.

“We’re at a friend’s. But we’re gonna hit that coffee shop again before we leave.”

“Why would you tell him that,” says Dorothy, resigned.

Camillo is about to make a really stupid decision. It makes him want to pick a fight.

"You guys know he's the Antichrist, right?"

An antichrist, really, but it sounds more dramatic this way.

“I know you think that,” Cato says,

exactly as Kyou says “No he’s not”.

"The Bible mentions this! It really gets into the details actually!! Going around claiming to be the Second Coming is not a good look!"

He's getting worked up, now.

“What am I supposed to do, man? Cross my fingers behind my back and say I’m a normal guy?”