A person receives an epiphany that the electrical grid will go down, globally, 24 hours from now, and decides to act as if this is true for the time being. They start by recruiting their friends to assist with time-sensitive preparation in the critical period.
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The first friend they call [name = Mark] doesn't believe them. The conversation is either about convincing Mark, or Mark agreeing to do small things just in case they are right.
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Mark then becomes convinced. Unfortunately the person with the epiphany suddenly dies. Mark decides to write about this prophet who saw something new and crazy before everyone else. He calls his report a “gospel”.
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The thing is, there was an obvious person to contact. Zachary. He had made out very well in crypto and owned a mansion up in the hills. He threw parties every month and had a swimming pool. Could a swimming pool hold drinking water?
All the clever prepper stuff I'd read in the past decade and it all paled in effectiveness of convincing this one guy. The thing is, we had the same ex. And it wasn't a good story. We hadn't clashed hard enough for him to ban me from his events – and that would have been really awful, he hosted like half the community events. I had been grateful for his generosity, and furious I felt grateful.
And now I was driving to his mansion to convince him to fill up his crystal-tile swimming pool with drinking water.
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What you need to understand about Zachary is that he’s not your usual run-of-the-mill SF mansion owner. Ugh. Why am I saying that. What does that even mean? Cringe. I guess I’m starting to get nervous. What I mean to say is that Zachary, sweet serious neoliberal Zachary, has the peculiar hobby of —
“MOVE!” I look out the passenger window towards the voice. It’s a cop. Oh.
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By the time I arrived at Zachary's mansion, the sky had already clouded over with suspicious-looking clouds. Pastel as always, but more colorful than I would've expected, and with flickers of heat lightning that maybe weren't the standard color for lighting.
I pulled up into the driveway. There were a half-dozen cars already there, ranging from polished SUVs to beat-up station wagons. Zachary's driveway doesn't usually look like that.
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Like the universe herself, America’s power grid is going to end not with a bang but with a whimper. The same appears to be true for my date. I had just gotten home from the “party” with Kelsey when I was very suddenly struck by the realization that the suspicious DM I had received earlier that day had used my secret word.
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Oh man. Kelsey was really good. I had been entertaining thoughts of marrying her even though this was really premature for a second date. And now... I had to be a crackpot.
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It's not like I had anything to lose with her.
"Long story, but I have received information that electricity will be out, 23 hours from now. I desperately request your help in helping with crisis preparation. See the link to a Telegram group below.
I know how crazy that sounds, sorry. I will obviously compensate you if I'm wrong, just, please."
I hesitate for a moment. I reach out to some of my closer friends first, swallow my embarrassment, before I manage to send it to Kelsey.
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“I have to be a crackpot” I said. Kelsey looked up at me. She was taking off her boots. For a few seconds she just stared at me. Then she started to smile. A mischievous smile. “That’s funny, because I like crack and I Iike pot.”
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Battery materials are now more precious than gold. Workers are seen frantically expanding production at mines and factories as prices spike. In the corner of a basement, an energized block of battery sits, carefully hidden from view.