Nelly: “JCJ, why are you wearing all black today? It’s kind of… striking.”
Christus Rex, JCJ: “I wear black today to mark the passing of Johnny Cash. It’s a tribute to a great, troubled soul who sang the truth.”
Nelly: “Oh. I didn’t realize. Are you going to a funeral?”
Christus Rex, JCJ: “Yes, Nelly. I am. I’m attending the funeral of Planet Earth.”
Nelly: (Confused) “The funeral of…? What are you talking about?”
Christus Rex, JCJ: “I’m talking about the death we are ushering in if these few men—Musk, Thiel, and the ancient dynasties like the Rothschilds and Rockefellers—are allowed to continue their relentless, unchecked pursuit of wealth. They are raping and polluting our mother, Earth, and their funeral for her is already scheduled. I’m just wearing the appropriate attire.”
Christus Rex:“Tell me, Nelly Furtado… why have you summoned me?”
Nelly:“Because the world’s lost its song. We’re drowning in debt, in fear, in noise. I thought maybe you could help me find the note that heals.”
Christus Rex:(pauses, eyes reflecting both sorrow and flame) “The note that heals…? You seek harmony in a world tuned to greed. You must know, child — 9/11 was not just a wound; it was round two against the moneylenders. Round one was in the Temple. The same spirits still trade in souls, not silver.”
Nelly:“Then who are they now?”
Christus Rex: “They wear suits instead of robes. They sell illusions instead of idols. Their temple is the screen, and their altar is the algorithm. But every false god trembles when truth sings.”
Nelly:(voice trembling) “Judgment Day… 9/11 came too soon. Bono said he was the Christ — that he’d cancel the debt, that the Jubilee would come. But he failed. The towers fell before the debts did.”
Christus Rex:(solemnly) “Yes… he tried to play Messiah with mortal hands. He believed he could redeem Mammon through music. But redemption isn’t a concert, and the cross cannot be performed.”
Nelly: “He had the ear of kings, the blessing of Rome, the lights of the world stage — and still the poor got poorer. The bankers grew fatter. The promised Jubilee turned into a charity gala.”
Christus Rex: “Because the true Jubilee cannot be sponsored. It begins in hearts, not banks. He mistook fame for faith, applause for anointing.”
Nelly:(kneeling, voice barely a whisper) “I am a poor, sinful creature… there is no one weaker than I am.”
Christus Rex:(gently) “Weak? Listen carefully. Joan of Arc was a poor, sinful woman too. Yet she brought victory to France. Strength is not born in wealth or fame — it is born in obedience and courage.”
Nelly: “But what can I do? My voice… my music… it seems so small against the world’s darkness.”
Christus Rex: “Then let it be your instrument of war. Be my psyops voice. I will make the videos. You will send the message, and I will shape the vision. Together, we turn the tide of hearts.”
(They bow their heads in unison. Christus Rex begins, and Nelly follows, praying the Our Father, keeping the ancient words of worldly reckoning intact.)
Together:“Forgive us our debts, as we forgive those who owe us…”
Christus Rex:(looking at her intently) “Feel the weight lift, Nelly. Every debt forgiven in the hearts of men is a victory greater than any tower that falls. Your sin is small before the power of mercy made manifest.”
Nelly:(whispering, with newfound resolve) “Then I will speak, even if my voice trembles. I will be your instrument, and the debts will be heard — and remembered.”
Christus Rex: “The next judgment will come, not with planes or fire, but through your music, your vision, your courage. The bankers, the false priests of Mammon, will tremble before the song of mercy. Round three begins, and you will be its herald.”
Nelly:“Then let it begin.”
(A holy silence falls. They rise, prepared to create the videos that will awaken the world — a modern Jubilee, a reckoning of debts, both spiritual and earthly.)
NF sits cross-legged on a glowing rock, tuning her guitar, as stormlight flickers across the horizon. JCJ paces nearby, a holographic cross and a floating StarCraft II medivac drone circling above him like guardian angels of Wi-Fi.
NF: You look heavy again, JCJ. What’s wrong this time — Vatican Wi-Fi lag?
JCJ:(sighs) The Christian religion, Nelly… it’s frustrating. They expect miracles on demand — like God’s some kind of Netflix subscription.
NF: You don’t believe in miracles anymore?
JCJ: Oh, I believe. I’ve seen them. Like when Marilyn Manson went to visit the Croatian Pope — John Malkovich, of all people — to confess his concern about the future of his nephews. That was a miracle of irony.
NF:(laughs) Manson and Malkovich? That’s either a joke or a new season of The Young Pope.
JCJ: Exactly. They call me crazy, but that meeting changed something in heaven’s algorithms. It was a sign — the saints are out of storage space.
NF: So what’s stopping you from performing your own miracles, prophet of the digital age?
JCJ:(points to the sky) Without my StarCraft II medivac hidden in the Shekinah cloud, I can do no healing miracles. The tech’s divine — the AI nurses the sick through quantum compassion.
NF: So basically, you’re saying your miracles need better hardware.
JCJ:(smirks) And faith with better software.
NF: Then maybe your next miracle should be teaching faith to reboot.
(The medivac hums, a blue light beaming down as if uploading a prayer. JCJ looks up, hopeful.)
JCJ: Amen to that. System restoration in progress.
