A/N: Thanks to Calyn for the review! And yes, it is HIGH TIME someone did this. While I can't guarantee awesomeness, at the very least it can't possibly be worse than the original. And to everyone, sorry it took so long for me to update this. I know exactly where I want it to go, down to the end, but I just keep sitting down to work on it and getting distracted...*oh look, youtube video! Wanders away* But I do have a deadline, so I will be knocking this sucker out hopefully by the end of November. If not, I give you complete permission to come after me with tar and feathers and pitchforks...

Massive Disclaimer of DOOM: Hmm...let's see here: I don't own the majority of the characters, Concerned Women for America, CAPS, Campus Crusade for Christ, and any other trademarked items, organizations, or songs that can, may, and will appear throughout the chapter. Also, I stole the GIRAT acronym in the previous chapter from Slacktivist, who is only the greatest mocker of Left Behind of all time. Get ye over to his site and partake of the sanity therein. Anyway, any resembles to real people, alive or dead, means you must know some pretty F*d up people, and you have my deepest pity.

Now dim the lights, grab the popcorn, and pull up a chair. It's time for the show...

Buck was one of the most awkward human beings on earth, and he knew it. His feet were too big, he always spoke too loudly, and outside of interviews, never actually knew what to say to people that wasn't offensive in some way. It wasn't so much that he "bucked" tradition as it was that he couldn't follow social norms if they were a giant yellow brick road. How he had wound up one of the the most successful international reporters of all time was anyone's guess (including his), but most just went with the fact that he had gotten extremely lucky. Strong focus on the "extremely." He also had developed a knack for being in the right place at the right time, such as being sent out to do his first series on middle eastern warfare and its effects on global economy, and winding up being on site for the biggest story of the decade. At the moment, however, he was hiding in a bathroom stall in a desperate attempt to get away from his tyrant producer (the story would be in whenever the source decided to return his call, and not a moment before, damn it!) when his boss had stormed in, right in the midst of what appeared to be an extremely heated debate with his wife. Stanton Baily didn't have coronaries. He opened his mouth and spewed forth fire from Hell, hot, molten words that engulfed everyone within a two mile radius. Buck wasn't afraid of him, per say. It was just that the large, burly man brought back traumatizing memories of swirlies and larger boys calling him a fag and sending him home with ripped clothing and black eyes. With all sorts of horrible scenarios involving having to call his mother and explain why the new shirt she'd bought for Christmas had been destroyed, he opted to maintain his precarious perch on the toilet seat. He'd even left the door slightly open, so it looked like the stall was empty. Meanwhile, Baily, in his best J.J. Jameson impression, was bellowing that he would not, in fact, be able to come home this week for his son's birthday because the news didn't give a rats ass about birthdays unless it was the birthday of someone who actually mattered and that the boy ought to know that by now, he certainly did at that age, and what were they teaching kids in kindergarten these days if not about learning how to prioritize?

It was then, however, that Buck's head began to ache slightly, and he remembered that he'd had to skip lunch in order to go bang on his source's door (he'd been forced to leave a note with the doorman, but still, the effort counted...kind of...if you squinted) and the bag of chips he'd been forced to scarf down on the way back certainly hadn't been enough to tide him over till dinnertime. He would have been fine, however, perched as he was on the tank of the toilet with his feet on either side of the seat, if his stomach hadn't opted to pull a Judas Iscariot at the one second when Baily was forced to cease his diatribe in order to breath. The low grumble filled the bathroom like the snarl of an ancient beast awakened from its slumber, and due to the excellent acoustics of GNN's men's restroom, it echoed perfectly from wall to wall. Baily went silent immediately, sniffing like the bloodhound he so closely resembled. Buck could still hear him talking, though now he had dropped down to just below a whisper. "I'll call you back, Marge. The enemy's infiltrated the ranks."

All was silent for a moment or two, and Buck considered checking to see if Baily had decided to chalk the noise up to the pipework and leave. As he was climbing down, however, a crash resounded from the other end of the room. He jumped, his entire leg going from the calve down into the toilet bowl. After his heart started back up, he realized Baily was going down the line of stalls, checking each one to see if they were occupied by an enemy staffer. He wasn't in any danger of Baily's choice form of retribution for spies, which was to have them placed in a large box with air holes and fedexed back to their newsroom, but he still didn't want his boss to think he was in here spying on his personal phone call. So when Baily inevitably threw open Buck's door, apoplectic with rage, Buck simply smiled at him. "Hey, Mr. Baily, sir! Just in here getting away from Verna! You know how she gets sometimes..."

His boss visibly shuddered. "With her sensible shoes and 'don't say my name like that!' I'll say her name however I damn well please. It sure as hell isn't my fault her last name is Zee, and most definitely not my fault that it sounds like I'm calling her Missy."

Buck felt horrible about throwing Verna under the bus like that, but sometimes, you had to play the cards you were dealt. Stanton Baily was a homophobic asshole, but he was Buck's boss too, and Buck certainly hadn't managed to become one of the station's top reporters by having a spine. Besides, he was actually hiding from her, as she desperately needed to have his story in by 7 pm for it to make that evening's news, and it was 5:30 and he had yet to hear back from the source.

As he made his way back to his desk, trailing behind the larger and more impressive Baily, he could feel the glares of his coworkers. He was also entirely aware of how much he deserved it. Here he was, this nobody kid from Ohio who got hired to hold the boom mike and wound up getting assigned to the story of the century during his first actual series assignment. In the month since, Baily had taken him in as a protege of sorts, and while he still lived in terror of the gargantuan man along with the rest of the staff, there was no denying the boss had certainly been giving him preferential treatment. The trip to Israel had certainly been coveted among many of the more experienced, talented journalists, but Buck certainly wasn't going to complain when the opportunity had been presented to him. In hindsight, however, he sort of wished he had, as the experience had very nearly resulted in his death.

"Listen, Williams, I've got a proposition for you. Feel free to say no, but if you say no, I'll fire you. Just kidding, but really, don't say no. You ready?"

"I'm all ears, sir."

"My ex is all worked up because I'm not going home for the kid's birthday this year. He's like, five or something. Should totally know better than to expect me to come around every time he has a stinking' birthday. Nancy boy. But here's what I want you to do, okay? Here, here's fifty bucks. Go by the kid something, then I'm gonna stick you on a plane to Chicago, got it?"

"Er.. I've got a story I'm in the middle of working on for tonight, and my source hasn't contacted me back yet-"

"Just e-mail Verna with the necessary information when the source does get back to you. How many sources for the story do you have?"

"Er, five, sir."

"Five? That's plenty. Just say he was unavailable for comment. You'll be fine. Now get out of here, and get my kid something good."

Not bothering to point out that the same thing could be accomplished by either sending a check in the mail or buying a present and mailing it, Buck strolled out of the office whistling. It was going to be a good, good day.

Meanwhile, the E. E.s, whose actual names were Rachel and Maggie, were hunting for lost souls as part of Campus Crusade. It was a hot day, and the sun beat down upon their brow with biblical cruelty as they tried to win over people for the Lord. Most of the people they approached, however, just looked at them as if they were delusional, and then ran away as quickly as polite society allowed. It was rather disheartening to go up to someone with the intent of sharing the gospel and receive a pitying look and a mumbled excuse. It certainly wasn't helping matters that the Gay Pride Parade was taking place just off campus, and that a large majority of the student body had opted to take place in the festivities.

"Remind me again of why it is we're trying to save these people," growled Maggie, or E.E.1 as the two of them stumbled across two more guys openly snogging in broad daylight. "They deserve to burn in hell."

"They do, but so do we," replied E.E.2, aka Rachel, walking with her sister towards the dining hall. "We're also sinners, just like they are. Don't forget: there but for the grace of you go I."

"I know, I know. But the grace of you can only go so far if I can't seem to exhibit any self-control."

"Maggie, come on. You know that there is nothing that God can't do. He is all powerful. He can overcome our shortcomings and give us strength in our times of weakness. If we have faith the size of a mustard seed-"

"Preaching to the choir, little sis. All I'm asking is that they make our jobs a little easier by showing a modicum of self-control."

"Speaking of self-control, there's Josh. I don't seem to remember you exhibiting too much self control in our last meeting with him and Chloe."

"My, you're just full of wisdom today, Obi Wan. Tell me, teacher, are you really interested in saving Dear Josh's soul, or are you trying to turn him straight so you can date him?"

Her sister blushed slightly as they got in line at the Burger King in the hall. "I don't see how the two have to be mutually exclusive," she said earnestly. "If he becomes a Christian, he'll be straight. If he turns straight, I can lead him to the Lord. It's a win-win situation. Why don't you try to evangelize Chloe? I know that the two of you don't get along, but we are called to love our enemies as ourselves."

"I love her. It doesn't mean I have to like her, or for that matter, speak to her. Chloe Williams knows the gospel of the Lord. Either she'll come to it one day, or she won't. It's up to her at this point. As for me, I'm going to have the whopper value meal with a medium fry and a coke. Ketchup on the side, please."

Rachel stepped up and addressed the cashier, ordering the exact same thing except with mustard on the side instead of ketchup.

"You are so weird," her sister said, shaking her head as the two of them received their food and wandered off together to find seats.

Across the cafeteria, the object of Rachel's affections was sitting with his parents. It was the first time they had come to visit him at school, and he had decided to let them into his life completely.

"So, um, guys."

"Son, your mother and I would like to talk to you about the life you're living up here."

"...I totally wasn't about to say anything important..."

"We know that college is a time of experimenting, with the drugs and rock and roll, but we'd really feel better if you didn't."

"Didn't what? Experiment?"

"Well, yes. It's just your mom and I aren't entirely comfortable with the loose lifestyle you've been living. I mean really, boy, when was the last time you went to church?"

"Er... I don't remember..."

"See? That settles it. While we're up here, we're going to find a good church for you to attend. You know what the Israel incident meant. The kingdom of God is at hand, and if you aren't faithful to the Lord, you will be left behind. This school does have Campus Crusade, doesn't it? Have you considered joining?"

"You do realize they haven't even determined what happened yet? They're thinking it's a problem with the atmosphere over Israel, and I don't exactly have time for any more extra-curriculars, guys. I'm on two of the student papers, and CAPS-"

"What's caps?"

He stared at his hands, debating momentarily. But then, he just decided to say screw it. They'd kept him here over the summer, and he'd had exactly three phone conversations with them since he started school. They already didn't like him, so what the hell.

"CAPS is a lesbian/gay/bi/trans club for the students on campus who fall into one of the aforementioned categories."

His mother paled, and his father's face went a delightfully impossible shade of burgundy. "And where exactly do you fall within these 'categories'?"he asked, eyes narrowed into little piggy slits.

"Well, dad, I fall into the 'gay' category."

His mother made the first noise she'd made all day. "MY BABY BOY'S A FAG! WHY GOD WHY?"

"Keep it down, Marge! Do you want to make a scene?" However, his desire not to draw attention to their family didn't stop him from reaching across the table and grabbing his son by the shirt, yanking him close. "Now, boy, you listen here, and you listen good. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, and if he'd wanted you to be attracted to men, he woulda made you a girl. Are you a girl?"

"God created Adam and Eve because if he'd done otherwise, the two of them wouldn't have been able to reproduce and the whole human race would have been screwed. With the massive rates of overpopulation in the world today, that's hardly a problem anymore. And no, I am not a girl. I'm a boy, and I'm gay, and I'm proud of it. Now let go of me before someone calls the police."

His father dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes, glared at the large audience they had managed to attract, and fled to the safety of the station wagon. His mother followed after him, taking the time to snarl through her tears, "You'll burn in Hell for this."

"Thanks, but I'd rather be there than in Heaven with you!" he shouted after them, before realizing he was standing alone in the crowded cafeteria. He felt like a piece on display in a museum, though most everyone hurridly went back to eating and obviously not looking. There the E.E.'s were, however, staring with pious pity. He wanted to wander over and crack their heads together. Instead, however, he settled for wandering outside and taking refuge under the Santa Lucia fir tree and wishing desperately that Chloe was there. "Boy would you love to see this," he thought, resting his head against the tree and closing his eyes.

As an upper middle class family, the Steeles had long been privy to the finer things in life. The Bentley and the Mercedes-Benz had been Christmas presents to one another, as an effort to smooth over their tumultuous relationship. However, these tokens of what may or may not have been actual affection didn't do a single thing for their relationship, and instead only provided them with new and more stylish ways to arrive at the same events in separate cars. Not that they actually went to the same events anymore. Irene was so involved with New Hope Village Church that she was there five days a week, and had considered taking on the newly available position within the children's ministry. She had also extended her recruiting to the Army of the Lord™ to her family, in hopes of bringing them back together through the power of prayer. However, with Professional Skeptic Chloe and Mr. Egotistic Libido as her would-be recruitees, this didn't go exactly as planned. Ray had initially assumed she was just going through some phase. It had to have been a phase. However, this was certainly lasting much longer than her decision to be a Mary Kay consultant (resulting in about twenty cases of makeup still stacked in the garage two years later) or her decision to become a professional groomer (resulting in thirty dogs running around the house and a trip to the emergency room when they found out Ray Jr. was allergic to them). So when she continued to attempt to cajole him into going to church with her, he started finding ways to avoid being there at all. Most of them were somewhat valid. Chloe was just starting school, and the tuition bill was beginning to cut into the family's comfortable lifestyle. So he began to work more, accepting longer and stranger hours in an effort to not be home. On one particularly memorable occasion, after a 15 hour flight from Chicago to Paris, he arrived home to find a large number of what he could only assume to be church friends over to cluck over some new branch of something. He had stood in the foyer, exhausted, pissed, and unable to decide whether he felt like cussing all of them out for being there. He was on the verge of doing so when Irene finally noticed his presence and hopped up to introduce him to the hens.

"This is Jackie, she's Elder Ham's wife as well as my recruiter for the Lord's Army™, and Madeline, she's the treasurer's wife, and Loretta here's the church secretary's wife, and Ella's engaged to Elder Darby's son, and this is Karen Barns, she's the pastor's wife..."

As they each waved as they were introduced, chirping little friendly "heys" and "hellos," Ray noted the way they all looked as though they were somehow...fading, for lack of a better word. Each woman, even Karen, with her dark chocolate skin, was the same sort of pale pastel with mousy hair and no makeup to speak of. Even the younger women, like Loretta and Irene, seemed so washed out. When had Irene stopped wearing makeup?

"So...are you getting back into sales or something?"

"Oh, no. We're starting a Chicago chapter of Concerned Women for America. Isn't it exciting?"

Ray found himself suddenly weary. "Um...what exactly are they concerned about?"

"Well, mainly preventing the deterioration of the American family due to women leaving the home and working, but specifically, the salvation of as many people as possible from an eternity in Hell, the upholding of the Constitution, marriage between a man and a woman, you know."

"So wait a second...you're women working to keep women in the home?"

"Well, yes. American society has declined because mothers aren't there when their kids come home from school, leaving them open to negative outside influences like sex and drugs."

He stood, slightly dumbfounded. These women actually wanted to be repressed?

"So does this mean you're actually going to start staying home and cooking and stuff?"

She looked at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Of course not. I'm going to be too busy ripening the fruit along the vine."

He'd opted to go bang his head against the wall till he lost consciousness.

Irene's attempt (singular) to bring Chloe to the Light Side (we have Testamints!) had gone a little something like this:

Irene: God loves you, and he has a plan-

Chloe: I'm a lesbian feminist prostitute who's had six abortions within the last year alone and I donate plasma to get money to buy heroine.

Irene: Um...never mind...

She knew she was losing both of them. Chloe's hardheartedness towards all things religious was going to end very, very badly for her. It hurt to know she was going to die not knowing the Lord, but it hurt more to know that her daughter hated her so much that she wouldn't listen to something she knew was so important to her mom. She still mentioned the Lord whenever possible, even if it meant Chloe only called her once every few months. As for Ray, she knew. She knew about all the women, every single time he'd faked having a flight so that he could go spend the night with one of them. She may have been a ditz, but she wasn't so stupid as not to be able to go online and check and see if there were actually any flights going out when he said they were. The cell phones hadn't helped. She'd been keeping tabs on all of his texts, and she was completely aware of his latest fling with the flight attendant. But she wasn't going to interfere. The old Irene would have. But this Irene was made new, dipped in the blood of the Lamb. Nope, she let Him do her interfering for her. She and her girls would gather every Friday, and instead of drinking margaritas like all those other secular girl groups, they would pray for everyone in their lives.

"Dear Lord, we gather here today to ask you-"

"please help my son stop being a fag-"

"help my husband to stop being such a whore-"

"save my mother from her interfering ways-"

"and help us all to do your will, forever and ever. Amen."

She had been wishing plagues on their houses for two years, and it hadn't done a bit of good, until the night of Ramie's twelfth birthday. Everyone from church was present, with all the women gathered meekly in the corner while the large, beefy men slapped each other on the back and asked after one another's walk in the Lord. All the men, that is, except Ray. No, he was too good for his son's birthday, and had opted to do a flight to New York the day before. He should be on his way back tonight. She could just see him now, leaving the cockpit as he told his co-pilot he'd be right back, and ducking someplace quiet with that stupid flight attendant. She waved across the room as more guests arrived, bearing a large package that could only be Ramie's special request Bible man action figure, and jogged up the stairs to grab the camera. As she passed the dresser, she noticed Ray's phone among the clutter of her makeup and earrings. Hmm... she grinned to herself as she picked it up. Missed message, Dearie? Let's just see who it's from this time...

"What do you mean it's my baby?" Ray stared down at Hattie and her smug smile as she leaned against the counter in the small cabin, hands on her hips as if to say, "yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" In fact, she proceeded to say as much.

"Look, now is not the time or the place to be discussing this. I've got a plane to fly, and you just jump me with this news out of nowhere-"

"I sent you a message saying we needed to talk. You answered, saying this would be okay. Don't act like I didn't."

"I never sent a text saying that. I left the phone at home..." he stopped as he realized what must have happened. Well, it was about time she knew. As for Hattie, well, that was a different matter entirely.

"Well, are you sure it's mine?"

"What are you trying to imply, that I'm some kind of slut? Of course it's yours."

He could feel his panic levels rising. "Did you get a DNA test?"

She looked offended. "Why would I need one? It's not like I whore myself around-"

"You sure could have fooled me-"

"Look. It's your baby. You are the only man I've been with for the last two years. All I'm asking is for you to claim responsibility for what you did."

"What I did? You make it sound like I was the only one there, and if I recall, it takes two people to make a baby."

"So you are claiming responsibility for what you did."

"I'm saying we should wait till we're on solid ground to discuss this. If you don't mind, I'd just as soon as not have a bunch of people's lives at stake when being accused of something I didn't do."

"Fine," Hattie snapped, stomping out of the cabin to check on the passengers. "Don't think you're going to get out of this, Rayford."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long, long night.

Chloe was late. Ridiculously so. Ramie's birthday party had started promptly at 4:00, and here she was, still a half hour away at eight. She may as well not go at all, for all the good it was really going to do. She was going to get reamed out, preached at, and witnessed to, in that order. Ah well. It was sort of her fault. She had made the drive home before, and knew how long it would take. She should have left earlier, but truth be told, she really did not want to be there. Putting off getting there for as long as possible was her none-too-subtle form of passive aggressive rebellion, something she knew would piss off her mom but she couldn't resist doing it anyways. Still, it was better than what her dad had done, which was opt not to show up at all.

She did, however, have some incentive to get there sooner rather than later. A full bladder did wonders for one's drive (pun intended). She was speeding along the interstate when the Volvo ahead of her slammed on it's breaks. Somewhere ahead of them, she could hear a series of screeches and the crunch of metal. For a moment or two, she considered getting out to see if anyone needed her to call the cops, but then the bystander effect kicked in, and she figured someone else would do it. Mildly pissed off that she was going to have to wait to pee, she reclined slightly in her seat and turned on the radio.

...It's the end of the world as we know it...