In the worsening chaos of the Tribulation, as the world slid deeper into supernatural disasters and escalating authoritarianism, Enza found herself playing a delicate game. Her pragmatism had served her well, and now, more than ever, it allowed her to help those who had been cast aside by a crumbling society. And so, she fed the hungry, clothed the naked, helped the sick, and visited those in prison.
The crackdown came fast and hard. The Global Community guards swarmed the city, rounding up anyone without the Mark of the Beast who dared to try buying food. People had been going hungry for days, even weeks in some cases, but desperation had driven many to risk it. After the crackdown, the streets of Chicago were eerily silent, as those who hadn't been caught huddled in whatever safe corners they could find.
Enza, ever the pragmatist, saw an opportunity. She had hoarded food during the times of plenty, much of it tucked away in her stockrooms and gardens, knowing that the shortages would only worsen. But rather than keep it all hidden, she decided to do what she did best: feed people. And she knew exactly how to make it work.
She put out a sign on the door of her restaurant the next day: "Free Food Day – A Taste of Tomorrow's Menu!"
The restaurant filled quickly, but the mood was tense. People were suspicious, looking over their shoulders for Global Community guards. Many of them were without the Mark, and they knew they were walking a fine line by simply being there.
Enza worked the room like she always did, serving up bowls of soup, slices of bread, and whatever fresh vegetables her victory garden had produced. "Eat up, enjoy," she said with a smile to every customer. "No charge. I don't even have the cash register hooked up today."
That last line was enough to keep the Global Community Morale Monitors at bay. One of them, a young man with sharp eyes and a clipboard, approached her after noticing some unmarked individuals in the crowd. "What's this about, Nonna Enza? You're feeding people who can't pay. Seems suspicious."
Enza crossed her arms, putting on her best impression of a cold, calculating businesswoman. "It's just business. These people are hungry, but hunger makes people desperate. I'm showing them the value of good food, so when they come to their senses and take the Mark, they'll remember who fed them. It's an investment."
The Morale Monitor frowned but couldn't argue with her logic. The event was legitimate advertising, and since nobody was technically "buying" anything, they couldn't shut her down.
As the Monitor left, one of the hungry men, a Christian Enza had helped before, approached her with tears in his eyes. "I don't know how to thank you, Nonna Enza. You've saved us today."
Enza smiled warmly and patted his arm. "Don't thank me with words. You know the deal—two hugs. One now, and one when I text you for it."
The man nodded, embracing her tightly before disappearing back into the crowd. As she stood there, watching people eat, she felt a strange peace. The world was burning, but in her little restaurant, for a few hours, people were warm, fed, and safe.
It was late, well past closing time, when Enza heard a soft knock at the back door. She opened it to find a couple standing there, sheepish and clearly uncomfortable. They were covered in hastily draped tablecloths—her tablecloths.
The man, a young guy with flushed cheeks, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh, we… we were in the van," he began, his voice trailing off. "And, um, well, someone stole our clothes."
Enza raised an eyebrow but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips. "So, you're telling me that while you two were… busy, someone made off with your clothes?"
The woman beside him, equally embarrassed, nodded. "We didn't know where else to go. We saw the back door open…"
Enza sighed, shaking her head. "Kids these days," she muttered, though there was no anger in her voice, just bemusement. "Alright, come inside. Let's see if I can fix this."
She rummaged through the back of the restaurant, pulling out a couple of spare aprons and some old chef jackets. "Here," she said, handing them over. "It's not exactly fashion-forward, but at least you won't get arrested for public indecency."
They thanked her profusely, and as they began dressing, Enza couldn't help but chuckle. "Next time, maybe try a locked door?"
The man grinned sheepishly. "Yeah… lesson learned."
Enza waved them off as they left, the couple now clothed in makeshift outfits, grateful and laughing at their own misadventure.
This was a story she'd enjoy telling over and over again... with made-up names for the two youths, of course.
The hospitals had become war zones in their own right. If you didn't have the Mark of the Beast, you weren't getting treated—simple as that. But people still got sick, and not all of them could afford to be left to die. That's when Enza stepped in.
It started when one of her regular customers—a young man who worked part-time in the kitchen—came down with a bad case of bronchitis. His hacking cough made it clear that he needed medical attention, but without the Mark, the hospitals wouldn't touch him. Enza couldn't stand by and watch him suffer.
One afternoon, she marched down to the hospital, looking every bit the shrewd businesswoman. She cornered a nurse who had treated her before and struck up a deal.
"I'm hiring someone new," Enza said casually. "He's going on my health plan. I need him to get treated—bronchitis. Hire date is today."
The nurse raised an eyebrow. "You know we don't treat people without the Mark, Enza."
Enza smiled thinly. "He's employed by me, effective immediately. I pay my taxes, and you'll get your money. He gets better, and I get my kitchen help back. Everyone wins."
The nurse sighed, clearly weighing the risks, but in the end, money talked. "Fine," she muttered. "But don't make a habit of this."
Enza didn't need to make a habit of it—just this once would do. The young man was admitted later that day, and a few days after that, he was back on his feet, his cough fading into memory.
When he came back to the restaurant, Enza waved off his thanks with her usual pragmatism. "Just get back to work," she said with a smirk. "And maybe say a little prayer for me. I could use all the help I can get."
The so-called "rehab clinic" was worse than any prison Enza had ever seen. It wasn't officially a prison—it was a place for "reeducation," a thinly veiled cover for breaking down anyone who didn't conform to the regime's ideology. Christians, political dissidents, anyone who dared to think differently.
Enza had gotten the catering contract for the place after playing up her loyalty to the Global Community. Her restaurant's reputation and her status as a marked business owner made it easy to slip in, but her insistence on serving the same meals to both staff and inmates caused a ripple effect they hadn't anticipated - but she had.
It started with something small—a dish of pasta served to a guard and an inmate. The guard had always lorded his power over the inmates, but when they shared the same meal, something shifted. The guard began to talk, just a little, to the people he was meant to be breaking down. It wasn't much, but the act of eating together made the brutal hierarchy feel… less absolute.
Enza, ever the observer, noticed the change. She made sure her meals were simple but hearty, the kind of food that brought people together in the way only a good meal could. And slowly, the atmosphere in the "clinic" began to change. The harshness softened, if only by degrees, and for the inmates, those meals became the only moments of humanity in an otherwise cold, sterile place.
One day, as she was packing up after another catering delivery, one of the inmates approached her quietly. He was a Christian, and she had known it from the moment she first saw him. He looked at her with a mix of gratitude and sorrow.
"You've given us something to hold onto," he said softly. "I don't know how to repay you."
Enza smiled, patting his arm gently. "Two hugs, figlio mio. One now, and one when I text you for it."
The man hesitated, then embraced her tightly, tears brimming in his eyes. When he let go, he nodded, understanding the quiet power of the kindness she had shown.
Enza didn't think of herself as a saint. She didn't think of herself as anything special, really. She just did what she could for those around her, no matter who they were or what they believed. The world was falling apart, but in her small corner of it, she was still doing what she'd always done—helping, and keeping hope alive.