The end of the world has begun. If I were you, I’d take my valuable time and attention elsewhere.

As you well know, Earth is running low on kindness and shame and air. Why put yourself in the shoes of others when, surely, you recognize everything revolves around you and you alone? Besides, the people populating this essentially meaningless plot are frivolous ants simply not worth their weight in words.

Believe me, I should know.

Certainly not the twins at the heart of the matter of all things Apocalypse, Calvin and Trent, who soon must decide what—or rather whom—they’re willing to sacrifice in order to delay your world’s dying gasps. Definitely not the high school principal, Gary Mustafa, whose hyperfixation on balloons will leave your mind only loosely tethered to your head. Then there’s Love and Yew, the former a government hacker and ex-reality TV star, the latter a psychedelic therapist who thinks she’s better than you. The less said about these two women, the better.

And don’t even get me started on the writer.

So go on—get away from here. Let these silly ants fizzle under the magnifying glass of the Apocalypse they summoned. You’ll find no world-ending bangs here, but I bet you can already hear them whimpering.

Let them.