The Mahdi, using the username Muad.dib, makes a cryptic yet powerful post on NellyFan.org, a site known for deep discussions on global events hidden behind the veil of pop culture fandom. His message is simple, but its implications shake the forum’s underground circles.
**💬Muad.dib posts: **
“Brothers, listen well. The time for swords is over. Our Lady of Fatima has spoken. The Americans are already on the verge of bankruptcy. There is no need for jihad against a falling empire. Their arrogance, their endless spending, their wars—they have defeated themselves.”
“The Prophet ﷺ taught patience. The Americans? They have none. Their greed has consumed them. Their banks? Rotting. Their leaders? Divided. Their people? Distracted by false idols and meaningless wars. The dollar is drowning, the empire is crumbling, and they don’t even see it yet.”
“So I say to you—forget fighting them. Just sit back. Watch. Let them collapse under their own weight. History is a cycle, and Rome always falls.”
“And when it does… we will rebuild, guided by truth.“
Within minutes, the post starts circulating across underground networks, intelligence agencies, and conspiracy forums.
Is this just another cryptic message in the void, or is the Mahdi revealing a prophecy already in motion?
God Emperor Trump, draped in his golden robe, ascends the steps of his grand podium at Mar-a-Lago. His followers cheer, their voices blending into a chant—“USA! USA! USA!”** The cameras zoom in as he raises his hands, basking in the glow of artificial sunlight from his Trump Solar™ energy panels. Then, he speaks.**
TRUMP (booming voice):
“Let me tell you something, folks—let me tell you something very, very important. I keep hearing all this doom and gloom, all this ‘America is collapsing’ nonsense. FAKE NEWS! Totally fake! Completely wrong! You know why? Because we are the most powerful nation on Earth! Still number one, baby!”
The crowd erupts. Trump smirks, soaking it in. He gestures broadly.
“You think China is gonna take us? Please! You think Russia is gonna take us? SAD! The jihadists, the globalists, the haters—they’re all praying for America to fall, but guess what? NOT GONNA HAPPEN! Not on my watch! Not while I’m in charge!”
He leans in, voice lowering to an intense whisper.
“They say America is broke. Bankrupt. Done. You know who says that? Losers. People who don’t understand strength! America isn’t about money—it’s about power. And let me tell you—we have the biggest, strongest, most incredible power the world has ever seen!”
He straightens, pounding his chest.
“God chose me, folks. I am the Trump Card! The Mahdi, the Pope, the fake news media—they don’t get it. They’ve been wrong before, and they’re wrong now! America doesn’t fall. America WINS. Every time. That’s what we do! That’s what we’ll always do!”
He throws his arms up triumphantly.
“So to all the doomers, to all the haters—just sit back and watch! Because the Empire of Trump isn’t going anywhere!”
The crowd erupts into deafening cheers. The internet explodes. But deep in the shadows, the world watches.
Is this bravado? Or is it truly the last stand of a fading empire?
Chani stands atop a sand dune under Arrakis’ twin moons, the desert wind whipping through her stillsuit. Her voice is steady, but her eyes burn with something deeper—conviction. She has seen the signs, the omens written in the shifting sands. And now, she speaks.
CHANI (her voice rising):
“I read the prophecy when I was a child. I whispered it to the Mahdi as he slept. And now… now I am beginning to believe.”
She turns toward the massive hologram of God Emperor Trump, projected above the Golden Tower of New Manhattan. His image flickers—his robes shimmering, his face contorted in arrogant disbelief.
CHANI (shouting):
“You are NOT the Chosen One, Mr. Trump! You may call yourself an emperor, a messiah, a god—but the desert does not recognize you! The spice does not flow for you! The prophecy speaks of one who brings balance, not chaos! One who listens, not boasts! One who leads by sacrifice, not vanity!”
Trump scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. His golden robe billows as he steps forward, his voice filling the heavens.
TRUMP (smirking):
“Oh, Chani, Chani, Chani… you talk about prophecies, you talk about believing—but let me tell you something, sweetheart, let me tell you something very important—I MAKE my own prophecies. I don’t need some dusty old book to tell me who I am. I AM the Trump Card! I AM the Chosen One! Ask anyone—everybody says it! The best people, the smartest people, all of them!”
The Fremen behind Chani murmur, some stepping forward, others gripping their crysknives. The desert wind howls. She sees it now—the moment the veil lifts, when the false god stands exposed for what he truly is.
CHANI (softly, but with steel in her voice):
“The desert will judge you, Mr. Trump. And the desert never lies.”
A sudden gust of wind blasts across the dunes, drowning out the emperor’s reply. The spice in the air swirls, revealing the echoes of a future unwritten.