March 26, 1897
The White House, Washington D.C.
The air inside the Oval Office was heavy, thick with tension as President Matthew Hesh paced back and forth, his hands clenched into fists. He had barely slept in the past few days, not with everything unraveling around him.
The bombing in New Manchester was the final straw.
His campaign office—a place filled with dedicated workers and volunteers—had been reduced to rubble overnight. People had died. Good people. And the media wasted no time blaming his own supporters for the act.
It was a lie.
A carefully orchestrated lie, and Matthew knew it. But proving it? That was another matter entirely.
Across the room, Collins, his chief of staff, leaned against the desk, scanning a stack of newspapers with a scowl.
"The story is everywhere," Collins muttered, slamming one down onto the desk. "They’re pushing the ’radical pro-Hesh extremists’ angle hard. Royce’s camp is already calling for immediate action against ’domestic threats.’"
Matthew exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
"This isn’t just an election battle anymore." His voice was low, controlled, but Collins could hear the anger beneath it. "This is a full-scale attack."
Collins nodded. "We’re being outplayed, Matt."
The Crisis is Spreading
The reports were grim.
Food shortages were worsening in major cities. Supplies that had once moved effortlessly across the country were now inexplicably delayed, disrupted, or outright missing.
Riots had broken out in several districts. New Manchester, Amsterdam City, and Philadelphia were the worst hit. The police were overwhelmed, and governors—some under Royce’s influence—were refusing to deploy the National Guard to restore order.
Election offices in key states were experiencing ’unprecedented technical issues,’ making voter registration difficult for Hesh’s supporters.
And Royce?
He was everywhere.
Every radio station, every newspaper, every public event—he was preaching law and order, hammering the idea that Hesh had lost control.
Collins grabbed another newspaper and read aloud.
"’A Presidency in Collapse: Can Hesh Survive the Crisis?’" He tossed it onto the pile. "That’s the Amsterdam Post."
Another one.
"’Amerathia at a Breaking Point – A Weak President in the Face of Chaos.’" Collins shook his head. "This one’s from The Capital Times."
He didn’t need to read more. The headlines were all the same.
Matthew clenched his jaw. "They control the narrative."
Collins nodded. "And they’re using it to bury us."
The situation was spiraling, and Matthew knew it wouldn’t take much more before the people turned on him completely. His advisors—some of the more conservative ones—had already suggested martial law as an option.
It was drastic. Dangerous. But the alternative was losing control entirely.
Just then, the door burst open, and Attorney General Daniel Whitaker entered, his face tight with urgency.
"Mr. President, the governor of New Manchester is demanding immediate federal intervention," Moreno reported. "The riots have spread, and local law enforcement can’t contain them. They need reinforcements."
Matthew turned to Collins. "Do we have National Guard units ready?"
Collins hesitated. "Yes, but deploying them will be politically costly."
"I don’t care about politics," Matthew shot back. "If cities are burning, we put out the fire."
Moreno shifted uncomfortably. "Sir… some of the states where the riots are worst? They’re controlled by governors who back Royce. If you send federal troops, they’ll claim you’re using force against the people. They’ll paint you as a tyrant."
Matthew clenched his fists.
It was a trap.
If he didn’t act, the violence would worsen. If he did, Royce’s allies in the media would spin it against him.
Matthew exhaled and walked over to the window, staring out at the White House lawn.
He couldn’t keep reacting. He needed to strike back.
"We go public."
Collins and Moreno exchanged glances. "Go public with what?" Collins asked.
Matthew turned back. "The truth."
"Matt, the press won’t run anything we give them. They’re in Royce’s pocket."
"Then we take it straight to the people."
Collins’s eyes narrowed. "You want to bypass the media?"
Matthew nodded. "We go live. I’ll address the nation directly. No press filters. Just me, speaking to the people."
Collins hesitated, then slowly nodded. "It could work. If you control the message, you take some power away from Royce."
That evening, Matthew sat behind his desk, a single radio microphone in front of him. The nation was listening.
"My fellow Amerathians, I come to you not as a politician, but as your President—your leader in a time of great difficulty."
He paused, letting the silence settle.
"I will not lie to you. This nation is in crisis. Economic disruption, riots, and violence have shaken our cities. And I know many of you are afraid. I know you wonder if Amerathia’s best days are behind us."
A deep breath.
"Let me be clear. This crisis is not natural. It is not a coincidence. It has been created by those who wish to divide and manipulate you."
The words were sharp, direct.
"Ask yourselves—who benefits from this chaos? Who has taken advantage of your fear? Who has stepped forward to offer ’solutions’ while never explaining how we got here in the first place?"
Matthew’s voice remained steady, unwavering.
"I have fought against corruption since the day I took office. I have challenged those who believe they are above the people. And now, in these final days before the election, they seek to break your faith in this administration by making you believe Amerathia is falling apart."
A pause.
"I will not allow it."
"I am deploying federal resources to restore order in our cities. I will ensure that every Amerathian has the right to vote, free from fear or manipulation. And I will not stand by while powerful men seek to tear this nation apart for their own gain."
A final declaration.
"Amerathia is strong. And together, we will prove it."
The reaction was immediate.
Some praised him, calling it his strongest speech yet. Others accused him of conspiracy-mongering. But one thing was clear—he had taken the fight directly to Royce and the Order.
And they would not let it go unanswered.
The real battle was just beginning.