Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 453: Chapter 211: Graffiti

4:00 AM.

Forbes Avenue, near the University of Pittsburgh, was deserted.

Only the dim yellow glow of the streetlights illuminated the glistening, wet asphalt.

Ben Harris shook the can of spray paint in his hand.

The steel ball inside rattled against the can, making a sharp KLAK, KLAK sound.

The noise carried far in the silent night.

He wore a dark black hoodie, the hood pulled up to hide most of his face.

Beside him, Chloe was using a brush to slather a thick layer of paste onto the red brick wall.

She was an art student. Her long fingers were stained with multi-colored paints and white paste.

"Hurry up, Ben," Chloe urged in a low voice. "The glue is drying."

Ben stepped forward, pulled a huge poster from his backpack, unfolded it, and slapped it firmly onto the paste-covered wall.

He smoothed it out from the center to the edges with his palms, pushing out the air bubbles.

The poster featured the face of Leo Wallace.

But this was no official campaign poster.

The image had been artistically altered. Leo’s gaze was depicted as exceptionally sharp, set against a background of burning medical bills.

Below the image, a line of eye-catching bold text read: DECLARE WAR ON MEDICAL TYRANNY.

This was the masterpiece of the Youth Revival Front.

They were Leo’s most radical supporters, the vanguard active on campus and in the streets.

"Done."

Ben took a step back to admire their work.

"It looks powerful."

Chloe tossed the brush into a plastic bucket and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"Hey, did you hear the Mayor’s speech just now?" Chloe’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "It was so awesome."

"I heard it," Ben said with a nod, taking out a can of red spray paint. "CNN and Fox are both trashing the shooter, calling him a terrorist, a lunatic. Only Leo dares to speak the truth."

"He called it systemic violence," Chloe said, repeating Leo’s words. "He said it’s the world that’s driving young people crazy. God, I almost cried. Finally, a politician who doesn’t see us as idiots or thugs."

Ben stopped what he was doing.

He stared at Leo’s face on the wall.

"Leo’s on our side, that’s true," Ben’s voice held a youthful mix of fervor and discontent. "But sometimes he’s still too constrained. He’s the Mayor. He has to worry about the law, about the centrist vote."

Ben turned his head to look at Chloe.

"If I were up on that podium, I wouldn’t have been so subtle."

"I’d tell everyone straight up: that guy who fired three shots, Luigi, he’s a hero."

"He did what we all want to do but don’t have the guts for. He killed a Vampire."

Chloe looked at Ben. She wanted to argue, to say that was too extreme, but she swallowed her words.

In an era where they were suffocating under the weight of high tuition and medical bills, extremism seemed like the only way out.

"Shhh—"

Chloe suddenly raised a finger to her lips.

A low engine rumble echoed from the distance.

Two glaring beams of blue and white light swept around the street corner. The flashing lights of a patrol car.

"Cops are here."

Ben snatched the backpack and the paste bucket off the ground.

"Go! Don’t let them see our faces!"

The two of them quickly turned and ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings.

It was a dead end, piled high with trash and discarded cardboard boxes from nearby restaurants.

The police car drove slowly past the intersection. Its searchlight swept the mouth of the alley for a moment before moving on.

Ben leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

"That was close."

"We should wait before we go out," Chloe whispered. "They might circle back."

They shuffled a few steps deeper into the alley, trying to hide themselves completely in the shadows.

It was pitch-black here, so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

Ben stepped forward cautiously, and his foot landed on something soft.

It wasn’t a garbage bag.

The texture was yielding, and it even seemed to be rising and falling slightly.

"Ugh..."

A deeply suppressed groan of pain came from under his foot.

Terrified, Ben leaped backward, nearly knocking over a nearby trash can.

"Who’s there?!"

Ben yelled instinctively, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

Chloe grabbed Ben’s arm.

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight.

The beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating the corner.

A figure was huddled between two large green dumpsters.

The person wore a heavy hoodie, with the hood up and a black mask over their face.

He was soaked to the bone, his clothes covered in mud and bits of garbage.

The man had clearly been sleeping, or perhaps unconscious, and Ben’s misstep had just woken him.

The instant the light hit his face, the man jerked his head up.

His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a feral, near-breaking-point alertness.

It was the look of a cornered animal.

The man shrank back, his right hand darting into the large pocket of his hoodie.

The fabric of his clothes bulged into a distinct shape.

The shape of a gun barrel.

Ben and Chloe froze.

They were student radicals. They shouted for revolution online, sprayed slogans on walls, and thought they were fearless.

But when faced with real violence, with the dark muzzle of a gun pointed at them from under a layer of cloth...

They felt fear.

The primal fear of death.

"Don’t... don’t move."

The man spoke.

"Turn off the light."

Chloe’s hand was trembling, the phone’s beam of light wavering across the man’s face.