“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for President Moore!” Whiteblood cried into the microphone before stepping away from the podium.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Moore started as he crossed the stage. Everybody was cheering for him, for the first time in his presidency. Whiteblood handed him the microphone and shot a glare into his soul.

  “Don’t mess this up,” he grumbled as the President headed for the podium. Moore looked out over the crowd, seeing the National Guard of North Dakota stationed towards the last rows in the crowd. He had been raised in the state, so it only made sense to give his first speech to the people of his home. On the podium, there was nothing but a script and a glass of undrank water.

  “It truly is an honor being the hundredth President of the United States of America. However, there are going to be some changes. Everybody, please welcome the members of the Council,” Moore said, waving on a group of seven hooded figures that had been standing at the edge of the stage.

  The crowd went silent as Moore watched from the podium. There was one man on a rooftop about a block away, his silhouette barely visible from where the President was standing. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the same man who’d been stationed outside his window for the last week. A sniper, only there to make sure Moore complied with his orders.

  “These men and women have come together and agreed to rule the country with authority. The Members of Congress and the Supreme Court have both agreed that this is a step in the correct direction. Now, with the Council in charge, I resign,” Moore read from the script.

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  Bernard returned to the stage with a hardback paper holder clutched in his hand. He placed it on the podium in front of Moore. There were two papers clipped to it. The first was an executive order to federalize the National Guard of all fifty states, and to put them under the control of Bernard Whiteblood. The second was the Council Act.

  He read over the Council Act’s fine print as fast as he could. It was clear what it did; it destroyed the United States Constitution in the form of a final amendment that delegitimized the document, and relinquished all political power to the seven names of the coup members that had been selected as Councilmen. He took a deep inhale as he looked at the paper, but a pen was forced into his hand.

  “Sign it,” Whiteblood demanded. Tears welled in his eyes when he caught a glimpse of his own distorted face in the cup of water, but Moore complied. His pen glided across the paper, and his power was revoked. Then, he darted off the stage pursued by Whiteblood.

  “Go away,” Moore demanded. “I need a minute.”

  “What you just did will only bring glory and benefit to our nation. I see that. Do you?”

  “Our nation is gone. Because of you, me, and all of the rats who work for that coup of power hungry elitist monsters. There is no glory here. You’ll see that soon enough.”

  With that, Moore stormed off. Whiteblood hung his head for a moment before pressing his finger to his ear, activating a radio’s microphone.

  “Follow him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything… rash,” he said.

  “Of course,” Ace’s voice chimed in over Whiteblood’s earpiece.