Across the country a totally different scenario was unfolding. As thousands gathered outside, awaiting a speech scheduled to start hours ago, one man was in a trailer screaming at anyone who came near.
“Who the FUCK do these people think they are?” He rants, throwing furniture as he stomps across the room. “You mean to tell me that even WITH the extra guards there, using LIVE AMMO I might add, we lost SEVENTEEN BILLION FUCKING DOLLARS?”
An assistant was cowering behind a nearby table, flipped to protect them from the other furniture being thrown.
“We’re waiting on footage to come in from the security cameras, but the officers are saying they were easily disarmed.” He barely got the last of the words out before another chair hit the wall behind him.
“I am going out here to speak for one hour, Jameson. One hour. I expect that footage to be right here, ready to watch in the HIGHEST GODDAMN RESOLUTION! Do you understand me?” As he finished the sentence he suddenly went from erratic and violent to calm, composed, and eloquent. “Now, the good people have been waiting. We owe them a show.”
Walking out of the trailer to huge applause, he immediately put on a smile, waving at everyone, stopping to greet people, slowly making his way to a podium center stage. Once he got there the applause got even louder, people cheering and chanting.
The All-American Man, tall, with dark hair and a winning smile of perfect, straight teeth that nothing natural could achieve. His blue eyes were cold as ice, yet charismatic with a fire behind them. He knew what they wanted, knew who they admired, and fully intended to exploit it.
“So sorry folks, couldn’t find parking!” He wisecracked into the microphone, eliciting a roar of laughter from everyone. They were in the palm of his hand, all thanks to a little greasing of the wheels over the years. Represent yourself as a man of the people, frame it through nostalgia for a time past, and let them line up to give you every fucking dollar they have. They might know that you’re rich already, but it won’t stop them, they’ll give and give, funding what they think is a holy water. They were his flock. He was their shepherd, but they didn’t know he was after more than their wool. No, he planned on using every scrap of those lambs, squeezing every dollar. “I know a lot of you traveled to be here today, and thank you so much for that. You’re why I’m doing this! Because I believe in YOU. You are America, you are the ones who carry this country!”
Adoration and cheers rose once again from the crowd, giving him even more of a boost as he ate up the attention. They treated him as if infallible, and he took it to heart.
“Now, I know I’m not someone people would peg for politics. I had humble beginnings, a dual citizen born to American mother and South African father. I take my heritage seriously, on both sides of my family. But America is the closest to my heart. When my mother was raising me here after my late father passed, I found out what American culture truly means. Freedom, family, and the right to the American Dream. I believe that hard work pays off. Everyone can make it with a little initiative, but sometimes need a nudge in the right direction.”
Another round of cheers.
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“I’ve done a lot of work for this country already, creating millions of jobs across the United States in a diverse set of markets. My company, Avarice, is a household name, one of the most successful businesses on earth. I want to bring that same prosperity to America through the next step of my career- politics. I’m proud to announce that I’ll be running for president this year, but not as a member of any party. No, we’re starting a new movement in America, one that will unite all of us that keep this machine in shape and running. All of us that call this country home, even when we’re not here. I want to actually give back to those who defend our country, and give children a chance at life they may not have otherwise. I think we can all accomplish this, and pull America back up by the bootstraps.”
Cheers grew deafening, drowning out any other noise as he simply smiled, soaking up every bit of adoration. This was just the beginning of the new era, and he would make sure it was a long, long reign.
“So, let’s take back our country from those that would rather ruin it! Let’s show them that we worked for this dammit, and we won’t just let it be taken as a handout. We’re going to reward every hard worker, and make sure you’re recognized for everything you do for America! Thank you, I’ll see you soon!”
As he walked off the stage the chants began, screaming his name- “Graham! Graham! Graham!”
“Jameson, if you don’t have that footage you’re fired.” Graham muttered as soon as he passed through the door. “So help me fucking god you won’t even live.”
“Here it is s-s-sir!” Jameson says, giving him a remote to play back the video of the heist that just unfolded across the country. Every angle of the bank was visible, even the security cameras outside. “I’ve already reviewed it as well, sir. There’s… well, there’s really no explaining it.”
“We’ll see about that.” Graham snatched the remote, skipping through the footage. For a few minutes every security guard was just standing around, tense, waiting for any move. With no movement on the outside except for the civilians watching behind barricades, the group of masked strangers suddenly appeared inside, as if passing through the doorway. “Where the hell did they come from? How did they do that?”
In just moments he realized something else about the video, noting a new member of the team not seen in past footage. Graham paused the video, pointing wildly at the screen.
“That motherfucker! That’s the same stupid fucking bird man that offed Norton and his people. Son of a… since when is he working with these tools?” He was raving mad now, turning the video back on and watching the entire heist unfold. Minutes pass as he studies every movement they make, noting the pixelations and haze that appears every time some new feat happens. “You’re telling me they haven’t doctored this? It looks ridiculous.”
“That’s straight from the bank feeds, sir. No doctoring or cuts.” Jameson assured him, creeping off to hide near the table again.
The Strays disappeared through the vault door once again, with Graham about to throw the remote when a new player entered the game. Arin, totally undisguised, was making a run for the door before the portal closed. She disappeared along with the others, jumping through but never coming out the other side. He rewound, pausing the video to get a clear look on her face. Studying her features, he eventually turned to Jameson once more.
“Find her. I don’t give a shit how, plaster her face all over the news. I don’t care, FIND HER. She has to know something about these bastards.” He let out another shout, screaming and turning red before once again taking a moment to reset, composing himself into the calm, charismatic figure again. “I have to go meet with some of the local government here. Find her name, get it to me, and make sure everyone in the world knows where to send her. I’ll be back in a few hours. Understand me, Jameson…”
He leaned in close to the sniveling young assistant, glaring him straight in the eye with icy blue eyes, piercing into his mind.
“I. Want. Her. Name. Have it.” Graham left his assistant in tears, moving through the door with a bright, warm smile for his admirers.