The US Supreme Court frowns down at Governor Brown. He’s handcuffed, with his only defense being the flimsy government-assigned lawyer. His two briefcases stand on the ground until one flops over. The prosecution lines one side. Behind Governor Brown is the large audience of angry subscribers and normal people, ready to throw fruit at him. At the front, behind a long wooden desk, seats the nine justices that will determine the governor’s fate.

But despite all of that, Governor Brown smiles. The jury is slightly unenerved, but the justices are used to the expressions of brainwashed fanatics.

That isn’t optimal. Governor Brown was hoping for a better reaction from the people who represent the highest order of justice in the US. He still maintains his smile.

“Your crimes will now be listed.” The prosecution goes through all of the governor’s crimes. Not just instigating secession, but a number of other crimes revealed during investigations. There’s also the governor's own confession of his intentions to destroy America and the fact that he’s part of a terrorist group with the same goals. The justices try to show no reaction, but it’s clear that even they are disgusted with some of the governor's exploits.

That satisfies Governor Brown. There’s the desired reaction.

The court drags on with its procedures. A mere formality. Everyone already knows what the verdict will be. The Chief Justice announces the verdict after a brief discussion.

“The Supreme Court has convicted Governor Henry Brown to death.”

Huh. He thought he would be sentenced to the electric chair without an alternative. Then again, the last time that happened was in 2002. But Governor Brown wanted to push America.

He wanted the country to break its own ideals before breaking itself. Though most in his terrorist group just wanted America to die, he led a group that wanted America to suffer. The higherups hadn’t listened when he brought it up. But now the higherups were gone and the Emergency Command Plan was in action. There were people outside of the governor's group that were supposed to rank higher than him. Many of them, in fact. But now they were all dead.

He snickered as the court wrapped up. These fools really thought that he was just a crazy extremist. In reality, Governor Brown used the chaos of the secession to eliminate all of his rivals. Now he was the leader of the Graveyard of Empires.

But he knew he couldn’t escape the Supreme Court’s verdict. So, he set up a successor and a grand plan for Anerica’s ruin. A plan that starts…now.

As the bailiff is about to take the governor away, the defense lawyer suddenly beelines for the justices. The bailiff is stunned for a brief second, and, underestimating the strength of an old, overweight death row governor, is knocked out. The governor opens the lawyer’s second briefcase and straps the bomb onto himself. As the defense lawyer is gunned down, Governor Brown uses his sacrifice to get within range of the justices. Which isn’t much further from his stand, but the closer the better.

To the horror of the justices and the failed Supreme Court Police, Governor Brown detonates the bomb on his chest with the press of a button.

“Welcome to the graveyard, America.”

“…are the last words Governor Henry Brown uttered, according to survivors.” The office is in chaos. A flurry of FBI agents shove each other aside as the news reports on the attack on the Supreme Court. On the biggest screen among many, the court with a blackened hole is shown surrounded by SWAT and various federal organizations.

I glance at the file called Operation Toga. That team was sent to Venerai. They’ll stay there for an undeterminable amount of time in deep cover.

My job is to uproot the Graveyard of Empires from the bottom up. This includes their command structure, members, and base locations. After the trial, I was going to get HIG to interrogate Governor Brown for intel as he is most likely very high up. It seems that trail is dead now.

In that case, I’ll have to do things the hard way. I call the director of the Terrorist Screening Center.

He quickly answers the call. “Assistant Executive Director Greenings?”

“Get information about anyone related to or has had contact with Brown from the CIA. Evaluate who may be a terrorist, and out of those, who is connected with the Graveyard.”

“Got it. I’ll send a report by next week with the preliminary screenings.”

And now, I have to review all of these reports related to what’s being called the “Catastrophic Failure of Justice Security” by the media. Well, it’s not my duty to manage public opinion. I just have to catch terrorists.

As soon as I saw the news, I ran to my buddies smacking each other in the pool.

“Yo, dudes! Look at the TV! The Supreme Court judges were blown up!” That got the rowdy teenagers to stop blinding poor Jean Baker who was sitting on the edge with water. The fastest swimmer, a giant hulk of a quarterback, Jeremy Mickelson, leapt out of the oval pool. I ran through the sliding glass door on the patio after him.

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He’s much faster than me, so when I arrive, I find him staring at the TV. It’s talking about how none of the justices survived. “Oh, fuck.”

“Those Graveyard of Empires shitheads,” curses Mark Katsu.

The other four arrive soon after, dripping water all over my red, patterned carpet. Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have left it out after the last time. Everyone sweat all over it, and it smelled like shit for weeks.

Luckily, nobody tries to deal me more emotional damage by sitting on the couch. Instead, they either slop down onto the floor or simply stand, gaping.

The reporter said that the defense lawyer was a terrorist, hiding a bomb in his second suitcase. I don’t know how it got through security. The FBI suspect the lawyer to have an accomplice who swapped the briefcase before the trial. The location hasn’t been identified yet.

The bomb was then strapped onto Brown, who used the lawyer as a distraction to get within range. Then he blew himself along with all nine justices.

The reporter ends with, “At a time where Supreme Court cases are as common as civil disputes after the transportation, what will America do now?”

Once the report ends, the program switches back to the drama I was watching. A spy drama. How ironic.

Jean Baker turns the TV off. We just sit there in silence for a while, before the group’s comedian mutters, “Let me guess, Brown was guilty.”

“Very, obviously,” Jack(ass) Barry snaps.

Paul Saratov tries to calm him down. “Chill, Jack, Ken didn’t mean anything by it.”

“The fucking Supreme Court has been blown to hell! The fuck do you want me to do, quip, ‘The FBI didn’t get this level of terrorist training since 911!’”

Jackass is standing noticeably farther away from everyone else. He’s extremely unpopular within the sports community, but not even the rich bitch coach can kick him from the team. And he knows it too. Not that he’s rich or famous or anything, he’s just a senior member of the team. Luckily, he’s also a senior of the high school, so he’ll be gone soon.

At this point, most have learned to ignore him. Everyone here certainly has, as no one attempts to change his mind. Meh, I usually like a good argument, but an argument with an idiotic, hormonal narcissist isn’t worth it.

Eventually, we all collectively agree—with the exclusion of Jackass—to go home. I have to drag Jackass out of my house as he keeps trying to pick a fight with me.

“Just shut up,” I growl as I toss him out the window. I couldn’t get that fat bastard to the door. He wouldn’t fit anyway.

He gets up and gives me the middle finger before storming off. Have fun being a baby. I’ll be watching more news instead.

My parents get home at the usual eleven at night. They work at the same rich pharmaceutical. I can’t believe they didn’t leave work early after what happened. They’re not worried that terrorists would attack the company? It’s high-profile enough.

I pretend to be asleep. No need to talk to them. The TV’s still running. Currently, a karen’s yelling about police failure and shit. It gets turned off my one of my parents. My dad carries me up the stair to my bedroom, muttering, “Who told you to stay up watching that on a school night? Most you should worried about is exams.” Can’t believe those weren’t canceled. I guess if being transported to a fucking fantasy world didn’t cancel exams, nothing will.

Once I’m in bed and my dad leaves, I make sure I hear him go down the stairs before crawling back out of bed. What could a teenage boy possibly be doing at night? Well, since I wasted my time before watching the news, I need to do my dailies in Empire Builder. Maybe a versus match of Sun Civilian after that, I might find the president there. He beats me most times. Sad he hasn’t streamed for a while.

Why do I still have to go to school the next morning? The justices are literally dead. When the US was transferred, school was out for weeks. Terrorists fucking attack and it’s fine?

At breakfast, my mom comments on my TV watching habits. “You really shouldn’t be watching that type of thing. School is stressful enough, you don’t want to add something you can’t control to the stress.”

“Mhm,” I reply with a mouth full of bacon casserole.

“Seriously. First it’s the transportation, then it’s the war with Oso, to Venerai visiting, and now it’s the Failure. Final exams are soon.”

“Are exams as important as everything that has happened in the past month?”

My dad decides to join in. “What can you do as a high schooler? Proximity to the Capitol doesn’t mean you have any ability to help.”

“Besides,” my mom adds. “From the war with Oso, there doesn’t seem much to worry about. Besides gods, but John Johnson announced that gods can’t directly intervene in a military capacity. And, don’t forget we’re cooperating with Venerai, a great power of this world.”

“Aren’t they racist dragons with a superiority complex?” I mutter.

My mom shrugs. “Speciesist. And they’ve stopped the killings.”

“That’s literally saying that the KKK is fine because they’re not killing anyone.”

“I’m not happy with it either,” my dad says. “But we can’t fight essentially a god who isn’t restricted by whatever divine laws there are leading a great power. America can teach them a lesson once the economy is fixed. But for now we need their help.”

Mm. Even temporary tolerance is against America’s values, isn’t it? Though I do see why cooperation is necessary right now.

I leave the black, round kitchen table, wash my plate and open the front door. “Bye.”

“See you later.” Today, I actually would see them because their work is closed.

I grumble about school still running even when a huge pharmaceutical isn’t the whole bus trip. It’s more subdued than usual, and the topic of most conversations is the attack. Just yesterday, people were still talking about the meeting with Venerai’s leader and the conclusion of the war.

Wow, this was an eventful week.

And school was open the whole time…

The bus jumped over a speed bump, causing a bunch of people to fly into the ceiling. Most do that on purpose. I honestly have no idea why. Maybe they’re just idiots.

There are a few more stops before school. Unfortunately, the bus has yet to get to those stops and it’s five to the start of the first period. And…we're stuck in traffic.

The small, open-air bridge was packed with many honking cars and trucks. There’s usually no traffic here as the road in front has no traffic lights. Erm, there must be an accident up ahead.

I’m proven wrong two seconds later when two masked hooligans appear on top of a truck near the front. Then, my eardrums burst from a loud boom below the bridge. The bus attempts to fly.

I spot a shovel and sickle crossed in an X over a blue star broken into multiple pieces. That is the symbol of the Graveyard of Empires.

People scream, “Motherfuckers!” “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to school today!” “Please let school be closed tomorrow!” and “I have exams!”

As for me, I just scream incoherently as the bus splashes into the green water.