Reagan rubbed his hand across the allied leather and poured himself a glass of scotch.
“Well friend…” he spoke to the invisible man that was Sousa, “it looks like the war is over and i made the right decision.”
Even though he was satisfied with the results of the war ending- he felt a bit lonely. So – he reminded himself of the positives as he took a sit in the luxurious couch that came from ANI leather.
There would be meetings- many- to finalize terms and solidify the trade agreements.
One of the benefits of an Allied truce meant you got the benefits of allied technology. The color scheme was perfect. The windows, the height, the little decors. All the pieces that fit a president.
He sat in the couch. The luxurious leather felt plush and soft as he pulled the edges in a tight grip in his hand. This was the new headquarters of the United Territory and would be the stage for the treaty, designed at his command using Allied building robots and workers.
It was a new feeling for Rage. The past few years as an Underground leader had been filled with only the essentials of what was required for such a position.
Before all that of course, he’d worked as a carpenter and lived with his second wife in a somewhat moderate house. After her death, however, he’d fallen into a drunken stupor.
In fact, his old friend and army buddy from the campaign against the bandits, Mark Sozo, was the one who had invited him to lead a section of the new Underground defense network to defend the territory.
Since then it had been a structured life in the leadership role as an underground council member and leader. He’d adjusted, but was never really used to the moderate quarters, when he knew that he could have more.
He puts his hand on his oak desk. Something sturdy he’d requested to be moved to the new location for his place in the office of the new government building. Ah the perks that came with the power of his new position.
Over the course of a week, a makeshift location had been put together for negotiations with the Allies. They’d spared no expense with their imported machines to satisfy the first leader of Utnac (the United territory of the North American Continent). After all, they would have to appease him to squelch the possible wrath of what came with their surrender.
The couch leather felt soft as Reagan brought his fingers to feel the plush substance in a tight brush. Sector 2’s textile industry shipped to 7 and now imported to his special office and at his fingertips. Grade – Y leather, specially harvested from the most docile cows. Velvet quality smoothness covered its surface as he brought into a grip. The whole room emanated luxury with like items imported into it. Even the lighting was specially developed from the sector 4’s technological industry.
He walked around the room, taking in the reality of his position- president of UTNAC: the newly developed country from the territory of the Northern American state.
President– he thought to himself. I am, the president… of UTNAC…
The United Territories of North American Continent, He liked the sound of his position, the ringing of the power that came with his position. What could he do with all of this? He’d never really considered- the power alone had been a separate objective that came with the political game he’d played as the Underground leader: and now they’d built up a moderate governmental place for the operation of the government on the left side of the mountain range that stretched across the eastern part of the continent. He opened and closed a fist in front of him, the potential held in these hands.
Already, he knew that this was where he was meant to stay. Some question lingered in the back of his mind- How could he keep it…
He brushed the thought away from him- Not now, he thought- Soon.
Of course, he’d have to do his part in setting up legislation and get done what needed to be done before he would start to do what needed to be done in the control of the nation. He appointed the council of outside sources. He didn’t want any of the Underground council members involved to usurp his position. Instead he accepted the help of the certain politicians using backdoor trades in the power structure.
He rested his behind on the large leather chair behind a bold Allied desk and started adjusting some of his belongings on the table- knick knacks and a picture of his second wife holding his newborn son, both of which died shortly after childbirth.
In some way he’d had that in common with Mark Sozon. Both had buried their grief through the support of the cause. The different views emanating from the cause were what separated them.
I did it Mark. I brought the peace that you wanted.
Maybe it was an unforgivable thing to betray him, but somehow, the comfort from what he did to accomplish their dream would have to suffice.
Now, down to business.
Reagan pushed the com on his desk to call some of his newly appointed advisors: “Arrow and Placebo to the main office.”
The office was highly lighted and presented an open atmosphere. Lighting from the windows illuminated the room as they discussed some of the terms of negotiations, the first move to establish his reign.
“So, what do you recommend would best fit our campaign?” Regan said to his advisors as he talked with them over the table and shots of alcohol. Something about keeping occupied he was able to maintain a distance from the need for alcohol.
“We need someone who can rally the people under unity, Diplomacy is all about appearance. Give the people a presentable face to look at, and they won’t really care about the rest- Just tell them what they want to hear,” Arrow said.
Arrow and Placebo was a diplomat as one of the “main badguy”’s resources.
“What about me?”
“It’s nothing personal, but I don’t think the Allies want the reality of the situation, they want a pretty face. They want a clever distraction.
“Do you have someone in mind that has a good sway with the Underground already that could also do the job?”
“well, i recommend throwing a pretty face at them…”
Regan was tactful enough to know he wasn’t exactly the right candidate for diplomacy. He was too angry. His face was too hardened by war. If they saw his face in campaign, they’d either be in terror, hate the new government, or a bit of both.
He’d need representatives. Someone to build the image of the Underground instead of diminish it. and why not the best two candidates he had. Whether or not he liked them, they had good sway with the rest of the people.
He’d need to negotiate a proper treaty with the Allies and Independents that surrounded the territory. He’d have to select someone that could win the hearts and minds of the people.
If Sohon were here…
He thought about how well, Sohon’s daughter commanded the respect of the people and maintained poise, beauty, even if a little unrefined. He thought Jess would make a fine candidate for the position of representative and Michael would be a good representative for something that had been done to help the Allies… while he personally saw it as an act of rebellion and disrespect, if it held sway with the Allies, perhaps he could use it to his advantage and kill two birds with one stone.
Instead of having to get rid of them, he could instead turn them from his enemies to his best pawn to establish his own position.
Sally looked at her brother sitting ont he bed.
There was something definately wrong. He was chanting numbers… ” one-two-three, four-five-six, seven-eight-nine, one-two-three…”
“i wanted to get my brother back…” she thought aloud.
Jaydon spoke as he rocked back and forth. His eyes shifted around the room.
Then she directed her attention to the head doctor ‘Ren’, “What’s wrong with him?” Sally asked ‘Ren’ the head physician about her brother, as he sat there twittling his thumbs and rocking on the bed.
“It seems to be an advanced case of p.t.s.d.” he said. “After a large trauma, sometimes people try to avoid thinking about anything through the repetition of some sort of phrase or activity. it seems like he’s compensating by his use of numbers to distract him.”
“Will he return to normal?” Michael asked.
“Normal? No… but don’t give up on him yet,” the doctor directed the last part to Sally and gave her a pat.
“I will stay here,” she said, to heather and Mike, as she grabbed her brother’s hand and sat next to his bed. Wild eyes looked at her from an abyss as she looked into them.
“I’m here…” she said. She felt his body relax a little in its grip, but nothing more.
“We’ve let this conflict in the west go on too long. We appear weak. To the nations that surround us, and if we can’t control one small uprising, what’s to stop them thinking they could all take us out with their own,” Robert spoke to committee that selects representatives.
“-Appoint me as representative and I will be sure to handle the issue in the west, as well as strengthen the nations.”
The council of representatives was all there to meet behind closed doors as a meeting had been called to discuss the issue of the west.
“If we elect you, what do you propose to do about the sector?”
“This will be our stepping stone into the unity we so desperately need. We are all united under the struggle of establishing our cities in the age of darkness. We have united our economy- our technology and education, but we have failed to unite our purposes. One government, one elected official to represent the will of all.”
Mumbles arose throughout the council.
One of the older representatives spoke, “if there is only one leader who will moderate the official’s decisions?”
‘This is a time of need- a need to show strength in the light of these new circumstances. I believe there should be a system to handle times of need. The official will, of course, be elected from the council, legislation will be made by the council, but the official will enforce it.”
Nods of approval went among the council.
“We will need to discuss the terms of the agreement, but we consent.”
“Great. Now, we wait to notify the people of our sectors until we can settle the uprisings in sector seven. I have an idea.”
Ragenwulf looked at those surrounding him- he was more direct than eloquent, but got the point across none the less.
“I have given you all success, have i not?” nods of approval came from the group of elites gathered around the room.
“Now is the time when I need you to help me,” he said as he talked to the few elites he’d been supporting in their campaigns and organizations.
The group turned their attention to him.
“what can we do…”
“You will support my candidate for the presidency…”
Secret meeting room, individual meets with separate elites, criminal leaders.
He was king of this ring, not directly illegal, but in charge of everything behind the scenes
He ran a tight ship.
Something with backroom politics.
MB sat in his office with a few of the politicians he owned in his pockets. The way he worked was through taking advantage of their position, backing their campaigns if they backed his policies.
“if I choose a candidate for the presidency, I want you to promote him.’
MB sat up, gave them some handshakes and offers of expensive items, and excused them and himself.
It had been a long road to the destruction of the territory, but it was almost at the fulcrum.
Vincent listened on the meeting the badguy conversed and overheard about the coups in the government…
“if this takes place,” he thought, “the territory will be destroyed.”
He wondered if it were possible to stop, but it was too much in the works to stop now without causing a large scene.
His best opportunity was to join in the front lines of the attack and then split to warn the underground.
He knocked on the door before opening it and approached the commander.
He looked ahead at the two leaders, pretending not to notice the stranger, the one who had been working behind the scenes for all of this secretly.
“What is it Matthew?”
“I would like the chance to prove myself on the front lines, sir.”
The stranger’s attention perked.
Vincent continued, “i believe i’ve earned it. have i shown adaquate advancement?”
“Yes you have…” the commander though, “Very well, you’ll meet at the debriefing tommorrow at oh-eigh hundred hours,”
“thank you sir.”
He took his leave of the room.
It seemed that both he and Jess would be going in together. Micael was about to be interviewed for his involvement on the trains as part of a ‘heroic stories’ broadcast among the sector.
He hated the idea of flaunting his image, but if it were going to help the territory he’d deal with it.
He wasn’t used to formal wear that much, but put on his best uniform and combed his hair.
He got up and out of his room. Perhaps he’d be able to catch Jess before she left her room as well.
Jess heard a knock on the door.
“come on in…” she said excitedly, she was just happy that she’d finally get someone to understand her plight.
She watch him enter the door and then lift up his hand, “oh geez, that light.”
she watched him adjust to the surroundings inside of her room. Two make-up artists were putting up her hair into a fancy bun thing, and her face wasn’t even the same color anymore. a robe covered over her body, protecting the fancy clothes underneath as she was dolled up to look like the poster child of the Underground.
She heard him laugh.
“it’s not me…”
“i know it’s not… cheer up, your beautiful however you look,” he pinched her cheeks.
Jess tried to smile through all the make-up. he looked good in a suit.
“well, i guess i won’t be eating here,” he said.