Chapter 562 - 264: Prepare for Battle
The terrace on the top floor of Pittsburgh City Hall.
The late-night wind cut across Leo Wallace’s cheeks like a knife.
He wore only a thin shirt, his tie loosened and dangling around his neck, swaying in the wind.
He clutched a phone, hot to the touch.
This was the twelfth call he had received tonight. On the other end of the line was Kod Montoya, the House Majority Whip.
Before this, Montoya’s attitude toward Leo had always been one of condescending appreciation, like a veteran Beast Tamer watching a young lion—wild and difficult to tame, but with immense potential.
He had even hinted in private that if Leo just played along, there would be a place for him in Washington’s future.
But now, that appreciation was gone.
What now echoed in Leo’s ear was naked killing intent.
"Wallace."
Montoya’s voice came through the receiver, devoid of its usual pleasantries, possessing only a metallic coldness.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Three in the morning, sir." Leo’s tone was steady as he looked down at the sleeping city below.
"So you do know it’s three in the morning." Montoya sneered. "In the last twenty-four hours, my office has received calls from the chairmen of our party in all fifty states. Every single call asked me the same question: why is our party disintegrating from within?"
"They’re asking me why rumors are spreading on X, on Facebook, and in every online community where young people gather—rumors that the Democratic Party wants to murder civilians and protect Vampires."
"They’re asking me why the bullets being fired at us are coming from our own side."
Montoya paused. The deliberate silence was more oppressive than any shout.
"I traced it to the source."
"All the leads point to the same place."
"Pittsburgh."
"They point to you."
Leo didn’t deny it.
"Public opinion is free, Mr. Montoya," Leo said lightly. "The people have a right to express their anger. If they feel betrayed, they’re naturally going to speak up."
"Don’t give me that bullshit!"
Montoya exploded, his voice suddenly rising in pitch.
"This isn’t the voice of the people! This is the sound of machines! This is noise you’ve manufactured with those despicable bot accounts!"
"You’re cooperating with the Republican Party!"
"You’re taking our money to tear down our own house!"
Montoya’s voice was filled with bitter indignation—the kind of hatred that comes from watching a hope you personally nurtured turn into despair.
"Leo, do you have any damn idea what you’re doing?"
"You’re tearing this country apart."
"You’re making Americans hate Americans. You’re manufacturing extreme polarization, making the left hate the right, the poor hate the rich, the sick hate their doctors."
"You’ve turned politics into a no-holds-barred gladiatorial fight."
"All for a criminal who killed someone, for your pathetic little bit of local power, for your dominant position in that small pond of Pittsburgh."
"You’re destroying the unity we’re trying to protect. You’re destroying the very foundation of this country."
Montoya took a deep breath and delivered his final verdict.
"Leo Wallace."
"You are becoming a traitor to this country."
Traitor.
The word echoed in the cold wind, carrying the weight of a final judgment.
If this had been the Leo of a year ago, he might have panicked upon hearing such an accusation. He might have felt guilty, might have thought he’d truly done something wrong.
After all, the "country" was a grand, sacred, inviolable concept.
But now, standing on the terrace, Leo looked down at the city below—a city made of steel, concrete, and three hundred thousand living, breathing people.
He only found it absurd.
"The country?"
Leo let out a soft chuckle into the phone.
"Mr. Montoya, this ’country’ you keep talking about... what is it, exactly?"
Leo’s voice was no longer steady. It had taken on an aggressive edge.
"Is it the magnificent marble buildings on Constitution Avenue in Washington?"
"Is it the flashing red and green numbers on the New York Stock Exchange?"
"Or is it the legal system written by lobbyists on K Street, finalized by big shots like you at dinner parties, and designed specifically to help the rich exploit the poor?"
"If it’s all of that,"
Leo tightened his grip on his phone.
"Then what does that country have to do with me?"
"What does it have to do with the people in the city beneath my feet?"
Montoya was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting such a direct counterattack.
"What are you talking about? We are upholding order, the Constitution, the—"
"That’s *your* order!"
Leo cut him off harshly.
"That so-called ’country’ is nothing more than a fiction you’ve constructed. It’s a net—a net designed to suck the blood from the bottom and deliver it to the top."
"You sit at the center of that net, enjoying the offerings of power, and then you tell us that preserving the integrity of this net is patriotism, that it’s justice."
"But on the edges of this net, in the South District of Pittsburgh, in the factories of Erie, in the coal mines of Scranton."
"People are bleeding."
Leo looked out at the darkened residential district in the distance.
"Did you know? Just yesterday, my office received a letter."
"It was from a woman named Mary. Her mother has diabetes, but because she couldn’t afford insulin, she started reducing her dosage. Last week, her mother was rushed to the emergency room with complications from uncontrolled blood sugar. She’s in the ICU right now, still unconscious."
"This all happened because the insurance company denied her mother’s claim, calling it a non-essential expense."
"And there’s a worker named Wade, who severed three of his fingers while operating a stamping press. The factory refused to compensate him because that damn labor bill amendment of yours excluded temporary workers from workers’ compensation."
"That’s how your country treats them."
Leo’s voice grew low, each word seeming to be squeezed through clenched teeth.
"The ones I’m saving are real people."
"It’s that dying mother, that worker with the severed fingers."
"They are living flesh and blood, warm lives."
"Compared to them, your grand, abstract, lie-filled country is worthless."
"If I have to tear your fictional country to shreds to save these real people..."
"...if I have to make your order collapse, make you lose your elections, and bring your power games to a halt just so they can live..."
Leo lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the solitary moon in the night sky.
"...then its destruction is nothing to be sad about."
"Even if it makes me a traitor."
"I will be the traitor who smashes open the prison gates."
The other end of the line fell deathly silent.
Montoya sat in his office, holding the phone.
He suddenly realized that the young man on the other end was no longer a local Politician who could be bought, placated, or intimidated.
He was a heretic.
A heretic who no longer believed in the "Washington myth."
"Fine."
After a long moment, Montoya’s voice finally sounded again.
"Since you’ve made your choice."
"Since you insist on standing against order."
"Then, Leo Wallace."
"Good luck."
"Starting tomorrow, you’ll find out just how easy it is for the machinery of this state to crush a single person."
CLICK.
The line went dead.
Leo slowly lowered his phone. The screen went dark, and he was once again enveloped in blackness.
He felt an unprecedented loneliness.
’Mr. President.’
Leo whispered in his mind.
’Was I... too impulsive just now?’
’Maybe I should have tried to play for more time? Maybe I should have pretended to agree with him?’
’No.’
Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.
’You did nothing wrong, Leo.’
’At a moment like this, any compromise is a surrender.’
’If you had bowed your head just now, you would have truly lost.’
’You held your ground.’
Roosevelt paused.
’But, my boy.’
’You need to understand what you just did.’
’You didn’t just hang up a phone call.’
’You just declared war on Rome. You are Spartacus.’
Leo froze for a second.
Spartacus.
The slave who led the gladiators in an uprising, attempting to overthrow the Roman Empire.
The rebel who was ultimately nailed to a Cross.
"That’s the name of a tragic hero," Leo said with a bitter smile.
’Yes.’
Roosevelt admitted.
’Because challenging a behemoth has always come at a price.’
’Rome had its legions, its laws, and its Senate.’
’But Spartacus had only the sword in his hand and a band of slaves who didn’t want to die.’
’Right now, you are that gladiator standing in the arena of Capua.’
’Montoya doesn’t just represent the Democratic Party. He represents the old order—ossified, rotten, but still powerful.’
’His silence just now wasn’t because he was afraid of you.’
’It was because he has already decided to treat you as a virus that must be eradicated.’
’Next, you will see what the real machinery of the state looks like.’
’Investigations from the Auditing Bureau, subpoenas from the Federal Taxation Bureau, indictments from the Department of Justice.’
’They will descend upon Pittsburgh like a flood, trying to drown you.’
Leo turned and leaned his back against the railing.
"Then let them come."
His eyes glinted with a cold light in the darkness.
"I have Pittsburgh."
"I have Frank, Ethan, and Sarah."
"If Rome wants to destroy us, then we’ll burn Rome to the ground."
Leo straightened his wind-tousled collar.
He pushed open the terrace door and walked back into the warmth of the indoors.
Inside the office, Ethan was asleep at his desk, still clutching a document about the medical Mutual Aid Alliance.
Sarah was dozing on a sofa in the corner, the data from their public opinion monitoring still flickering on her computer screen.
Leo looked at them, gently closing the door so as not to wake them.
He sat back down behind his desk and turned on the lamp.
"Dawn is coming."
Leo said to himself.
"Time to fight."