Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

’Is there any possibility of compromise between us?’

He asked himself, and he asked Roosevelt, searching for an answer.

’He doesn’t look... like an enemy.’

’But he’s in the way.’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

"Anyone who stands in your way is an enemy, regardless of whether they’re a good person or a bad one."

"You can’t stop the wheels just because you feel sorry for a stone."

Leo nodded.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

He took it out and saw it was a text from Ethan.

It was just a short line of text:

"It passed in Washington."

Leo’s pupils contracted sharply.

That was the signal he had been waiting for.

The "Critical Infrastructure and Medical Personnel Safety Protection Act," designed to protect insurance company executives, had finally passed after endless wrangling between the Senate and the House of Representatives.

This meant that actions similar to Luigi’s would, in the future, be legally and officially classified as terrorism.

It also meant that the heads of those insurance companies had been given a get-out-of-jail-free card.

This should have been bad news.

But in Leo’s eyes, this was the spark that would ignite everything.

This was the momentum he had been waiting for.

The bureaucrats in Washington thought they had reinforced the walls of the old world with a piece of legislation, that they could now rest easy.

But they were wrong.

They had merely, with their own hands, raised the curtain for the dawn of a new era.

When the law no longer protects the weak, when the system openly endorses evil, when all paths to reform are blocked.

Revolution becomes the only option.

And the trigger for that revolution was now in Leo’s hands.

...

「Washington D.C., 10 PM on a Friday, Eastern Time.」

In political circles, this was known as garbage time.

Most Congressmen were already on flights back to their districts or had started their weekend festivities in the bars of Georgetown.

The newsrooms of major media outlets were staffed only by interns on duty, and the televisions were playing harmless sports highlights or celebrity gossip.

The major news networks had long ago received a tacit directive from Washington’s top brass.

They didn’t schedule any special reports. Instead, a brief message scrolled by in inconspicuous small text on the news ticker at the bottom of the screen: "Congress passes infrastructure security act, aimed at strengthening protection of public facilities."

If you weren’t looking closely, you’d never know what that line meant.

Washington had hit the mute button.

They wanted this bill to be like a stone thrown into the deep sea, sinking silently to the bottom amidst the weekend’s bubble of entertainment.

...

「Pittsburgh City Hall, Media and Public Opinion Control Center.」

Dozens of high-resolution monitoring screens covered an entire wall, displaying real-time data streams from X, Facebook, TikTok, Reddit, and various major news websites.

Sarah Jenkins sat at the center of the control console.

She was wearing a black T-shirt and holding a cup of black coffee.

Her face looked a little pale in the blue glow of the screens, but her eyes were frighteningly bright, like an owl hunting in the dark.

She had set up the keyword-scraping program long ago.

Healthcare, infrastructure, Senate, vote.

When a red light in the top-right corner of the screen suddenly flashed, a real-time message from Capitol Hill popped up.

She gently set down her coffee cup.

DING.

Her phone vibrated.

It was a message from Ethan, just two short words:

"Go time."

Sarah stood up, her chair sliding back with a faint scraping sound.

She looked around at the twenty-odd copywriters, editors, and data analysts sitting at their workstations.

"Alright everyone, perk up. It’s time to get to work."

Sarah’s voice was calm and sharp, cutting through the previously relaxed atmosphere in the room.

She pointed to the news story on the screen that the mainstream media was deliberately ignoring.

"Washington wants to hit the mute button. So, we’ll hook them up to a megaphone."

"I want every American who wakes up tomorrow morning to be jolted awake by this news the second they open their eyes."

The operation began.

Sarah didn’t have her team simply forward the dry, official bulletin.

That was what amateurs would do.

In the age of information overload, nobody cared about some "Critical Infrastructure Protection Act."

The name was too boring. It had no viral potential.

The first thing she had to do was seize the power of naming.

"Copy team, listen up."

Sarah issued her first directive.

"From now on, in all our press releases, video titles, and hashtags, we are completely ditching the name ’Critical Infrastructure and Medical Personnel Safety Protection Act’."

"It’s too much of a mouthful, and it’s deceptive."

Sarah stared at the screen.

"We are going to redefine it."

"We’re going to call it the ’Insurance Company Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Act’."

"Or, to be even more direct."

"The ’Luigi’s Death Warrant Act’."

The sound of keyboards from the copy team instantly intensified.

"Distribution team, prepare for targeted deployment."

Sarah walked over to the data map.

This was modern information warfare.

It was no longer about handing the same flyer to everyone, but about using algorithms to feed specific poisons to specific people.

"First target group: users aged eighteen to twenty-five, currently in college or recent graduates, who follow social justice, environmental, and anti-establishment issues. Primary platform: TikTok."

Sarah pulled up a set of materials that had been prepared long in advance.

It was the famous photo of Luigi "bowing to the Wailing Wall" outside the courthouse. It had been post-processed, the tones darkened, making Luigi’s face appear even more gaunt and pale.