Chapter 683 - 321: Gods Don’t Bleed
This shift in allegiance was like boiling a frog slowly; unless someone snapped them out of it, they would never realize they were already at the edge of a cliff.
Now, this bullet had not only hit Leo, but had also shattered the political moat the pharmaceutical giants believed kept them safe.
On the phone screen, the news anchor picked up a piece of paper—a copy of the suicide note.
"He wrote in his suicide note: ’I saw the news. They said on TV that this was all caused by that Mayor.’"
Vance felt a wave of dizziness.
"The news said that Leo Wallace, for the sake of his political struggles and his damned Mutual Aid Alliance, arrogantly refused the pharmaceutical companies’ supplies. He’s the one who killed my son."
"He’s a tyrant, a demon who would sacrifice the people for his own power."
"I have to kill him. For my son, and so that other people can buy medicine."
The anchor put down the paper, his tone heavy.
"This is a tragedy through and through. A desperate father believed a certain narrative and turned the pain of losing his child into a bullet aimed at the Mayor."
...
Pittsburgh, Allegheny General Hospital.
The hospital was surrounded, completely packed with people.
Viewed from above, the streets along the Allegheny River were a dense, dark mass of citizens who had come to pray.
Thousands had gathered here.
They held white candles in their hands, the flames flickering in the wind, converging into a flowing river of light.
A low, solemn hum filled the air—the collective resonance of countless people murmuring prayers.
Police Chief Everett Carter stood on the steps at the hospital entrance, watching the scene before him. The walkie-talkie in his hand had been silent for a long time.
There was no need to maintain order.
This crowd of normally unruly steelworkers, unemployed youths, and slum residents was now displaying a startling level of self-discipline.
They had automatically cleared a path for emergency access, and some were even spontaneously cleaning up trash from the ground.
Inside the hospital, Frank stood guard at the end of the intensive care unit hallway like a sentinel.
The bloodstains on his clothes had dried; they were from when Leo collapsed in his arms.
A nurse had offered him a change of clothes, but he refused.
He would remain in these bloodstained clothes, standing as the last line of defense for Leo.
Ethan ran over from the end of the hall, phone in hand.
"Frank, what did the doctors say?"
"They’re still trying to save him," Frank said, his voice hoarse. "One bullet hit an artery in his left arm."
Ethan leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes in anguish.
"Where’s Sarah?" Frank asked.
"At the media center," Ethan replied. "She’s managing the situation. The internet has exploded. Some are spreading conspiracy theories, saying it was an assassination by Washington. Others are calling for people to burn down pharmacies."
"Tell her to tell everyone to stay calm."
Frank looked up, his eyes fierce.
"He wouldn’t want to see chaos."
"But if Leo doesn’t wake up..."
"Then tell everyone."
"The real culprits are the media outlets that lied on television."
"We’ll make them pay with their lives."
...
In the ICU private room.
The heart monitor emitted a monotonous, rhythmic "BEEP... BEEP..."
The effects of the anesthesia were gradually wearing off.
Leo felt his consciousness adrift in an endless darkness.
There was no sound, no light, only a sense of weightlessness, as if he were wrapped in cotton.
’Am I dead?’
Leo asked in the depths of his consciousness.
"Not yet, my boy."
A familiar voice responded.
’Where is this?’
"Inside your head," Roosevelt’s voice replied with a hint of amusement. "Your body is lying in a hospital bed, while we’re temporarily hiding in here."
’A vegetative state?’
"Not even close. It’s just a lack of oxygen to the brain from excessive blood loss, combined with the effects of the anesthetic. You’ll wake up soon."
Leo felt a flicker of relief, but it was immediately overwhelmed by a much stronger sensation.
Pain.
His left arm felt like it had been set on fire. The searing, tearing agony shot up his nerve endings and bored into his cerebral cortex.
"Does it hurt?" Roosevelt asked.
’It hurts like hell.’
Leo answered in his mind.
𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
’It feels like my whole arm doesn’t belong to me anymore.’
"Good that it hurts."
Roosevelt’s voice grew somber.
"Remember this pain, Leo. It’s your most valuable asset right now."
Leo didn’t respond immediately from the darkness. Of course, he understood what that asset meant.
As a modern Politician who had risen through public opinion and was well-versed in the ways of the media, he knew better than anyone just how dazzling the moral halo that bullet had bestowed upon him was.
"This is the ultimate advantage a Politician has over a capitalist."
"Flesh and blood."
Roosevelt pulled Leo’s consciousness toward the window.
"Look outside."
"Why are those people standing there? Why are they praying for you?"
"Because you bled."
"In this world, people will hate Mobil Petroleum, they will hate JPMorgan Chase, they will hate Pfizer. They will curse these companies for being greedy, cold-blooded, and ruthless."
"But no one ever truly tries to assassinate Mobil Petroleum."
Roosevelt’s tone was laced with ridicule.
"Because you can’t kill it. It’s an abstract legal entity, a collection of contracts, charters, and balance sheets."
"Even if you blow up its headquarters and kill its CEO, the board of directors will appoint a new one the next day, and the machine will keep running just the same."
"A corporation has no body, feels no pain, and has no blood."
"But you are a man."
"You are flesh and blood. You can be hurt. You can die."
"The moment that bullet hit you, the nature of the game changed."
"You are no longer an administrator, no longer a high-and-mighty Mayor."
"You have become a sufferer."
"In a religious context, suffering is the only path to the divine."
"Why did Jesus have to bleed? Why was he nailed to the Cross?"
"Because only when a god bleeds can man believe that the god loves humanity."
"Politics is the same."
"You bled for them, for the right of this city to survive."
"This physical sacrifice will instantly shatter all rational defenses."
"People will die for a god."
Roosevelt continued.
"But people only fall in love with a man who bleeds."
"That vulnerability, that tangible sense of a life that could be lost at any moment, will evoke the strongest instincts of protection and loyalty from deep within the masses."
"They will feel that you are protecting them with your life."
"And so, they will entrust their lives to you."
’Mr. President,’ Leo said in his mind. ’You’re right. This wound was worth it.’
"Of course it was."
Roosevelt’s voice held a note of satisfaction.
"You now possess moral immunity."
"Before, people might have questioned whether your methods were too radical, whether you were engaged in political opportunism."
"But now, no one will question you again."
"Who would dare attack a hero who bled for the people? Who would dare criticize a victim lying in a hospital bed?"
"All your policies, your Mutual Aid Alliance, your Alliance Notes—they now all possess a sacred quality."
"You are invincible."
"At least, until your wound heals and people’s memories fade, you are unbeatable."
Roosevelt reminded him.
"Make good use of this time, Leo."
"Sympathy has an expiration date. You need to get done what needs to be done before the wound scabs over."
"This moral high ground is temporary. Once you’ve recovered, put your suit back on, and start talking about budgets and bills, you’ll go back to being just another Politician."
"And a Politician can be attacked."
Leo listened in silence, sensing the light beyond his eyelids growing stronger.
"Get ready, Leo."
Roosevelt’s tone was resolute.
"Get ready to wake up."
The beeping of the monitor grew rapid.
Leo held his breath and forced away the comforting darkness in his consciousness.
He felt the slightly dry air of the hospital room, smelled the faint scent of medicine in his nostrils, and felt the frantic beating of his own mortal heart.