Homeland sat in his dressing room, a confident smile playing on his lips as his stylist adjusted his tie. Out there, one of the biggest shows in the Twelve cities with a 20,000 audience were waiting for him to appear. A showman entered the room with a big smile on his face. “Your excellency, it's such an honour to have you on my show. The audience would be ecstatic to see you.”Homeland smiled proudly. “Of course. Your platform is one of the biggest platforms in the twelve cities. Do your best to make me look good to my people.”“Sure thing,” the showman bowed again, turning to leave. “You'll be up in ten minutes. Be prepared until then.”Homeland stood up to inspect himself before the mirror. This upcoming live interview with his vice president, would definitely solidify his newfound public favour. “This interview will seal the deal,” Homeland said, his tone smug. “The people will eat up my hero act. They’ll see I’m the man who survives and leads.” Keith nodded in agreement, s

Norman Rockwell drove his car through the quiet streets, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. His decision to tamper with the voting machine pressed down on him like an anchor, but he tried to push it aside. It was just one deal. After this, he’d retire, live a life of comfort, and put all of this behind him. With $25 Billion, he would be out of this shitty country and relax somewhere far away. When he pulled into his driveway, the house was dark. Odd, he thought. His wife and kids were always quick to greet him when he came home. “I’m home!” Norman called as he stepped inside. The silence was deafening. He frowned, placing his briefcase on the counter. “Helen? Kids?” The faint aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen, breaking the stillness. He followed the scent, his steps cautious. As he entered the kitchen, his heart skipped a beat. Sitting casually at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, was a man Norman had only seen in headlines: Moses Do

Thousands of cheers erupted across the Twelve Cities.The public squares became seas of jubilation as people waved flags, hugged strangers, and chanted the Doberman clan's name. But inside Homeland’s office, the atmosphere was entirely different. The glass of whiskey slipped from Homeland’s hand, shattering on the floor. His face turned an alarming shade of red as the words sank in. “No… NO! This is impossible!” Homeland roared, slamming his fists on the table. Keith stepped back, afraid of Homeland’s growing rage. “Homeland… maybe it’s best to—” “Shut up!” Homeland bellowed, his voice cracking. He staggered to his feet, pointing an unsteady finger at the television. “That snake, Norman Rockwell! He betrayed me! He—he rigged this against me!” Homeland screamed again, grabbing the nearest object—a lamp—and hurling it across the room. It smashed against the wall, shards scattering everywhere. Keith flinched but said nothing. On the screen, Norman’s voice continued, “I

"Were you deaf?" Moses grinned at Homeland. "I said I'll clear the national debt and assist Xavier with $200 trillion."Homeland jaws dropped. "Y-you're lying. There's no man on earth who has that kind of money!"Moses exchanged glances with his father then turned to Homeland. "It just so happens that I'm the only man on earth who can boasts of such a figure. As you can see, I'm so rich it's boring.""Prove it," Homeland barked. "Show me your bank statement."Moses brought out his halo phone and projected a holographic screen of his bank statement. "I think it was a year ago. My gross networth is estimated at $10 Quadrillion. I'm tired of keeping tracks of it," Moses explained. "Well, here's your proof. Hope it's enough to convince you I'm not a fraud like you."Homeland’s jaw hung open as he stared at the holographic projection, his eyes enlarging. His hands trembled as he tried to process the sheer impossibility of the numbers before him. "$10 quadrillion…" he whispered, his voic

Benjamin was summoned to the principal's office immediately. As he walked down the hallway, whispers and stares followed him from other students. Word had already spread around that Benjamin was behind Bruce Lamborghini wreckage. By the time he entered, Principal Armstrong was seated at his desk, flanked by Bruce and Selena. They both stood glaring at him like vultures circling their prey. Bruce’s face was red with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Selena crossed her arms, her cold eyes fixed on Benjamin with contempt. “Sit,” Principal Armstrong commanded, pointing to a chair in the middle of the room. Benjamin sat down, his expression calm and smooth. “Do you know why you’re here, Benjamin Doberman?” Armstrong began, folding his hands on the desk and leaning forward. “No, sir,” Benjamin replied, his tone polite. “Bruce Farhad claims you were involved in the destruction of his vehicle,” Armstrong said. “Witnesses reported an altercation earlier today betw