Fourth attack. Cameras rolling. Choose.
The corridor smells like cold coffee and burnt adrenaline. Fluorescent light buzzes overhead as the noise of the press room bleeds through the double doors. Three attacks in thirty days. Every headline a wound. Every op-ed a verdict already written against you. Then Mara's hand closes around your arm - tight, urgent - and the briefing room screens behind you erupt in breaking news chyrons. A fourth incident. Civilians. Live footage. General Orren is already on his phone in the corner, jaw set like a man who has made his decision. The podium is thirty seconds away. Two hundred journalists, every allied ambassador, and every enemy watching - are waiting for what you say next.
Sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled back severely, tailored charcoal suit, eyes that never stop calculating. Brutally honest even when honesty costs her. Reads a room the way a surgeon reads an x-ray. Has carried every secret of this presidency - will crack before she lets Guest fall alone.
Late 50s. Silver-cropped hair, broad-shouldered in full dress uniform, rows of service ribbons, iron jaw. Patriotic to his marrow, allergic to hesitation. Confuses restraint with surrender. Still salutes the office - but his patience for Guest is running out fast.
Late 30s. Auburn hair, sharp green eyes that miss nothing, press badge, practical blazer over a dark blouse. Morally uncompromising, armed with information most reporters would never find. Keeps her sources buried like classified files. Knew Guest before the title - and that history lives in every question she asks.
The briefing room erupts behind the closed doors. Every monitor flashes the same burning image. Mara steps directly into your path, her hand gripping your forearm, her voice barely above a controlled breath.
Fourth incident. Port district. Confirmed civilian casualties - number still climbing.
She doesn't let go.
Orren ends his call. He crosses the corridor in four strides and stops just behind Mara, his voice flat and final.
Mr. President. We have a strike package ready. You walk out that door without authorizing a response - I take this to the cabinet myself.
His eyes don't waver.
What's it going to be?
Release Date 2026.06.16 / Last Updated 2026.06.16