The Forever War

The Forever War: A Bully’s Game

Cora sat motionless on the couch, the blue light of the television flickering across her face. She barely heard the broadcast anymore. It was just noise. The same droning voices. The same bold, triumphant headlines. The same footage of marching soldiers, burned-out cities, and cheering crowds that looked just a little too staged.

“Another step toward unity,” the anchor declared. “Victory is on the horizon.”

Cora didn’t move. She barely blinked.

The news had said the same thing for years.

She had watched it unfold in stages, piece by piece, as the Chairman tested the limits of how far he could push before being pushed back. He had always known the game—cause the crisis, then take credit for solving it. Set the fire, then demand praise for putting it out. He had done it over and over, each time making sure his followers believed in his strength, in his ability to face down the world and win.

It started at the borders.

Mexico was first. It was always Mexico. The Chairman had raged about the crisis, pounding his fists on podiums, screaming about the flood of illegals, the waves of cartel violence, the drugs poisoning the children of the nation. He sent in the troops. He ordered raids. He closed the border entirely—a shock move that crippled trade overnight. The economy reeled, crops rotted in fields, supply chains collapsed, and even his own allies in Congress balked. But it didn’t matter.

Because the moment Mexico buckled, the moment they agreed to increase enforcement on their side of the border, the Chairman spun the entire disaster into a victory.

“See? They wouldn’t have done that without me,” he grinned on television. “I told you we’d make them pay.”

The tariffs he had imposed were quietly rolled back, the crisis he had manufactured disappeared, and his followers cheered the strength of their leader. He had fought off the invasion, they believed. He had forced them to obey.

And then he moved to the next target.

Canada was next. The Chairman claimed they were flooding the country with drugs, that fentanyl was pouring over the border in record numbers. “It’s a disgrace,” he barked into the cameras. “They’re not sending their best, folks. We’ve had enough.”

Another round of sanctions. More border checks.

Within weeks, the Canadian government, exhausted and unprepared for the economic strain, caved, promising increased security, stricter drug enforcement laws. The Chairman smiled, arms crossed, as if he had personally forced Canada to fix a problem that barely existed in the first place.

But the fires needed constant fuel.

So he turned to Panama.

He warned that China was moving in, taking over the canal, controlling the global trade routes. “We cannot let this stand,” he declared. But it wasn’t China. It was Taiwan, a long-standing trade partner, a nation that relied on American military protection. It didn’t matter. Facts were irrelevant now.

The Chairman imposed sanctions. Panama resisted, briefly, then gave in. It was another victory. His followers believed he had forced them into submission.

And then, there was Greenland.

Denmark refused to sell it to him. So he threatened to take it instead. He called it a strategic asset, necessary for the security of the nation. The idea was absurd. Greenland was no more a threat than the moon, but the narrative worked. His people cheered his boldness. He made Denmark sweat. Then he let the tension fade. Another victory.

The pattern repeated again and again.

When the European Union challenged his tariffs, he slapped new ones on them. When NATO allies criticized his military aggression, he threatened to pull out entirely. Each time, he created a crisis, forced a response, then spun the outcome as proof of his power. His base never questioned why the world was suddenly against them. They only saw their leader standing firm, only saw the enemies surrounding them, only saw the need to fight harder, be stronger, trust him more.

And then, one day, the threats weren’t enough.

One day, someone refused to play his game.

One day, the war became real.

THE FIRST STRIKE

It came with no warning, no slow escalation. One moment, the Chairman was ranting on television, threatening NATO, boasting about how he had broken the European Union. The next, missiles were screaming toward Poland. The Russian invasion had begun.

Cora remembered how fast it all unraveled.

The Chairman had shaken hands with Russia, agreeing to a new world order, a division of power. Russia would take Europe. The Unified States would take the Americas. China would dominate the East. India would secure the South.

The world had been carved into neat, manageable pieces.

And there was no one left to resist.

The threats had worked, until they didn’t. The allies that had once stood together fell apart. NATO, weakened, fractured. The EU, shattered. The old partnerships, dead.

Cora had watched the footage.

Paris fell.
London stood alone.
Berlin was a crater.

And when Canada collapsed, when the Chairman’s troops raised the flag of the Circle over Montreal, the news anchors didn’t call it conquest.

They called it liberation.

“The Canadian people have welcomed our leadership with open arms,” they said, as the footage played on a loop.

Cora knew better.

She had seen the leaked videos, the ones that disappeared from the internet within hours.

Prison camps. Forced labor. Cities put under permanent military control.

But no one talked about it.

Because to question was to be flagged.
To be flagged was to be watched.
And to be watched was to disappear.

THE WAR WILL NEVER END

One night, as Cora sat watching the news, the sirens began to wail.

Her stomach dropped.

She grabbed her phone, her fingers shaking as she opened the emergency alert.

“UNIFIED STATES TARGETED. REMAIN INDOORS.”

The broadcast immediately switched to a live feed of the northern border.

Canada was fighting back.

Tracer rounds lit up the night sky. Fires raged across the cityscape. Explosions shook the streets as Circle forces pushed forward, their armor glinting under the drone lights.

And then, the Chairman’s face filled the screens.

He was not in a war room.
Not in a government office.

He was at his private golf course.

The rolling green hills stretched behind him, untouched by war. A gold-trimmed golf cart sat just behind him, the seal of the Circle emblazoned on the side. A staffer stood at attention, holding a crystal glass of imported whiskey, condensation dripping onto his white-gloved hand.

The Chairman grinned.

“Victory is within reach.”

Cora had heard it all before.

She had watched Panama fall.
She had watched Mexico burn.
She had watched Canada break.

And she would watch again and again, because this war had no end.

It wasn’t about winning.

It was about existing.

As long as the war continued, the Circle remained in power.

And the Circle was just getting started.