The rally was a spectacle, a circus of blind devotion, where his followers waved flags, bought overpriced merchandise, and cheered as he spun his lies into gospel. It didn’t matter if nothing made sense. They weren’t here for the truth. They were here for the feeling of it all.
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In The Rule of the Elite, power was not taken by force—it was consolidated in plain sight. The Chairman’s rise was not the work of a single mastermind but the quiet alignment of billionaires, war profiteers, media moguls, and religious empire-builders who each secured their own dominion before the Circle ever took control.
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They stood outside the Treasury building, the last voices of resistance in a government that no longer listened. A dozen members of Congress, their voices hoarse from demanding answers, faced a locked door guarded by black-clad enforcers who did not acknowledge them. Magnus Vail had already taken control of the nation’s wealth, freezing wages, gutting aid programs, and reducing the economy to a tool of obedience. They spoke of law, of oversight, of justice—but none of it mattered.
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In The Forever War, Cora watches as the world crumbles around her, powerless to stop it. What started as minor skirmishes in distant lands has grown into a global conflict without end.
The Ghoul was never meant to be seen, only felt. He did not command armies, nor did he bask in the adoration of the masses. He did not need to. His power was quieter, more insidious. He whispered in the Chairman’s ear, turning hatred into doctrine, fear into policy, cruelty into law. He crafted the justification for every purge, every detention center, every vanishing citizen.
