People weren’t afraid. They were asleep. The Chairman’s rule wasn’t about brute force; it was about exhaustion, apathy, and distraction. Every day, a new outrage. Every week, a new enemy. And people adjusted. They stopped expecting things to make sense. By the time they realized what had happened, it was too late—easier to just go back to sleep.
Cora and Alex sat in silence, watching as the Chairman took the stage. This was not an inauguration. It was a coronation. The men behind him—his oligarchs, his war profiteers, his billionaires—lounged in their seats, eyes glazed, bodies slumped, high on something far stronger than victory.
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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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