97: Capital's pressure

Federal Center, Roman Palace Oval Office.

"Mr. President, you must see this." Ron Klain, Chief of Staff of the Roman Palace, rushed in, holding a tablet computer.

Hixon slowly looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the real-time poll data on the screen: 19% approval rating, a new historical low.

"The latest survey from the Golden Snake Street Daily shows," Klain's voice trembled, "78% of respondents believe your handling of the Titan crisis was 'a complete failure'."

Hixon's fingers dug deep into the armrest of his wheelchair: "Those military-industrial conglomerate bastards..."

Before he finished speaking, the office door was pushed open again. House Speaker McCa walked in with a stack of documents, followed by Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer.

"Mr. President," McCa said expressionlessly, "this is the bipartisan draft resolution."

Hixon tremblingly took the document, the title conspicuously reading "Joint Resolution Recommending the President's Resignation Due to Fault."

"You!" Hixon's throat emitted a hoarse sound, "This is a coup!"

Schumer sighed: "Joe, look out the window."

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tens of thousands of protesters could be seen gathered outside the Roman Palace fence. They held signs saying "Incompetent President Resign" and "We Want Survival, Not War," and the sound of their chanting faintly reached them.

"Golden Serpent Street has been shut down for three days," McCarthy said coldly, "the Dow Jones Index has fallen below 18,000 points, and trillions of eagle dollars have evaporated from pension accounts. If this continues..."

"If this continues, what?" Hixon suddenly erupted in anger, "Are we to surrender to a company?!"

At the same moment, six pure black Cadillac sedans silently drove onto the South Lawn of the Roman Palace. The car doors opened, and twelve men in suits and ties stepped onto the Roman Palace's exclusive passage. Their tie clips were engraved with the emblems of military-industrial giants such as Lockheed Martin, Zeus Technology, and United Technologies.

Chief of Staff Klain hurried forward: "Gentlemen, the President is —"

"We know where he is." Lockheed CEO Teklite interrupted, his alligator leather shoes clicking crisply on the marble floor, "Lead the way."

Hixon's hands gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles white. On the long table in front of him, twelve black folders were neatly arranged.

"Joe, old friend." Zeus Technology CEO Hayes leaned over and patted the President's shoulder, as if comforting an old dog, "Relax, it's a done deal."

The display screen on the wall lit up at the opportune moment, showing real-time footage of Golden Serpent Street, where traders scurried like headless chickens.

"Because of you!" Hixon suddenly slammed the table, his voice, however, as weak as a sick man's, "You are selling off stocks!"

"Proof?" Boeing President Ted Colbert smiled and pushed over a document, "This is a stress test just conducted by Huge Rong Consortium—if the President continues to resist Titan, the financial system of the Nova United States will collapse within 144 hours."

On the last page of the document, the autograph of New Union Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell was still wet.

Minister of Defense Lloyd's video call suddenly connected. The old man on the screen looked pale: "Mr. President, we just received news... one-third of the fleet's officers and soldiers have collectively submitted their resignations..."

"What?!"

"They said..." Austin wiped his sweat, "they would rather face a court-martial than face Titan's robots."

"Look at this, Joe." Colbert clicked on a cell phone video on the screen: outside the Norfolk Naval Base in Virginia, hundreds of sailors were burning their uniforms, "Your army is abandoning you."

The top floor conference room of the Huge Rong Consortium headquarters at 23 Golden Serpent Street was brightly lit. Twenty-three top hedge fund managers gathered here, and the electronic clock on the wall showed a countdown: 47:32:15.

"Lockheed has shorted 30% of its positions." Low Prosper CEO David Solomon stared at the data stream, "How about Zeus Technology?"

"25% complete." James Gorman of Blue Lion Capital raised a glass of champagne, "Enough to trigger a chain reaction."

Suddenly, all trading terminals simultaneously flashed red alerts. Stephen Schwarzman of White Stone Group breathed a sigh of relief: "It seems we gambled correctly. Look, Mr. President is about to give a national address."

The spotlights in the Roman Palace press briefing room were dazzling. President Hixon slowly walked towards the podium, his steps more unsteady than usual, his left hand instinctively gripping the edge of the podium to steady himself. Secret Service agents tensed their bodies anxiously off-camera.

"My fellow citizens of the Nova United States..."

His voice was hoarse like sandpaper rubbing, his Adam's apple rolling with difficulty beneath the loose skin. The blue light from the teleprompter flickered in his cloudy pupils, but seemed to offer no help. His right hand trembled slightly as he pulled a folded paper from his inside jacket pocket, which made a slight rustling sound when unfolded.

"Today, I stand here..." A clear pause, his gaze swept over the dense crowd of media reporters below, the UNN camera capturing the fine beads of sweat on his temples, "with a heavy heart..."

The curtains of the Oval Office were tightly drawn. In front of the television, Teklite and the military-industrial giants exchanged silent glances, Hayes lightly tapping the rim of a crystal glass with a pen. Three taps, the crisp sound particularly jarring in the silence.

"After in-depth discussions with doctors... with doctors..." Hixon suddenly coughed, and in the few seconds he covered his mouth with a handkerchief, C-SPAN's viewership surged by 12 percentage points. When he looked up again, there was a subtle dampness at the corner of his left eye.

Roman Palace Press Secretary Pierre clutched a folder tightly on the side stage, the cardboard leaving four crescent-shaped indentations in her palm.

"I have decided..." The President's voice suddenly became unusually clear, as if he had used all his strength, "to invoke Section 3 of the 25th Amendment of the Constitution..."

A reporter from the New Township Times suddenly straightened up, his laptop sliding from his lap. On the FOXS News live broadcast, real-time bullet comments instantly exploded.

Hixon's right hand suddenly trembled violently, and the paper fluttered to the floor beneath the podium. He instinctively bent down to pick it up, but froze halfway. This action was made into a GIF, and three hours later became the most reposted political image in Ratte's history.

"Effective immediately..." He used both hands to support himself on the podium, his knuckles white, "I will transfer the presidential power... to..."

A five-second blank. The image of Vice President Harry suddenly disappeared from the Roman Palace's official website homepage.

"...the successor designated by the Constitution."

As he spoke the last word, his shoulders visibly slumped, as if someone had pulled out his spine. His movement to turn and leave the podium was as slow as an eighty-year-old man, his left foot even stumbling slightly.

The UNN camera keenly captured a natural crease on the floor beside the podium, at the end of the forgotten resignation letter—like a mark of being repeatedly crumpled and then smoothed out.

Lake Sea Manor, Florida, secret dinner.

Crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light on the ice sculpture in the center of the long table, an eagle with spread wings, its talons resting on the letters "UAS." Trump's red tie was particularly striking in the candlelight, and as he raised his glass, the light spots refracted by the glass danced on the face of Exxon Arcane Energy CEO Darren Woods.

"Gentlemen," Trump's voice cut through the clinking of cutlery, "do you know why I came to you first, and not those useless Starlight Command people?"

Gray Rui CEO Albert Bra's dinner knife paused over his steak: "Because medicine and energy are necessities of life?"

"Wrong!" Trump's fist slammed on the table, the silver cutlery clattering, "Because you haven't been scared witless by Titan!"

A reflection flashed on the spectacles of United Technologies Electrical CEO Larry Culp: "Mr. President, our gas turbine division—"

"Will soon be worthless." Trump suddenly opened a tablet, playing a video of Titan's fusion reactor, "Unless..." He deliberately drew out the word, "we can preemptively launch the 'Nova United States Plan'."

Woods' pupils contracted slightly: "You mean..."

"Three months." Trump held up three fingers, "I want you to form the 'Nova United States Revival Alliance,' binding energy, medicine, and heavy industry together."

A waiter silently handed over a document. The words "Spark Plan" embossed in gold on the cover shimmered in the candlelight.

Capitol Hill Rotunda, emergency meeting.

Speaker McCa's gavel echoed under the dome: "According to Article 3 of the Twelfth Amendment of the Constitution, a vote will now be held on the motion for an immediate re-election."

Donkey Party leader Jeffries suddenly stood up: "This is a coup! The Constitution never—"

"—never anticipated a president would bring the country to the brink of nuclear war!" Elephant Party Senator Cruz held up a tablet, showing a slow-motion video of Titan intercepting Nova United States nuclear missiles, "But thank God, we still have a remedy mechanism."

Lobbying teams from energy giants moved like ghosts among the senators. An Exxon Arcane Energy lobbyist whispered in Senator Smith's ear: "New shares in the Alagas pipeline project..."; a Gray Rui representative showed Senator Avrill his phone: "Your daughter's account in Switzerland..."

The "Nova United States Health Association," funded by pharmaceutical groups, suddenly released a research report: the current government's use of psychotropic drugs showed a "significant positive correlation" with decision-making error rates.

"Electronic voting begins now." McCa's voice trembled slightly.

The numbers on the vote counting screen began to jump. When the affirmative votes broke the two-thirds threshold, Golden Serpent Street's futures index suddenly surged.

Trump was receiving a report on the top floor of the New Village Trump Tower.

"Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin..." Trump's campaign manager, Lasita, marked key states on an electronic map, "Energy groups have promised to lower oil prices by 30% in these states, and pharmaceutical companies will provide free health check-ups."

In the FOXS News live broadcast, lines of people waiting to receive free painkillers stretched for several blocks. Banners read: "Trump Medical Aid Plan."

"What about the military-industrial groups?" Trump asked without looking up.

"Zeus Technology's CEO secretly met with a bank president from the Eastern Federation this morning." Private lawyer Giuliani handed over a photo, "It seems they are looking for a new patron."

Trump's lips curled into a sneer: "Notify the IRS to investigate their overseas accounts."

Soon, Election Day arrived.

GE factory shuttles provided free transportation for workers to vote; Gray Rui's mobile clinics transformed into temporary polling stations; Exxon's gas stations put up billboards: "Fill up 40 liters and get a 'Make Nova United States Great Again' hat."

When the last ballot was counted, the UNN anchor's voice trembled: "According to exit polls, Trump will be elected the next President of the Nova United States with 306 electoral votes to 232."

Roman Palace East Room, Trump's hand rested on two stacked Bibles.

The bottom one was a 1917 edition of the "Nova United States Constitution" bound volume.

His inaugural address was unusually brief:

"From today, everything will be Nova United States first, and Nova United States will also contract." This word made the diplomats present gasp, "We will close 67% of our overseas bases and withdraw two carrier strike groups from the Middle Ages."

A reporter from the Golden Snake Street Daily suddenly raised his hand: "Mr. President, won't this make the Eastern Federation and North Steel—"

"—look at this." Trump motioned for an assistant to play a video. In the footage, the disastrous defeat of the Combined Fleet was replayed.

"Defensive contraction, gentlemen." Trump flashed his signature smile, "Titan taught us one thing: true strength is not about how many overseas bases you have..."

He pressed the remote control, and the screen switched to a secret facility in Alaska: hundreds of crude imitation Warrior robots were practicing defensive formations, their movements as clumsy as a toddler's compared to Titan's products, but the Stars and Stripes paint on their chests was particularly striking.

"But about..." Trump's voice suddenly became dangerous, "whether we can make anyone who dares to touch the Nova United States mainland pay a hundredfold price."