Mr. Morez, the man with one red and one blue eye, had now arrived in California.
But who would have known that just fifteen minutes ago, he was still in Washington, engaged in talks with Senator Underwood?
And judging by the expressions of the two founders of the West Coast Nation, it was clear that Morez had been sitting here for quite some time.
In other words, fifteen minutes ago, he might have still been with them.
So, who exactly was the one who went to Washington?
But this was not something that the two founders of the West Coast Nation needed to concern themselves with at the moment.
What they truly wanted to know was why Morez could give such a simple evaluation.
"Robotics." Morez's face was hidden in the shadows, but his words made the two wealthy men understand immediately.
"Weaponized drones, controlled by a central AI. A thousand of them would be enough to shut down that most troublesome border."
This statement clearly piqued the interest of the two businessmen. The younger one, Monte, wanted to say something, but the older Stanford interrupted him.
"Where can we get something like that, Morez?"
Only then did Morez sit up straight, allowing his face to emerge from the shadows.
"Dr. Hank Pym invented them before he passed away. He called them Wasps. Salvation through technology."
"Isn't that exactly what the West Coast Nation is striving for?"
At the border between California and Arizona, on the Colorado River, a family was attempting to enter the West Coast Nation using a homemade kayak.
The older boy stood on the kayak, staring intently at the bright lights in the distance.
"Dad, look at those lights!" the boy said excitedly.
But his father only told him, "Dylan, don't stand—"
Before he could finish his warning, the movement of the river caused the standing boy to lose his balance and fall into the water.
"Dad!" The falling child cried out to his father just before plunging into the river.
"Dylan!"
"I can't find Dylan!" The father frantically searched the water for his son, but the mother and the other children had already seen them—those hovering machines above, poised to strike.
"W-What are those things?" The mother stared in terror at the swarm of robotic entities that resembled wasps.
But the children, oblivious to the danger, simply admired them in awe, thinking how cool they looked.
The robots, however, showed no emotion as they delivered a message in their electronic voices to the refugees attempting to cross into the West Coast Nation.
"You have three seconds to return to your country of origin."
"Wait! Just wait! Our child is missing—" The father pleaded, still desperately searching for Dylan. But the robots had already begun their countdown.
"Three."
"Hello, please help us find our son, is anyone there?"
"Two."
"Please, have mercy! Oh, God—"
"One."
"This morning, the bodies of a family of five were discovered along the Colorado River."
The morning news anchor delivered the statement with a hint of sorrow.
"The death toll at the California-Arizona border has now surpassed one hundred. The deployment of weaponized drone fleets along the border has intensified the already volatile situation within the young and idealistic West Coast Nation."
"More details to follow. Good morning, I'm Shirley Cloud."
But television news wouldn't dwell solely on the tragic events at the California-Arizona border. They were far more interested in covering fresher and more significant news.
A massive banner had already been displayed on the screen.
It read: America's Decision.
"Today's headline: Nationwide polling is underway for the first-ever presidential recall election in American history. Under special election rules, Americans will select a new president from among multiple candidates."
"With only two weeks of campaigning, voters are in no rush to make up their minds."
"President Howard is facing accusations regarding his legitimacy and questions about his competence, putting his position under intense competition." As the anchor spoke, the screen displayed the latest approval ratings for the presidential candidates. Among the top contenders, one emblem stood out—a yellow symbol featuring a bat.
"But with American voters increasingly divided and fractured, it remains uncertain whether this unprecedented election will bring unity back to the nation."
"Since the Washington attack resulted in the deaths of most democratically elected federal legislators, public trust in the government has plummeted."
"Urban riots, militia uprisings, and ongoing violence throughout the Southwest show no signs of abating."
"The American government has lost control of the country. Anxious citizens have begun turning to local leaders, and the result has been catastrophic."
"More than twenty independent organizations in the Midwest have formed the Great Lakes Alliance. A former police officer named David Seeger has turned Motor City into an armed camp, earning the title 'The Detroit Dictator.'"
"North Carolina and South Carolina, along with their 'Sunday Warriors' militia, continue to wage war across the border, each accusing the other of looting, cyberattacks, and slander."
"New York also experienced unrest, but thanks to the NYPD and the help of a masked vigilante, we were able to restore peace amidst the chaos."
As the anchor spoke, she subtly moved her coffee mug into the camera's view. It bore the image of a bat.
However, her expression suggested she had done nothing at all—just a professional journalist delivering her report.
"The most audacious independence movement is the self-proclaimed West Coast Nation. Despite bold attempts to distance itself from the turmoil, it has instead become the epicenter of horrific border massacres and an escalating humanitarian crisis."
"Thousands of refugees fleeing the bloodshed and chaos of the Southwest have been detained in refugee camps along the California border. Outrage has erupted over the fate of the Henderson family, who were killed last night while attempting to cross the river to a California safe zone."
"Reports of riots within the camps are spreading. National organizations are calling the violence shocking—"
Inside the Batcave, Bruce and Jessica watched the news with furrowed brows.
"I just don't understand why they're doing this," Jessica said, clearly displeased with California's attitude—perhaps even its disregard for human lives. "They have the power to help those people."
"Do those billionaires really not care about human lives at all?"
She looked up at Bruce as she spoke.
"They only care about their own survival," Bruce said, his tone certain. He was all too familiar with that kind of person—Gotham's elite was full of them.
Now, however, they were simply showing their true faces to the world.
Just as Bruce had once never imagined that some billionaires would go so far as to force their own children to give them blood transfusions in a desperate bid for immortality.
"So, do you think the American government will allow any intervention in this situation?" Jessica asked, watching the images of people moving through the refugee camps, sadness creeping into her voice.
They were once citizens like her, living normal lives under the sun.
"No," Bruce answered without hesitation.
Jessica wanted to ask why, but Bruce was already explaining his reasoning.
"President Howard—well, I have to admit, he's a decent guy. But his political position is unstable right now. His first priority is securing his role as President of the United States."
"No matter what's happening on the West Coast, it used to be part of America—American soil, American affairs."
"But they've now passed an independence act, declaring themselves a separate nation. If President Howard wants to keep his position secure, he can't risk provoking a conflict with another country."
"If I had to guess, he's already warning Captain America not to go anywhere near California."
Jessica didn't doubt Bruce's prediction—he had never been wrong before.
And yet, that certainty only deepened her sorrow for what America had become.
"I'm heading out for a bit. New York is in your hands for now," Bruce said, turning away. "You can ask Peter Parker to help if you need support. As for Miles, let him focus on his training."
"???" Jessica blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—what do you mean New York is in my hands? Where are you going?"
"To California. To see the refugee camps. To see the people controlling the drones that are killing them," Bruce replied as he walked into the suit chamber.
But this time, he didn't reach for one of his usual suits. Instead, he extended his hand toward a pool of black liquid nearby.
As soon as his fingers touched the surface, the liquid coiled around him, enveloping his body.
The jet-black suit took form over Bruce with astonishing speed.
Despite flowing like liquid moments before, it gleamed with a metallic sheen once fully formed.
Yet, as it shaped into a cape, it became as soft as velvet.
"You just said the American government wouldn't allow intervention in California."
"What does their decision have to do with me?" Bruce's voice was calm, unwavering. "Am I Captain America? Besides, I doubt even he agrees with their policies."
The black liquid crawled over his face, forming the unmistakable mask of the Bat.
"What I'm going to do," Bruce said, his voice colder now, "is show them what real fear looks like."
(End of Chapter)
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