The press room of the White House had never been this full.
No election had ever gotten close.
Not even wars, such as the World Wars, had gotten close.
Because of this, these were the first words the President would say after America had been attacked by an alien invasion.
Now, for the first time ever, humanity knew that they weren't alone in the universe—and that life out there could be hostile.
It shouldn't have been this big; people had known about the Asgardians for a while now… but due to how human they looked, most people hadn't really taken in the fact that they were aliens.
With magic being revealed and the Holy Grail confirmed, people were busy dealing with that. And so, Asgardians were pushed into the godly line of thinking.
So this was when everyone had their alien awakening.
And it was one massive explosion of news after another.
At least a hundred thousand dead.
The aliens wanted to wipe out humanity.
The U.S. government played a part in instigating the invasion.
And while brave heroes fought to end the invasion, the U.S. government tried to nuke all of New York City—killing millions, and worse, killing the only people who might be able to end the invasion, since the smartest people in the world, including the heroes Tony Stark and Reed Richards, had determined a nuclear strike would have no effect.
That meant not only would that nuclear strike have killed millions of their own citizens, but it would also have doomed the entire world.
With footage showing on all major news channels of the brutal aliens and the heroes fighting against them, the people—all people—were outraged.
And all that rage only had one target: those who seemed to be responsible.
The U.S. government, who drew the aliens to Earth and failed completely in stopping them.
Despite trillions in defense spending, they were completely helpless. Fully useless.
No—worse than useless. In their incompetence, they almost helped the aliens destroy Earth.
So with the entire world wanting answers, every outlet had fought to get in here, to get answers to the millions—billions—of people who watched this live.
Cameras packed together shoulder-to-shoulder. Journalists stood in the aisles, pressed against walls, crammed behind the podium—so tightly that the Secret Service had simply given up trying to maintain order and instead focused on not having a collective heart attack.
The world was watching.
The world was waiting.
And the world had no idea what was coming.
The President stepped up to the podium.
He looked ten years older than he had when he entered the East Room only hours before. His hands shook—not enough for the cameras to see, but enough for every staffer in the room to notice. His face had the hollow look of a man who had seen a god hold a sword forged out of nightmares.
The room fell silent.
He adjusted the microphone, cleared his throat, and forced his voice not to crack.
"My fellow Americans… and to the people of the world."
The tension rippled outward like a shockwave.
"Today, after the attack on New York City… and after a private emergency summit with representatives of Camelot, Asgard, S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers, and other extraordinary parties… several decisions have been made."
The reporters leaned forward so sharply that some nearly toppled over.
The President swallowed.
He could still feel Arthuria's gaze on him, even though she was no longer in the room.
No—worse.
He feared disappointing her.
"First," he said, voice steadying through sheer will, "I want to state clearly that the deployment of a nuclear device toward Manhattan was a grievous error."
A gasp rolled through the room.
He continued.
"I allowed myself to act from fear, to listen to unwise advice, and I failed to see what was right… for that I can't apologize enough, and for which I accept responsibility."
Another wave of murmurs—disbelief, outrage, confusion.
In the front row, a reporter for CNN whispered, "Holy hell."
A Fox correspondent muttered, "He's finished."
An MSNBC host mouthed, "He actually said it."
But the President pushed onward.
Because he had no choice.
Not anymore.
"The heroes who saved this nation acted with courage beyond anything we could have expected. Without them—without the intervention of Camelot and Asgard—humanity would not be speaking freely today."
More murmurs. Journalists exchanged wide-eyed, shell-shocked looks.
"In recognition of this new global reality," the President continued, "a proposal has been put forward—one supported by several extraordinary individuals and groups."
He gripped the podium.
His knuckles whitened.
"Within the week, the United States will call for an international summit."
Cameras clicked wildly. A dozen hands shot up.
He talked over them.
"This summit will include representatives from allied nations, and from other groups of interest, which includes Asgard and Albion. The goal of that summit will be to formally welcome a new age—an age of heroes."
The room held its breath, as did the world.
"However… I will not take part in this summit. I will later today resign from the position of President."
The words hit the room like a meteor.
For a moment, no one understood what had been said.
Then—
Pandemonium.
Journalists erupted all at once, a hundred voices firing off questions like machine guns.
"Mr. President—!"
"Is this voluntary or coerced?!"
"Did Camelot force you to resign?!"
"Are you admitting guilt in the Chitauri incident?!"
"Who will assume leadership?!"
The President held up a trembling hand.
No one quieted.
Not this time.
He tried again, louder:
"Please—please. I ask for order."
There was none.
Cameras zoomed so violently that operators nearly stumbled over each other. Microphones shoved forward like weapons. The sound of shouting ricocheted off the walls.
The Secret Service surged toward the stage. Not to protect him from danger—
—to keep the press from climbing onto it.
The President's voice cut through only when he raised it to a desperate shout:
"This is my decision!"
That bought him three seconds of silence.
He used them.
"I failed you," he said, eyes glassy. "I failed all of you. And while the decisions made in that room earlier today will shape the future… I am not the man who should be part of that future."
A trembling breath.
"The world needs leaders wiser, braver, and more capable than I proved to be.
"
Someone yelled:
"Did Arthuria Pendragon demand this?!"
The President immediately nodded.
"Yes. She did—but she did so because she is right, and the people demand the same. I am no longer worthy of the people's trust, and so I have no problem with this demand of hers."
A wave of stunned silence rippled through the press room.
Not outrage.
Not disbelief.
Just pure, stunned paralysis.
The President's answer landed like a bomb far more devastating than the one he had almost unleashed on Manhattan.
He swallowed hard, lifted his chin, and repeated with a steadier voice:
"Yes. She demanded it. And she was right to do so."
A wall of flashes burst from cameras. Reporters yelled so loudly the audio equipment crackled with static.
"Are you saying Camelot now dictates U.S. leadership?!"
"Is this a peaceful transition or forced abdication?!"
"Do you acknowledge Albion as a superior authority?!"
"Is the United States still sovereign?!"
"Is Loki influencing national policy?!"
"Has Asgard taken control of Earth?!"
The Secret Service moved in again, forming a half-circle around him.
But the President pushed through their protective line of arms and microphones, refusing to retreat yet.
He wasn't done.
"I demanded accountability from others," he said, voice rising over the chaos, "and yet I failed to hold myself accountable. Arthuria Pendragon did not threaten me, nor coerce me. She simply told me the truth: that leadership requires wisdom, courage, and a clarity I no longer possessed."
He released the podium.
His hands finally stopped shaking.
"She asked me to step aside. And the people—" he swept his gaze across the cameras, speaking not to congressmen nor aides, but to the entire world watching, "—the people demand the same."
The reporters roared again.
"Mr. President—!"
"Sir, will Albion influence the next administration?!"
"Will the Vice President be sworn in immediately?!"
"What does Asgard say about this decision?!"
"What is the purpose of the Summit of Heroes?!"
"Will Camelot enforce global order?!"
The barrage of questions made it nearly impossible to speak, and honestly, the President didn't want to be here anymore than he wanted to step down.
Yet… he knew he had no choice. Even if Arthuria hadn't forced his hand, he was politically dead already. Thanks to the news of the nuclear bomb spreading before they could sweep it under the rug, there was nothing he could do.
Still, he pressed on.
"Please—enough questions. I have more to announce."
The room did not become quiet.
But it became less loud—which, under the circumstances, was the closest thing to order he would get.
"There are… matters of recognition," he continued, "that must be addressed. Matters of honor, of gratitude, and of responsibility."
Reporters leaned forward again, sensing another detonation.
"During the invasion," the President said, "a number of extraordinary individuals risked—and gave—their lives to save this nation and the world."
He glanced down at the list on the podium, took a breath, and went on.
"Therefore, effective immediately, the United States recognizes the following groups and individuals as national heroes, with all rights, protections, and compensations that status entails."
Cameras clicked like gunfire.
"The Avengers Initiative, originally a classified project under S.H.I.E.L.D., will from this day forward be recognized as an independent heroic organization. They will not answer to the Department of Defense, nor to the executive branch, but will operate with global oversight through the summit convened next week."
That caused an uproar.
Several reporters shouted:
"Is this Arthuria's demand?!"
"Are you disbanding the Pentagon's oversight?!"
"Who grants this independence?!"
"Is this a surrender of U.S. sovereignty?!"
The President raised his voice:
"This change is at the request of multiple parties—including Camelot, Asgard, S.H.I.E.L.D., and the Avengers themselves."
A few gasps.
The President continued.
"Furthermore… each member of the Avengers will receive full federal honors, lifetime compensation, and immunity from prosecution related to any actions taken during the defense of Manhattan."
"And additionally," he said, gripping the podium again, "Tony Stark and Reed Richards will receive government funding and access to formerly restricted materials to help develop global defense systems against future extraterrestrial threats."
Even more uproar.
"Are you militarizing superheroes?!"
"Is this a new arms race?!"
"Is Stark Industries taking over national defense?!"
He pressed on.
Finally, he reached the line he had least wanted to say—but could not avoid.
"And last… I would like to formally thank Camelot and its King, Arthuria Pendragon, for saving not only New York City, but this planet."
The room froze.
Dead silent.
No reporter dared interrupt this part.
"For her service," the President continued slowly, "Camelot and Albion will receive reparations from the United States—both financial and material—as recognition for their sacrifices and their protection of our people."
A journalist whispered, too close to her mic:
"…We're paying tribute."
Another muttered, "God help us."
The President kept talking before fear could settle.
"In her grace, His Majesty Arthuria Pendragon has agreed to allow us to pay by removing sanctions and tariffs. This means the taxpayer won't be forced to pay for this."
He straightened.
"And in addition, Camelot and Asgard will receive full diplomatic protections and recognized sovereign status at the upcoming international summit."
More flashes. More whispers.
The world shifted another inch.
"And finally," he added, voice lowering with genuine emotion, "to the families of the fallen—heroes and civilians alike—the United States will commit to the largest compensation and rebuilding effort in our nation's history."
His shoulders sagged.
The weight of everything pressed visibly upon him.
(End of chapter)
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