"Prohibited items?"
"Searching?"
"You're gonna search all our houses?!" someone in the crowd shouted, loud enough to break through the murmuring.
"Yes," Schwartz replied, calm and firm. He gestured behind him, and the men in black advanced with purpose. As if part of a long-prepared and elaborate plan, each one moved with certainty, heading directly toward their assigned homes.
"No! Why are you—"
"Stop! Stop!"
People rushed forward, trying to block the guards from entering their homes, but others in the crowd pushed back.
"Why? You got something to hide?"
"Yeah! No one should be hiding anything."
"Schwartz is right. Follow orders."
"It's called privacy, asshole!"
Tension exploded. What started as disagreements became full-blown conflict. The crowd split into two definitive factions — pro-Schwartz vs. anti-Schwartz. The election had devolved into chaos as guards forced their way into homes and citizens turned on each other.
"No! I said you're not allowed!" an elderly woman cried, helplessly watching a guard barge into her home and start overturning furniture like it meant nothing.
"You're messing up my stuff!" a teenage boy yelled, grabbing at a guard's arm.
"What are you doing?" his brother scolded. "Do you have something to hide?"
"I've got something to goddamn keep, that's what!"
The two brothers argued, even as the guard kept ransacking. The boy made one last effort to pull the guard away, only to be shoved to the ground with a cold warning: "Stay down."
———
"Let's fucking kill him." Thomas said, turning back to the bench.
"It's utter chaos," Wilhelm muttered, scanning the madness.
Thomas looked back to the stage — both Schwartz and Hawthorne were gone.
"Fuckin'..."
"We should leave," Alexander said.
"What? When the people are finally waking up? People are seeing it, they're not some kinda fuckin' leaders — they're just greedy, stealing pricks."
"We knocked out a guard," Alexander reminded him. "They'll know. They're probably coming for us right now for it."
"Ijichi will understand—"
"He holds no power anymore. The election stripped the old town leaders of all their power. This is a dictatorship now. Either Schwartz or Hawthorne is at the top, or maybe both."
Thomas clenched his fists, jaw tight with frustration.
All around them, the shouting escalated:
"What do you have to hide, huh?!"
"What do you have?!"
Thomas stared at the erupting crowd, then sighed.
"Fine. Let's find Tyler and get the fuck out of here."
"YES! Thank you for being sensib—" Wilhelm was interrupted by someone bumping into him as the chaos swelled.
"Let's go," Alexander said, leading the retreat.
———
Through the streets of New Angeles, Thomas saw the city unravel. No one was given a choice — every house was raided, every home trashed. And yet, barely any so-called "prohibited items" were found.
Citizens screamed at guards; guards screamed back. Water was thrown. Homes were ransacked. Anti-Schwartz civilians were shouted down. Pro-Schwartz supporters were punched.
Guards struggled to keep the peace — just barely preventing injuries, but not the sheer disorder.
"Fucking thieves," Thomas muttered.
Then he noticed a house up ahead. A young woman stood in the doorway, refusing to back down.
"Back off! This is my property — what gave you the right?"
"President's orders," the guard said coldly, advancing.
She shoved him back again. Annoyed, he raised his hand and called for backup. As several more guards closed in, the woman helplessly shouted:
"WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT? JUST TO STEAL?!"
"I fuckin' agree," Thomas growled.
"Tommy! What are you doing?!" Wilhelm tried to hold him back, but Thomas dashed forward.
He shoved the guards aside until he was shoulder to shoulder with the woman, guarding the door. "You fuckin' thieves — STAY THE HELL OFF!"
"Tommy!" Wilhelm pushed through the guards to reach them. "Stop this," he pleaded, then turned to the soldiers.
"I'm sorry — he's sorry. We'll leave—"
"No!"
Wilhelm grabbed at Thomas again, but he stood his ground.
"Tommy…" Wilhelm gritted his teeth so hard they nearly sparked.
"These fuckin' thieves need to goddamn learn!"
A voice cut through the noise — deep, cold, and composed: "Enlighten me."
From behind the guards, Caleb Rhys Hawthorne emerged, dressed sharply, formal as ever. He and Thomas locked eyes. Rage from Thomas yet again met contempt from Hawthorne.
"I'm going to start by asking you to return my FUCKING DISC."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't? That's too bad — I was about to make a damn good trade offer." Thomas sneered. "Return the disc, and I'll return your motherfuckin' pinky."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hawthorne repeated, raising his voice.
"You don't? You fuckin' don't?!"
"Tommy…" Wilhelm tried again, but the rage had fully taken over. Thomas drew his axe and stepped into a ready stance.
The guards instantly raised their swords in response. Six blades pointed at Thomas, Wilhelm, and the woman.
Wilhelm and the woman froze in fear — but Thomas was ready to fight.
**CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.**
All six swords were suddenly knocked away, redirected.
A new sword — gleaming, diamond-edged — pointed directly at Hawthorne's face.