The Oval Office was dead silent except for the hum of a dozen news feeds. The President stared at the monitors, his face pale.
Social media wasn't just angry — it was a continent-wide lynch mob. From Texas to New York, citizens were calling for his head. Approval ratings didn't matter anymore.
Forget the next election, he wasn't going to survive the week. Daniel had put a target on Washington, and the American public was scared enough to pull the trigger themselves.
The President gripped the edge of the desk.
This was Lex Luthor's fault. Luthor had stood in this room, flashing his arrogant smile, swearing his "Ultraman Project" was the ultimate failsafe — a genetically perfected superhuman, capable of neutralizing any threat on the planet.
The President had been an idiot to trust the bald billionaire.
Daniel hadn't even stood up. His shadows chewed through a billion dollars of those soldiers in under three seconds.
"Get Luthor on the line," the President snapped, turning to his Chief of Staff.
"We've been trying, sir," the Chief of Staff said, sweating through his collar. "LexCorp headquarters is in total lockdown. His private numbers are disconnected."
The President stared at the wall. The smartest man in the world had convinced the government to poke a god, and now he was hiding.
The door swung open. The Vice President walked in, face set like stone. "Everyone out."
The aides filed out instantly, shutting the door behind them.
The President glared across the desk. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm trying to save whatever's left of this country," the Vice President said, stopping in front of the desk.
"You are going to draft a formal, unconditional apology to Daniel Haken. You will read it on live television across all networks. And then you are going to resign."
The President's face flushed dark red. He stood.
"Are you out of your mind? I am the Commander in Chief. I am not stepping down, and I am not surrendering to a domestic terrorist just because Luthor's toys failed!"
"He's not a terrorist," the Vice President fired back, slamming a hand on the desk.
"He is an extinction event. Look out the window. The sun is gone. There are leviathans hovering over three hundred million people. We have less than twenty hours before he erases the United States from the map."
The President opened his mouth, but the Vice President cut him off.
"The Pentagon is paralyzed. The Joint Chiefs have nothing. Every department head in this building agrees." His voice dropped into a cold ultimatum.
"You signed off on poking him. You bought Luthor's lie. Time to take responsibility. You fall on your sword today, or tomorrow there won't be a country left to govern."
He leaned closer. "You think this is about your pride? Look at the screens. They aren't just complaining on the internet anymore."
He pointed at the muted monitors — helicopter footage of violent crowds swarming federal buildings in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. Concrete barricades torn down, police lines buckling under the weight of terrified, furious citizens.
"Protests have breached the perimeters of government facilities across the entire country," the Vice President said. "The public lost trust in us the second we put a gun to his head. They know we started this."
The President watched the gates of an FBI field office get ripped off their hinges by a mob, color draining from his face.
"They aren't going to wait for his monsters to wipe us out tomorrow," the Vice President added. "If you don't resign and apologize on national television right now, the American people are going to break into this building and drag us out into the street."
"Even the Secret Service detail outside your door is considering walking off the job," he said quietly. "Resign now, while you still have a choice. At least you get to walk out of here breathing. Otherwise, you know exactly how this plays out."
He didn't wait for a response, turned, and walked out, letting the door click shut behind him.
The President stood alone. His eyes darted to the locked door, paranoia setting in cold and deep. The Vice President hadn't just been warning him about the mob outside the gates — he'd been warning him about the people inside this building.
If he refused to step down, the CIA, the Joint Chiefs, his own cabinet wouldn't sit around and let the country burn. They'd handle it internally — a bullet, a staged scene, a press release calling it suicide out of guilt.
He stared down at the presidential seal woven into the carpet.
A disgraced, resigned president was humiliating. A dead one was permanent.
His hand shook as he reached across the desk and picked up the phone.
***
Hal sat cross-legged on the cracked concrete, leaning over a Monopoly board pulled from an abandoned corner store. He grinned, tapping a little red plastic hotel on a dark blue square.
"Well, you landed on Boardwalk," Hal said, holding out his hand. "Pay me rent."
Daniel sighed, picked up a thin stack of paper money, and tossed his last few bills into Hal's palm. "Here."
"I won," Hal gloated, leaning back with a smug smile. "You're officially broke. Take that."
Before Daniel could respond, tires screeched across the plaza.
A federal communications van sped past the barricades and slammed to a stop at the bottom of the courthouse steps. Two aides threw open the back doors, revealing a rigged broadcast monitor.
The screen flickered to life. The President stood behind the White House briefing podium, looking ten years older than that morning, his face hollow, shoulders slumped.
"I am issuing a formal, unconditional apology to Daniel Haken," his voice trembled through the van's speakers.
"I take full responsibility for the unprovoked hostility authorized by my administration. Effective immediately, I am resigning from the office of the Presidency. If Reaper requires further retribution, I offer myself into his custody. May God protect America."
Daniel stared at the screen, popped the last piece of pepperoni into his mouth, and chewed slowly.
"See?" he said, standing and dusting off his pants. "I got my apology."
He snapped his fingers.
The shift was instant. The low rumble vibrating through the continent stopped.
The leviathans kneeling in the plaza collapsed into black ash. In the sky, the thousands of shifting horrors dissolved, blowing away like smoke. The crushing psychic weight paralyzing three hundred million people vanished.
Hal stood, letting out a breath, dusting himself off, running a hand through his hair. He looked up and frowned. The sky was still a pitch-black void.
"Hey," he said, pointing up. "You seem to have forgotten to return the sun."
Daniel stopped walking, turned, and looked at him with pure pity.
"It's night, idiot."
*****
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