Holy American Empire

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Emperor Kane deployed his fleet to blockade Mexico. Two weeks of darkness, of no power. Two weeks of the citizens growing hungry. Two weeks of nothing but silence from Mexico’s neighbor turned enemy.

There had been no warning, no Holy American soldier even stepping foot on Mexican soil, yet the country was already on the verge of crumbling.

Children’s cries filled the air outside the palace gates, desperate for food, their voices carried on the night wind. Inside, President Garcia sat hunched at the head of a long table, surrounded by his top officials.

“President Garcia, has there been any word from Emperor Kane?” asked his top general. “There has to be a reason the Americans are doing this.”

Garcia rubbed at his temples, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “No. Not a single message, not a single demand. Only silence. And that silence is louder than bombs.”

The general leaned forward, determination hardening his face. “Then my recommendation is the same as it has been the last thirteen days. We need to respond and break the blockade. Show the rest of the world that this new Emperor is a mere man—not some God-appointed leader he claims to be.”

Garcia opened his mouth to respond, but the chamber doors slammed open. His personal secretary stumbled in, her face pale with urgency.

“Señor Presidente!” she cried. “A paratrooper was spotted in the air over the capital building. Word is he’s landed—he carries a package for you.”

The room went still. Behind her, boots clattered against the marble floor as soldiers entered, surrounding a lone figure in their midst.

The Holy American paratrooper was dragged forward, wrists bound in steel cuffs. He was dressed head to toe in an all-black body suit and mask, the only color on him the crimson-and-gold flag of the Holy American Empire stitched boldly across his chest. He stood tall despite the rifles aimed at him from every angle.

One soldier wrenched a black case from his hands and set it on the president’s desk. The lid snapped open to reveal a satellite phone, its green light blinking.

The general spat in disgust. “This is theater, señor. Kane wants us trembling before he even speaks.”

The phone buzzed, its green light blinking like a heartbeat inside the black case. The sound filled the room, louder than the muffled chaos of the city outside.

Garcia’s hand hovered over the receiver, but his mind drifted briefly. Kane… he should have never been elected. Not in a million years. And yet they didn’t just vote for him—they gave him a mandate to dismantle the presidency itself, to crown an emperor. And now… he’s here, speaking to me directly, as if this is all perfectly normal.

The paratrooper’s muffled voice broke the silence, eager, almost reverent. “I believe that’s my Emperor,” he said. His head turned toward Garcia. “He wants you to answer that, mister President.”

The general stepped closer, fists clenched. “It’s a trap. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

But Garcia couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blinking phone. For two weeks, Kane’s silence had suffocated Mexico. Now, in the dead of night, the silence was broken.

His hand hovered above the receiver, trembling. One call. One voice. One demand that could decide the fate of Mexico itself.