The Holy American Empire

Relief came first. For the first time in weeks, trucks rolled across Mexico’s highways carrying sacks of grain, barrels of fuel, crates of medicine stamped with the seal of the Empire. Markets opened cautiously, lights flickered back to life in the cities, and families wept as refrigerators hummed again. The blockade was over.

But the relief was not joy. It was thin, nervous, fragile. Because with the aid came soldiers. They marched not as conquerors, but as “peacekeepers” — rifles slung, uniforms crisp, the Imperial cross stitched to their sleeves. Loudspeakers in the plazas repeated the same phrase in Spanish and English: “Peace has returned. Stability has been restored under God’s order.”

And with the aid came whispers. Whispers of reeducation. Nobody knew exactly what it meant, only that new “Centers for Faith and Renewal” were being built across the empire. Officials called them schools. Believers called them sanctuaries. But in the cantinas and crowded apartments of Mexico City, people called them something else: camps.

“They say it’s only prayer, only teaching,” one man muttered as he passed bread to his children. “But those who go in… do they come back the same?”

Fear moved faster than food. In the south, whole families began fleeing before the borders closed — caravans of buses, beat-up trucks piled high with mattresses and chickens and children. They headed for Guatemala, for Belize, anywhere not marked with Kane’s sigil.

For three days, the crossings were chaotic. Mothers clutching infants begged guards to let them pass. Fathers waded across rivers at night, carrying their sons on their shoulders. No one wanted to wait and see what “religious education” really meant.

But the reprieve did not last. On the fourth day, Empire troops sealed the southern frontier. Checkpoints rose from jungle roads, drones swept overhead, and soldiers in body armor turned families back with the same phrase: “Return home. God’s order is here now.”

Mexico had food. Mexico had light. But Mexico had no way out.

The small conference room in the UN building was tense. Four leaders sat around a polished oak table, the hum of New York outside a distant echo. Stacks of reports and maps littered the surface, most detailing the aftermath of Mexico.

Élodie Marchand, President of France, leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly. “We cannot let this stand. Kane has shown what he is capable of. Mexico was only the beginning. If we do not resist now, Paris — and the rest of Europe — will be next.”

Kurt Weiss, Chancellor of Germany, remained calm but firm. “I understand your concern, Élodie, but open defiance could trigger a war none of us are prepared for. Kane has already demonstrated the reach of his forces. Sometimes listening is the wiser path — at least until we understand what he truly wants.”

Robert Hale, Prime Minister of Canada, rubbed his temples. “I don’t like it either. But Kurt has a point. There’s a balance we have to consider. North America may be safer for now, but if we provoke him, we risk escalation. We need to assess the situation carefully.”

Diego Marquez, President of Panama, slammed a hand lightly on the table. “Careful? My country is already seeing the consequences of his empire. Refugees are pouring in from Mexico, terrified of these so-called ‘reeducation’ centers. We don’t even know what they are — only that they claim to be religious, and people disappear. Kane’s next target could very well be the Panama Canal. Control that, and he controls everything north of it. I will not sit quietly while the world turns a blind eye.”

Marchand’s eyes flared. “And what do you propose, Diego? That we sit and negotiate while people vanish and fear spreads?”

Marquez shook his head. “No. But neither can we blindly rush into war. We need a plan, an understanding of his intentions, before blood is spilled unnecessarily. The refugees are telling us enough: he does not tolerate dissent.”

Weiss exhaled, fingers steepled. “Then we agree on one thing — we must listen to him at the UN. We hear what he says, gauge his true goals, and then act. Open hostility now is too dangerous.”

Hale leaned back, eyes scanning the maps of refugee movements and supply lines. “We have little choice. We attend, we listen, and we show caution. But we must be prepared for what comes next. Kane has changed the rules of engagement for this world.”

Marchand’s jaw tightened, but she nodded slightly. “Very well. We will listen. But make no mistake — if he threatens Paris, France will respond. And I will not wait for the world to catch up with him.”

Marquez gave a grim nod. “Then let us hope the world is ready for what comes next.”

Outside the room, the hum of the city seemed louder, as if the very air carried the tension of the moment. The leaders rose, and the doors opened to the General Assembly chamber — the stage where Kane would speak, and the world would hear the voice of a man who claimed God had chosen him.