971: Chapter 87: The Feast of Wolves 3 971: Chapter 87: The Feast of Wolves 3 “Power—in Arica, everyone has power.
Arican politicians will tell you that your power is sacred, it’s pivotal, it’s important.
You are the great foundation of the nation, the cornerstone resisting cultural erosion.
But these fragile lies evaporate before the sword of reality like water on the scorching sumr pavent, disappearing in re seconds.
Do you have power?
You do.
You have the power to wander the streets, unsure if you’ll wake up alive the next morning.
Those fat cats also have power.
They have the power to acquire everything in this world, and even if they break the law, they’re never held accountable.
They have the power to buy freedom.
As long as the money’s right, forget prison—they won’t even get indicted.
Our prosecutors are elected, folks, elected.
And their campaign funds co from the fat cats!
So, tell , are those prosecutors serving the fat cats, or are they serving us holess drifters on the streets?”
Scott stood on the roof of an old Ford pickup, delivering a passionate speech to the holess.
In Arica’s political ga, there are many special Chosen Ones.
Capital handpicks them to be its power’s tentacles.
This kind of person would never campaign on the streets—they just rent a venue for a rally.
But for most grassroots politicians, street campaigns within their districts are non-negotiable—arguably, they can’t overemphasize them enough.
Today, Cort was hosting a campaign event in District Four of San Rodolfo, or California’s 15th Congressional District.
The election wouldn’t officially kick off until the first half of next year.
Most of his competitors were still waiting, but Cort couldn’t afford to wait.
He needed to fight a prolonged tug-of-war, moving from one street to the next, from one community to the next.
This was no easy task.
Luckily, his life had already hit rock bottom.
The resilience born of hitting the bottom could carry him through this path of reshaping his destiny.
Of course, the help from General Cheng was the key factor.
Cort hadn’t raised campaign funds from other fat cats.
He only took money from New Era.
“Cort, you’re right, but don’t tell you haven’t taken money from the fat cats?
Or did you secretly sell your sorry ass to soone behind our backs?
Don’t tell you’re counting on us holess folks to donate to your campaign, hahaha!”
The streets of Arica were always rife with all sorts of characters—few were truly sane.
Whether Cort’s speech managed to stir their emotions was still unclear, but soone was already heckling.
This heckler had no real purpose.
He didn’t care about the answer; he just found joy in challenging a ‘celebrity’ or ‘big shot’ as a way to affirm his own existence.
The holess broke into laughter at the so-called ‘humor’ of the questioner.
Fortunately, Cort’s military background had prepped him for these infernal challenges—they were nothing to him.
“Man, I’d love to sell out, too, but I can’t kneel.
I can’t bring myself to do the disgusting shit of sucking up just to get ahead.
That’s why I’m stuck standing on this damn busted Ford with its crappy clutch, begging you idiots for votes.
Elect as Congressman, and I promise the first thing I’ll do when I step onto Capitol Hill is raise those damn fat cats’ tax rates to ninety-nine percent!”
Scott was talking complete nonsense.
This was a tactic he learned from Eris.
Anyway, the road ahead wasn’t going to be easy no matter what—why not boldly dig your own pit?
Start with the most extre slogans to grab attention first.
In this sense, politics wasn’t all that different from writing novels or drawing erotic manga.
The audiences for these fields craved more extres, more emotionally stimulating content.
As a result, books got wilder, ero-manga beca more exaggerated, and politicians’ platforms grew more outrageous.
Still, this wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
Change itself was aningful.
A stagnating pool of water, on the other hand, spelled bad news.
“Hahaha, Cort, don’t worry—if you really plan to do that, there’s no way you’ll beco Congressman!”
Who said all holess people were fools and failures?
At least this heckler had a decent grasp of reality.
“How do you know I can’t pull it off?
With your support, and a few others willing to back , maybe I actually can win, huh?”
Tired of standing, Scott adjusted his posture and sat on the truck roof, continuing his conversation with the crowd below.
“Those politicians wear suits and ties.
Look at you—dressed in that mismatched clown outfit.
What politician wears a polo shirt with sweatpants?”
Listening to advice through his earpiece, Cort laughed and responded.
“Because I spilled food on my pants at dinner last night, and they’re still drying!”
Eris, sitting in a nearby black SUV, was remotely coaching his street campaigning.
He was a capable advisor.
“Hahaha~”
Cort’s humorous retort sent the holess crowd into roars of laughter.
They thought the scruffy ex-soldier looked and acted ridiculously silly—just like one of them.
His reply felt ‘authentic,’ so they ward up to him.
“Buddy, you’re not living on the streets anymore, right?
You say you’re running for Congressman, but you’ve still gotta pay the bills.
So…
what are you doing for a living these days?”
This was another question Scott had prepped in advance for.
Pretending to feel awkward, he answered.
“I’m working as a plumber these days, squeezing in campaign runs during my free ti.
You know how it is—my damned ex-wife has a legal right to empty every penny from my account.
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