Stan Kim stepped out onto his own stage at the Moscone center in San Francisco, to equally thunderous applause, his hands outstretched.

He waited, and waited, and waited for them to stop, these people who’d stuck with him through thick and thin, who’d supported him when he’d taken unpopular positions, when he’d stood up for a restoration of civil rights, even when a frightened populace was ready to constrict them even further, when he’d fought for an America that looked to the future instead of being mired in the past.

They thought they were cheering him for a noble effort. For the old college try. They thought they were buoying his spirits in the face of defeat.

He loved them for it.

He waited until the crowd quieted, and then he trumpeted out three words, his voice amplified across the space.

“WE. FIGHT. ON.”

The crowd cheered their approval, whistling, waving their banners, hooting and hollering, most of them still not really understanding.

He bellowed out across the crowd, his hands held out to them.

“We fight for a land where every woman and man among us can choose our own fates for our own minds and bodies!”

The crowd roared its approval.

“We fight for a nation that is founded on the freedom of individuals as its fundamental, bedrock principle.”

The crowd cheered uproariously.

“We fight for a country where lying to the citizens, manipulating them, torturing them, and murdering them is a crime!”

The crowd roared.

“Where no matter how high and mighty they may be, the perpetrators of those crimes are brought to justice!”

“Jus-tice!” The crowd started chanting. “Jus-tice! Jus-tice!”

“We fight for a land where the government is more frightened of its citizens than its citizens are of the government!”

The crowd roared. Pumped up now.

“WE. FIGHT. ON.”

Flashbulbs burst across the space. The confetti and balloons stored above were set free, raining down on the thousands assembled here. The giant screens behind him came alive,

ELECTORAL MAP – INCLUDING UPDATED VOTES

Showing large swaths of blue down the west coast, across the mid-west, down the north east, in Florida.

The crowd went wild, screaming, getting it now.

“More than eleven million voters attempted to switch their votes to us in the last forty eight hours! When those voters have their votes counted correctly, as is their constitutional right, as we’re asking the Supreme Court to uphold: WE HAVE WON!”

23
Riot Boy

Tuesday 2040.11.06

“Oh, Jesus,” Oscar said. “It’s a fucking riot.”

“What?” Rangan exclaimed.

“People everywhere,” Oscar said. “Oh hell…”

Rangan pulled himself upright, felt a stab of pain from his rib as he did, and then he saw.

Beyond the windshield the street was full of people, angry people, some waving signs, some chanting or raising fists into the air, others…