August 8, 1904.
The United States had not merely fallen; it had been conquered. The vast expanse of the nation now lay firmly in the iron grip of the Great Western President of America, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde. Yet, his vanquished foes, the American East Coast Government and its entrenched, powerful elite, had not simply lost. They had been humiliated, their defeat a bitter, unpalatable victory for their adversary.
Miles away, on the distant shores of New Guinea Island, President Theodore Roosevelt stood on the deck of an ocean liner. His gaze swept across the boundless azure sea, then fixed on the burgeoning landmass now visible on the horizon. A raw, burning sense of degradation surged within him.
"Fck! Fck! F*ck! To be driven to an island! This is the most humiliating, the most unforgettable moment of my life, Theodore! I swear, I will carry this disgrace to my grave! This is a stain on America, a blight on the United States Government, and my own personal, lifelong humiliation!"
Roosevelt's eyes were bloodshot, fixated with a desperate intensity on the land almost within reach. Perhaps it was the sheer, overwhelming presence of their fleet, but the indigenous people of New Guinea Island had already spotted them. A dozen figures, their dark skin stark against their grass skirts, stood on the shore, clutching spears and bows, observing the approaching naval armada with undisguised terror. Yes, half the population here still lived as natives.
Theodore, consumed by his ignominy, felt as though the very world had conspired against him. Humiliation and a searing pain threatened to drown him whole.
And just as he plumbed the depths of his despair, a chorus of gleeful voices erupted from the cruise ship deck nearby.
"Hey! Gentlemen, look there! Look at those damn black-skinned pigs! Oh, sh*t! I'm sure growing cotton in this place will make a fortune!"
"Hahahaha, Matt, your brain is truly sharp! You spotted a business opportunity the moment we arrived! I think I need to negotiate with the military and see how much to invest to get them to capture some slaves for me!"
"Ho ho ho haha, you're absolutely right, sir. This place isn't America; there are no protective laws. And I think that's our biggest business opportunity!"
"Hahahaha, being away from America makes us lucky, sh*t! I feel like we truly won this time!"
The cruise ship deck vibrated with raucous laughter and unbridled joy. These wealthy men raised their glasses, toasting the arrival of their new, profitable era, their voices a cruel counterpoint to the President's silent agony.
Meanwhile, in the American West, the town of Valentine throbbed with a feverish pulse, celebrating the dawn of a different new era. The Valentine Tavern was a maelstrom of revelry. Several taverns overflowed with patrons, each raising their glasses, their voices a cacophony of triumph, their faces alight with a fervent, almost religious joy. Even the faces of Black people and Native Americans, once oppressed, now mingled freely among the jubilant crowd.
"Hahaha, gentlemen, ladies, a toast to Mr. Van der Linde's victory!" The bartender, abandoning his duties, hoisted his whiskey high, his face split by a radiant smile, before draining his glass in one gulp.
With the American East Coast Government in full flight, the remaining states would inevitably fall under Mr. Van der Linde's command. This realization ignited a wildfire of celebration across the entire United States. Workers, enjoying fair wages but with few avenues for lavish spending, were more than happy to frequent the taverns after their shifts. Now, with Mr. Van der Linde on the cusp of final victory, their happiness surged into unbridled ecstasy. Day and night, vast numbers of workers converged on the taverns, celebrating the impending triumph with immense, uninhibited revelry.
"Hahaha, to Mr. Van der Linde!" The one-armed veteran, his mangled limb a testament to past conflicts, raised his glass and emptied it. Thanks to Mr. Van der Linde's veteran's subsidy, even with only one arm, he could still perform sweeping work and sustain himself. Mr. Van der Linde was his benefactor, his savior!
As he raised his glass, glasses across the tavern rose in unison, a forest of arms. People roared Mr. Van der Linde's maxims, a chaotic but undeniably vibrant chorus of allegiance.
And at that very moment, the piercing shouts of a newsboy sliced through the air from outside the tavern.
"Extra! Extra! Mr. Dutch Van der Linde plans to hold the American Grand Ceremony on September 7, 1904, with the chosen location set at Blackwater Town Plains..."
As the newsboy's cries reached the tavern door, the first few listeners instantly fell silent, their expressions frozen. The quiet spread like an infection, consuming the entire tavern, one by one, until the boisterous din ceased altogether. The newsboy's shouts, now unobstructed, echoed clearly through the sudden void.
"Extra! Extra! Mr. Dutch Van der Linde plans to hold the American Grand Ceremony on September 7, 1904, with the chosen location set at Blackwater Town Plains..."
The tavern remained utterly silent. The newsboy's shouts continued to reverberate, each word a hammer blow of destiny.
After a long, breathless moment, finally...
"YES!"
The one-armed veteran, as if jolted awake from a dream, thrust his single arm into the air and bellowed the word, a primal cry of exultation.
"YES!!!"
His exclamation shattered the collective trance, startling everyone in the tavern. Instantly, the entire establishment erupted into an absolute, glorious chaos.
"Oh, YES!!! Mr. Van der Linde, YES!"
"Oh oh oh oh, my God, my Van der Linde, boo hoo hoo, Mr. Van der Linde finally did it!"
"I'm going to Blackwater Town! I'm leaving now!"
The tavern had exploded. People surged out like a mad torrent, pouring from the tavern onto the streets of Valentine, only to find them already teeming. Countless individuals streamed from their homes, laughing, weeping, embracing each other with immense fervor, celebrating the arrival of Mr. Van der Linde's ultimate victory!
The Intelligence Bureau's Revelation
The Valentine Intelligence Bureau was equally jubilant. Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross, who had long remained in the shadows, now stood by the intelligence bureau's glass window. Though both were visibly ecstatic, they struggled to maintain their last vestiges of professional decorum.
"It's almost impossible to believe that Dutch Van der Linde, this desperado, would actually achieve such a monumental feat... it's truly unbelievable," Ross murmured, full of admiration, standing behind Mr. Milton, expressing his heartfelt astonishment.
Mr. Milton's usually stern face rarely betrayed emotion, but now, a faint smile touched his lips.
"Hahaha, Ross, you should call him President Van der Linde. Remember, from this day forward, no one can ever associate him with being a desperado again." Milton's words carried a subtle warning. Dutch's identity had transcended its past. Before he gained legitimacy, calling him the Great Western 'King Outlaws' or a desperado was acceptable. But now that he had succeeded, he possessed only one identity: the President of America, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde!
And now he would host his 'triumph' in Blackwater, truly a poetic ending.
"I never thought that America would one day be saved by a former outlaw... But he, of all people, did what all the hypocritical politicians and presidents who spoke of righteousness in America couldn't do. Perhaps this 'American Purgatory' is truly worth reading." Mr. Milton's expression was solemn, filled with profound emotion.
Before Dutch succeeded, every word he uttered was heresy, deceit, and lies. But after his triumph, every word he spoke naturally became truth, a guiding light on his path forward.