Flashbulbs snapped in a never-ending onslaught as the white bursts illuminated the marble chamber, in which the President of the United States stepped up to the podium.
His face bore the crushing weight of the last week, meaning deep lines were etched into his brow, pockets under his eyes signaled serious sleep deprivation, and his shoulders were squared beneath the burden of responsibility.
He didn’t speak immediately, letting the silence settle. Then, after looking deep into the cameras, he began. His voice was steady and grave, but carrying the firm cadence of authority.
"Fellow Americans. One week ago, our world changed."
The room quieted.
"A strange woman spoke, declaring the end of what she called the ’Grace Period.’ Her words were not empty threats. Within moments, dungeons broke open across Earth, and creatures and monsters in numbers humanity had never faced poured into our streets. Cities burned. Communities were torn apart. And millions of innocent souls—our brothers, our sisters, our children—were lost. This is, without question, one of the darkest weeks in our nation’s history."
The President drew a long, deep breath. His gaze remained unflinching as he stared into the cameras and thus into the eyes of the American citizens, even as the weight of grief visibly pressed heavily on his expression.
More cameras flashed.
"And yet, within this darkness, there was light. When the monsters came in unprecedented numbers, when chaos spread across our towns and cities, Americans did not surrender. The heroic awakened combatants of this country rose to the challenge. Shoulder to shoulder with our professional soldiers, our government’s awakened agents, and the full might of the United States military, they fought back. Together, they pushed the invaders from our streets. Together, they reminded the world—no, even the higher powers that seem to exist beyond our previous understanding of the extraterrestrial powers—that this nation does not fall quietly into the night."
His hand gripped the podium with such strength that his knuckles turned white.
"Today, I officially declare: the immediate crisis has been averted. Our cities are not yet whole, our losses are great, and our work is far from finished. But America stands. We endure. And we will rebuild stronger than ever before."
Applause rippled from the gathered officials behind him, though the President lifted a hand to quiet it.
"Many fought bravely in those desperate hours, and we will honor every sacrifice. But tonight, I must recognize those whose heroics stood above even the highest expectations. A few dozen individuals who faced overwhelming odds, who defended citizens with extraordinary courage, and who gave this nation the hope it desperately needed."
He straightened his spine, and his eyes turned even firmer and resolute as the cameras zoomed closer.
"On this day, in the name of the American people, I will bestow upon them our highest honors. Let it be known: America does not forget its heroes. America will always rise again."
The chamber erupted with applause. Cameras flashed like fireworks as the President’s figure was framed by the flag of the United States hanging proudly behind him.
Then, one by one, the chamber doors opened. A line of people entered, moving slowly toward the stage. Some were pushed in wheelchairs, having bandages wrapped tight across shattered limbs and ruined bodies. Others leaned heavily on crutches, sporting pale but proud faces. The rest walked unaided—scarred and exhausted, perhaps, but with a quiet dignity that needed no words.
Gasps and murmurs rippled across living rooms and crowded bars all over America as viewers recognized the procession. These were some of the awakened combatants, the men and women who had fought tooth and nail in the streets, who had stood between ordinary citizens and death itself.
Many citizens recognized their saviors among the ranks of the awakened.
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