76: The White House wants peace? Sure, let's talk at my grave!

As the countdown continued...

Inside the mobile command vehicle behind the defensive line, General Mark Thompson, the PTRC commander, had his facial muscles tensed tight.

“We can't wait any longer. Execute Plan B.” Thompson issued the order into the communicator. “Use tear gas. Clear Zone One.”

The order was confirmed.

The turrets of dozens of M1 Abrams Main Battle Tanks and M2 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles rotated slightly. The tear gas launchers and non-lethal weapon systems mounted on the hulls locked onto the candle-holding civilians outside the line, as well as the members of the Roosevelt Family standing at the very front.

The launch command was transmitted through encrypted lines.

Just as the operator was about to press the launch button...

Zzz... After a faint sound of static, the entire world went silent.

With the bronze statue in Roosevelt Memorial Park as the center, within a one-kilometer radius, the engines of all military vehicles stalled simultaneously.

The fire control system screens inside the tanks instantly turned pitch black, and only meaningless rustling remained in the communication equipment.

The flashing red and blue police lights froze on the last frame, then went out completely.

Inside the command vehicle, Mark Thompson stared at the pitch-black console in front of him; the backup power hadn't even had a chance to kick in.

“Report status! What happened?!”

Only dead silence answered him.

At that moment, directly above the memorial park, a familiar golden energy vortex silently unfolded.

Everyone looked up.

In the live broadcast cameras worldwide, that figure dressed in a vintage suit and sitting in a wheelchair slowly descended from the vortex once again.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in the Archer class, came to a steady halt beside the bronze statue that belonged to him.

He was positioned exactly in front of Anna Roosevelt.

Archer Roosevelt did not look at the fanatical crowd, nor did he pay any mind to his descendants. His gaze swept past everyone and cast toward that paralyzed mass of steel creations.

The next second, a gentle yet firm voice rang out directly in the minds of tens of thousands of people inside and outside the park simultaneously.

“The First Amendment of the American Constitution protects the right of citizens to peaceably assemble.”

This declaration was clear and calm, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Inside the mobile command vehicle, Mark Thompson opened the door and jumped to the ground.

He looked at the figure not far away, a professional soldier's rage overriding his confusion.

“All units! All units!” Thompson picked up a backup physical megaphone, his voice distorted by anger. “Soldiers, dismount! Form a line! Clear the area on foot! Repeat, clear the area on foot!”

The order was faithfully executed.

Heavy hatches were pushed open from the inside one by one, and fully armed National Guard soldiers filed out of the paralyzed armored vehicles.

They quickly assembled, forming several human walls, their rifles aimed at the civilians in front of them.

The first row of soldiers took a step forward, crossing an invisible line formed by the street paving stones.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Dull impact sounds rang out in succession.

Those strong and sturdy soldiers were suddenly pinned to the ground as if by an invisible giant hand. Their rifles, body armor, tactical vests, helmets, personal radios... their entire set of equipment, weighing over thirty kilograms, saw its weight increase dozens of times over in an instant.

The immense load pinned them firmly to the ground, their bones groaning under the unbearable burden. They struggled, but could not move the equipment on their bodies an inch, let alone stand up.

Archer Roosevelt's voice echoed once again in everyone's consciousness.

“Any military appropriation used to suppress the freedom of this nation's people shall be deemed an invalid investment.”

At the same time, in the underground command center of The Pentagon.

On the PTRC's financial monitoring system screen, the long string of numbers representing the budget for this operation was zeroing out at an alarming speed.

The hundreds of millions of dollars in operational funds just urgently allocated by Congress turned into a glaring '0' within a single second.

Technicians frantically operated their keyboards, but it was all in vain.

The funds were not transferred; they had simply evaporated into thin air.

The global live broadcast cameras faithfully transmitted this absurd scene in Washington to the world.

Thousands of fully armed soldiers were pinned to the ground by their own equipment, unable to move.

And in front of them stood unarmed, quietly standing civilians.

On one side was the state's machine of violence, and on the other were the people of the nation; the balance of power had undergone the most thorough reversal.

Archer Roosevelt finally withdrew his gaze from the distance.

He turned his wheelchair to face Anna Roosevelt, who was already too shocked for words behind him.

“Now, let us discuss how to correct the mistakes this country is currently making.”

One hour after the incident.

The military blockade of Washington existed in name only.

After receiving the retreat order from command, those immobilized soldiers were forced to strip off their heavy equipment piece by piece under the gaze of countless civilians and cameras.

Wearing only their thin combat fatigues, they threw their expensive weapons and armor on the ground and left the scene on foot in a state of disarray.

Archer Roosevelt, along with core family members like James and Anna, entered a nearby luxury hotel under the escort of a 'human wall' spontaneously formed by the people.

The Roosevelt Family's private security quickly took over the entire block where the hotel was located, keeping all global media and onlookers outside.

The White House, Oval Office.

The Secretary of the Treasury and the Secretary of Defense stood before the current President.

“Mr. President, the entire PTRC budget has been ‘locked’ by a rule we cannot comprehend. Any attempt to transfer funds into that account fails; the money vanishes instantly,” the Secretary of the Treasury reported, his voice trembling slightly.

“We cannot guarantee that conventional weapons will be effective against him,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff added via video link. “Using strategic weapons in a densely populated area of the capital is tantamount to political suicide, and we likewise cannot predict the consequences.”

The President leaned back powerlessly in his chair and closed his eyes.

Inside the presidential suite on the top floor of the hotel.

Archer Roosevelt elaborated on his philosophy to his descendants in detail.

“I am not the return of some individual's ghost; I am the product condensed from this era's demand for change.”

He handed a tablet to James Roosevelt.

On it was displayed the title of a document—'The New Era Bill of Rights.'

It was a detailed draft for reform, sufficient to overturn the entire existing structure of the country.

Three hours later.

Anna Roosevelt, acting once again as the family representative, announced parts of the outline of 'The New Era Bill of Rights' to the outside world at the hotel entrance.

“...A 90% excess profits tax shall be levied on giant corporations with a market value exceeding five hundred billion dollars.”

“...Establish a universal free healthcare system.”

“...Provide a basic income guarantee plan of two thousand dollars per month for all citizens whose annual income falls below the poverty line.”

Every point in the outline was like a heavy bomb, triggering a violent explosion within American society.

Countless people from the lower classes flooded the streets, chanting Roosevelt's name and regarding him as a savior.

Online, support for the bill soared to unprecedented heights overnight.

Meanwhile, Wall Street and conservative media issued the sharpest condemnations, calling it a 'conspiratorial restoration of socialism' and 'the complete destruction of the free economy.'

The opposition and tearing of society were pushed to their peak at this moment.

Late at night, Washington.

The White House eventually managed to contact the Roosevelt Family.

They requested a private, highest-level meeting with Archer himself.

The suite's terrace.

Anna Roosevelt relayed the White House's request word-for-word to the man sitting in the wheelchair.

Archer Roosevelt did not answer immediately.

He operated his wheelchair to the edge of the terrace, looking out at the brilliant night view of Washington, remaining silent for a long time.

Then, he replied.

“Fine. Tell them to come to my memorial park to talk.”