(1) Pentagone

As the black limousine drove through the empty streets of Washington D.C., a peculiar silence reigned. Here, there was no crime, no drug dealing, no gunfights. Compared to ordinary life after the Great Wave, it was a whole different world. 

Inside the limousine, two people were having a discussion—General Pantherson and Director Hart.

The general reached into the cooled center console of his seat and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Can I tempt you, Director?"

Hart waved it away. "No thank you, General."

Pantherson shrugged. "Suit yourself." He gave himself a generous pour, then added two huge, crystal-clear ice cubes. "I guess young people just don't have a taste for whiskey anymore. A shame. You could use an excuse to relax a bit."

Director Hart didn't reply. She knew the general was taunting her. "Why has the Pentagon summoned us? We have so much to do in preparation for the academic year… and you don't need me to tell you that it's going to be a busy one. We have no time to play the spectator sport that American politics has become."

The general gave a sloppy smile. "Implying it hasn't always been that way, Director. Well… as for why they've called us up, I'm not yet sure. Something to do with money, I imagine. That's the downside of the Hunter Association's particular status… unlike the guilds in the private sector, the Hunter Association costs the American taxpayers billions every year. I'm sure our friends in Washington would like to pocket a little bit more of that themselves!"

The Director replied in a disgusted voice, "The budget!? You think we're being called all the way out here, along with the Dean of the Hunter Association, just to discuss the budget!?"

The general chuckled through a long sip of whiskey. "Ah, Cornelia. I'll never understand how you got to be where you are today with your chronic inability to read between the lines. When the word 'budget' comes up, that's just a polite way to say we're discussing under what conditions we'll receive our funding for this year."

Hart scoffed. "These General Staff people are so pathetic. Were it not for Magnus, the Hunters would've seized the reins of power long ago. That damn S+ Rank could raze a whole city to the ground without any extra help… No guild, no matter how strong, would dare challenge the feds as long as Magnus is protecting their regime. To think that such a monster has decided to throw in its lot with such political scum… Truly shameful."

The general replied, "I guess it's the privilege of the strong to decide who rules and who doesn't. That's the age-old question… is it better to be the king or the kingmaker?" 

Director Hart seemed to grow more annoyed with every word out of Pantherson's mouth. "The old political system can't stay in place indefinitely. The President himself knows it. The population see the politicians as the scum responsible for all their problems, while they see Hunters as the new rulers of the world. We have to take responsibility now, before the whole political machine collapses." 

Now it was the general's turn to give a dismissive grunt. "The people have no long-term vision. If their precious Big Macs cost a dollar more tomorrow, they'll vote for anyone who promises to bring the price back down. Talk about corruption or incompetence all you want… they'll call it common sense to see those qualities in their enemies, but will deny until the sun goes cold that the man in Washington who gives them a dollar is anything but a saint."

He finished the last of his whiskey and stared at the slowly melting ice in his glass. "For the moment, nobody is asking to take power."

"For the moment," the Director coldly agreed. 

Then their conversation was cut short, for the limousine had arrived at its destination.