An obnoxiously sunny day dazzled over the whole wide world. Thunderclouds had stalked the farthest horizon over the past couple weeks, but they never seemed to get any closer, so everyone forgot about them. This was the day for a picnic. The day to take a walk in the countryside and enjoy the outdoors. The day to graffiti L'Manberg's walls.

"Do you wish to explain to me what exactly you're doing?" said Wilbur Soot, approaching the child and his aerosol cans.

"Ah, Will!" Tommy wiped his face with his arm, leaving a smudge of navy blue across his cheek. "This, my president, is my life's work. 'Carry out the campaign,' you said, so, this is it! POG 2020 is unmatched!" Not a week prior, Tommy had dubbed their party POG 2020. The acronym, following in the dubious footsteps of SWAG 2020, stood for "Politicians Of Gangstering." Wilbur had objected, feeling it wasn't respectable enough, but in lack of a sufficient substitute, the L'Manberg party had no choice but to embrace "POG 2020."

Wilbur scrutinized Tommy's life's work. Through the kaleidoscopic scribbles, he made out what might have been the depiction of a deranged duck. He tilted his head to one side, trying to grasp the artwork's deeper meaning, if any. "And the whole world passes before me just like a morning dream…" I hope this doesn't mean anything for our future. "Are you–are you trying to deride Quackity?"

"Trying? I've successfully represen'ed 'im as the quack 'e is (see what I did there?). Look, I even put down some derailing quotes of his for–for authentici'y. Anyone who sees this wall will beg us to take their vote."

" 'We need to pursue war, only hatred,' " Wilbur read. "He did not really say that...?"

"Well, I think the full thing was, 'We need to stop endorsing these kind of men that only pursue war, that only pursue 'atred,' something like that, but I couldn't fit it all in, you know."

" 'Don't trust people.' That one's good; we could use that one."

"Yeah, 'e said that when I burned down the shanty 'e was building after I pretended to offer a truce over tea."

" 'Netherite, that's the way to go'? I'm not sure if I quite get that one."

"I don't know, but it just sounds wrong, ey?"

"Tommy, overall, it's...a lot of work. I can tell you put a lot of effort into this." Where did he get those paint cans?

"It is mighty fine, i'n't it?" Tommy, hands on hips, gazed fondly at his masterpiece. "I've always 'ad a knack for drawing and the like. I might even be able to make a profession out of it. 'Ow much do you think I could make, Wilbur?"

"No, Tommy–"

"Six o' clock, Will! 'Ere 'e comes down the jaunty bridge now!"

Sure enough, none other than Quackity strolled down the "jaunty" trestle bridge in all his infamy. "And this is L'Manberg," he explained to an unfamiliar young man beside him as they approached. "As you can see, it is truly la guinda! And here are its founders defacing their own walls."

This offended the child. "I'm not defacing. It's a mural!"

Quackity squinted at the graffiti.

Good riddance, you sod.

"Very interesting..." observed the stranger beside him with obvious fascination. A spray of freckles decorated his face–a childlike face with an upturned nose and a bunny smile. He leaned into the wall until his tousled brown hair fell into his honey-gold eyes. "Do you specialize in expressionism, or are you proficient in an array of styles?"

Tommy blanked. "Yes..."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," Wilbur addressed the newcomer. "My name is Wilbur Soot–President Wilbur Soot."

"Honor to meet you, President Soot." The stranger pulled up the baggy sleeve of his many-hued hoodie to shake Wilbur's hand, revealing black-painted fingernails. His voice trembled, making him sound perpetually nervous, though Wilbur had no other reason to consider him so. "My name is Karl Jacobs. On an invitation from a couple of old friends of mine, I've traveled all the way from the Americas to see this wondrous land for myself, and it's far better than anything I dreamed. What's your story?"

"Unfinished. So Quackity's an old friend of yours then?"

"I mean–maybe not old friend," Quackity broke in. "We met just earlier today. Sapnap's letting us both stay with him in his lake house. And now I'm giving Karl a tour of the country, or, uh, SMP, as everyone here calls it."

Wilbur did not like how Quackity acted as though he had lived as long as–or even longer–than he had. "Has anyone given you a tour, Quackity?"

"Not everyone's as inhospitable as you mingy L'Manbergians."

Wilbur tightened. Mingy! "L'Manberg is not a bed-and-breakfast. It's not an auberge, or a resort, and will not be treated as such."

"Look, Karl," said Quackity, "when I'm president of L'Manberg, these walls will be the first to go and everyone will be welcome in the nation, no exceptions."

Karl gaped.

"Your walls they pull down, stand up now, stand up now…"

"So you're already predicting your victory," said Wilbur. "Listen, Quackity, you may be charming, funny, handsome–"

"Oh, stop it."

"–but do you really think that you, an outsider who's been here little more than two weeks, can win the L'Manberg election fourteen days from now and replace us, the founders, all by yourself?"

"Of course not. Don't you know how democracy works? This isn't an autocracy. Oh wait–it is. Why hasn't anyone assassinated you yet?"

"Assassi–" Wilbur started, but Tommy jumped in first.

"Because, when Wilbur dies, I'll be the president!" he announced jubilantly. No, Tommy…

"Oh, that makes sense," said Quackity, now concerned. "A sixteen-year-old vice president?"

"A nineteen-year-old president?" Wilbur pointed out.

"Twenty, this December."

"Regardless, no matter how old (or mature) my vice president is, it's more than you can say seeing how you don't have a running mate. You're outnumbered and outmatched, Big Q."

"Stop jumping to conclusions, pog man."

"Who's your running mate, then?" scoffed Wilbur. "Karl?"

Karl's face fell. Quackity patted him on the back. "You're such a mean president. No, it's not Karl–it's this fine man over here."

And then they saw him. Though he lacked cape or crown, he walked like a king. He moved stately, not stiffly; he held himself elegantly, but not arrogantly. Now in the shade of L'Manberg's walls, he lowered his umbrella and propped it beside him.

"Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry…"

"Quackity!" Wilbur exploded. "Do you know who George is?"

George's brow furrowed. "Good morning to you, too," was all he said. Just a little farther behind him approached Sapnap, decked out in full armor and weaponry as if he couldn't care less about L'Manberg's policies prohibiting such.

"They're the old friends I was talking about," Karl announced, and waved to them.

Quackity smiled broadly. "George is a gentleman, a real delight, this man, not to mention he's super smart. Whatever I'm lacking, this guy's got it! And I know he has more friends than you weirdos."

You don't know when to stop, do you? "Friends, meaning Dream? The man we had to fight tooth-and-nail with before he acknowledged us as a sovereign nation?"

"You know what? I keep hearing about this Dream guy, but I don't have a problem with him, nor he with me. And to me, that proves L'Manberg will be a lot more peaceful under my–"

"More peaceful? All you've done since you've joined is defy us and call us names."

"You're standing in front of a literal defaming wall. If you have something to discuss, then maybe we should discuss it the proper way."

"What do you propose?"

"I propose–no, I challenge you, Wilbur, to a debate!" Quackity's voice echoed with villainous power. "A real presidential debate!"

Wilbur would not be moved. He stared hotly back at the bizarre little duck-boi. What game is he playing? "You know what? You're right, Quackity. We should go about this in the right manner. No more defaming walls, no more bad-mouthing. I accept your challenge."

Tommy cowered next to his president, quietly protesting. "Wilbur, we can't do this. It's George! 'Ow are we supposed to win when 'e's got the famous Gogy?"

"We make our case, we rally our friends, we win the election." Wilbur growled more than whispered.

"But–we're going to lose L'Manberg! Look, 'e's even got clout goggles–"

"We're not going to lose L'Manberg!" Wilbur dragged Tommy out of the others' earshot. "I have no intention of letting that happen. Find Tubbo–I hear he's got a new courthouse around here. I know Niki's busy at the bakery, but get Fundy as well; we need all the support we can get. And please, don't lose your head, Tommy." Please, Tommy.

The child nodded. As Wilbur watched him depart. What if he's right…will L'Manberg still be ours come the first of autumn?

"Ugh, I hate heights," groaned Sapnap, never short of complaints as the whole lot of them filed across the stone bridge to Tubbo's new courthouse, suspended no less than one hundred feet in the air upon a perilously small number of stone pillars just southwest of the peninsula.

"Don't show weakness, just keep moving," Quackity hissed.

"Easy for you to say, with your wings and all."

Quackity didn't reply.

"This really is precarious," agreed George. "May I ask why there's no guard rails?"

Wilbur spoke up from behind him, "We're not children. We don't need guard rails."

"Aye, I'm with 'im," said Tommy. "What I want to know is 'ow Tubbo managed to construct an entire court'ouse in the sky all by 'imself in little more than a week. It's barmy!"

"Well, I wasn't all by myself," came Tubbo's little voice behind them all. "A local enderman was friendly enough to give me a hand. They're awful helpful when it comes to lifting things and reaching difficult places. I'll miss the ol' chap."

"Wait–an enderman 'elped you–" Tommy turned abruptly, nearly causing George to crash into him.

"Tommy–do you want me to run you off the edge?"

"What? I beg your pardon–is that a threat, Gogy?"

"Hey, there's no threat!" Sapnap came to his friend's defense while Tubbo joined Tommy's accusations. The three of them successfully drowned out George's pleas of innocence.

In the thick of chaos, Wilbur, without really thinking, stepped on George's heels, making him lose his footing and stumble off the side toward the landscape's hungry jaws. Just before they swallowed him up, however, George managed to grasp the edge of the bridge. His umbrella disappeared into the forest canopy far beneath. And so he hung there, a hair's breadth from death, legs dangling over the nothing.

Everyone stopped. Someone shrieked. Tommy looked so stupefied he nearly teetered off the edge himself. He pointed a hesitant finger at George, then followed it up to his assailant. "Wilbur, did you just–"

"Careful there." Wilbur disregarded Tommy, bending down to give George a hand. "A stumbling vice president is no good. This is not the place to trip."

I shouldn't play my hand so wildly…though a lot of problems would have been eliminated if he had just fallen.

George's breath grated in and out as he clung to the edge with pallid knuckles. He raised his eyes to Wilbur's extended hand, then his smiling face, before hoisting himself to his feet with his own strength. A strained silence enveloped the bridge, unwilling to break. The band had no choice but to continue on wordlessly.

The courthouse rose before them at the end of the bridge. Polished marble bricks constituted proud white walls, rows of Corinthian columns framing two broad, faceted windows. Beyond the magnificent archway, they entered a grand chamber befitted with a primary podium at the far end and two more at either side, as well as layers of empty pews. At their feet, the stone bridge dispersed into a floor of glass, through which they could see the peninsula cradling L'Manberg and the vast SMP expanding in every direction beyond it.

Tubbo, you never cease to amaze me.

"Now please!" proclaimed the amazing Tubbo from the front. "Everyone is welcome so long as you follow one simple requirement–that you wear protective slippers so as to not scratch the glass." And before all their eyes he produced eight pairs of fuzzy bumblebee slippers.

Wilbur protested first. "Tubbo, I don't–"

"No, great idea!" interrupted Quackity, snagging a pair. "Let's all take off our shoes and fancy boots so we're at the same level. 'Cause right now we're not L'Manbergians and outsiders, we're not Europeans or non-Europeans." He squeezed into the fuzzy slippers and straightened his jacket zipper. "We're politicians."

Venom arose in Wilbur's eyes. How did he weasel his way in here. "I wouldn't dream of scratching your glass, Tubbo," he said tersely, and snatched his bumblebee slippers.

A few minutes later found the courthouse threshold barricaded with a variety of footwear–from sneakers to oxfords to several pairs of first edition revolutionist boots.

"What's that smell?"

"I think that's Sapnap's socks."

"I think it's your face, bozo."

"Easy, boys, let's get started," said Wilbur, trying to get his mind off the mortifying fashion he was subjected to. "We need a moderator. Who here is a neutral party?"

Quackity presented Karl Jacobs. "I nominate Karl. You see, he's the newest member of the SMP, and as such, doesn't know a thing about L'Manberg or the wars or what you had for dinner last night or anything else of importance. He's the most qualified."

Karl twitched a clueless smile. "Yeah, what he said. I also have a bachelor's in Fine Arts."

Wilbur shook his head. "Don't think I don't know he's a SWAG 2020 supporter, Mr. Swag President. Anyone else?"

"Oh, I dunno," Quackity shuffled around the room in his slippers. "Maybe we could drag in one of those rogues roaming the SMP. Not that they'd care about our nation. Or maybe we could ask that Eret guy. Or Dream!"

"Never mind, let's take Karl. All right, POG 2020 on the left, SWAG 2020 on the right. Let's keep this orderly now. Sapnap...why are you here, Sapnap?"

"Beats me. I was bored and this looked more interesting than digging for worms, so here I am."

"Oh, he's here to act as sheriff when Tommy gets too worked up," explained Quackity.

"Why, thank you," said Tommy. "Wait–"

"So Sapnap is sheriff and Karl is moderator. Good. Are we all in our places?" Wilbur scanned the room. "Fundy, get over here. POG 2020 is on the left."

"Wilbur, I don't know..." Fundy floundered in the middle of the floor, inspecting one party and then the other. What is going on, Fundy? "I've seen your leadership, the things you've said you're going to do, but I don't–I don't know." Seeing the expressions on the L'Manbergians' faces, his ears flattened and his cheeks flushed a warm shade of panic.

Wilbur sighed, but maintained patience. "How about this, Fundy. You don't have to choose a party right now, but watch the debate, and maybe then you'll come to a decision."

"Okay, yeah, I'll do that." The fox-boy slinked into the pews, choosing a seat closest to the center.

The parties commenced a glaring contest before Karl stepped up to his platform and formally announced the beginning. "All right, let's start with the presidential debate, and then the vice presidents will face-off. First issue I'll bring to the floor–let's talk territories. Who's allowed in them, who's not."

"I'll give this first one to Quackity," said Wilbur. Watch him fall on his face. This isn't his society.

But on cue, Quackity took the spotlight, looking and sounding almost as though he debated everyday in his spare time. "L'Manberg has a long history of discrimination against people not from L'Manberg. I myself, I'm not able to enter L'Manberg because of the policies these men have put into place, excluding all non-Europeans. And I don't agree with that." Everyone watched as he climbed onto his podium like a pedestal and declared, "All walls are gonna come down! I'm going to let everyone into L'Manberg because it's a beautiful country and deserves to be seen by everyone no matter where they come from, and we're all gonna be one big, happy family! Vote for me: SWAG 2020." He posed with a tacky smile and a wink.

A round of applause followed. Actually, it was just Karl, not afraid to show his bias. What a joke. "All right, all right! Wilbur Soot, what about you? What do you have to say about L'Manberg's admittance policies?"

Wilbur donned his revolutionist's hat. Then he came up to his podium, dusted it off, and surveyed all the people before him. Behind, Tommy and Tubbo clung breathlessly to each other. If he listened hard enough, he could hear Tommy's gentle, "We'll be fine, Tubbo. We'll be fine."

Time to show them all a real leader, a real politician.

Wilbur spoke, and his voice rang beyond the marble stones–so proud, commanding, and assured. No one could doubt the resolution and passion behind every noble word. "For too long, the Dream SMP has ostracized my group of people, my European brethren." He turned to his fellow L'Manbergians in their blazing uniforms. "L'Manberg is not a place of oppression. It is a place of sanctuary for our people. What you are intending to do is come into our land and open it up to the very people we seek to escape, just because we've created a better life for ourselves. This in itself is tyranny. I will not stand for any of it."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Wilbur," Karl mumbled as he scribbled down notes, but no one heard him because the child in the room was cheering too loud.

"Hey, hey!" Quackity yelled until the room (or just Tommy) settled down. "Wilbur is embracing tradition here. We are a new generation of politicians, Wilbur, I hope you remember that. Embracing your old-school policies is just going to hurt, uh, progress."

Tradition! New gen–! "They–they aren't old-school. These policies were formed from blood not long ago with the idea of liberty."

"Your policies all grow from war. Of course." Quackity ground his teeth into an incriminating sneer. "Anti-weapon policy or not, you're a warmonger! You love to–"

Wilbur could hardly believe the words pouring from Quackity's mouth. "Of course they had to grow from war–we were oppressed! I led these oppressed people to freedom, and I will keep and uphold the policies which freed us. As long as I'm in charge, L'Manberg's borders will remain closed to all non-Europeans." Before his opponent could finish mock-swooning from the horror, Wilbur said, "Next question, Karl."

"Uh...capital punishment!"

"Only for Quackity. Next question!"

"Ah..." Karl fumbled with his notes. "What's–what's your stance on the killing of people's pets and livestock? George told me there's been a lot of animal killing lately on the SMP."

A collective murmur of agreement sounded from each party. A few cast condemning glances toward Sapnap, but he was too busy killing a fly. Quackity didn't look too interested, but remained perched on his pedestal, wings draped down the sides, all the while chewing on his jacket zipper. In contrast, Fundy sat up straighter. "Oh, I want to hear this," he breathed.

Wilbur started this time. "If I'm re-elected as president, I would like to create a police force that would uphold the law so that no further animals are slain around L'Manberg." Though if people had just followed the rules in the first place…

"Why sweet slumber now disturbing

Why break ye the midnight peace…"

"Aha!" Quackity spat out his zipper and pointed an accusing finger at his rival. "Lemme tell you what I think, Mr. Soot. I think the values of our people are more important than retribution. I will enact a policy that will teach all our residents to be nice to each other. What I'm gonna do–"

Wilbur plummeted into laughter. The mad, embellished kind no one would be able to distinguish as forced or not. When his fellow debater expressed his confusion, Wilbur spread his arms wide and said, "Welcome to the real world, Big Q!"

"Wha–" Quackity chuckled nervously, taken aback by Wilbur's sudden ecstasy. "What are you saying? You saying you're a little too violent for that?"

"Listen to yourself! A policy that makes people nice–what is this? Nineteen Eighty-Four?"

"I'm attacking the problem from the root!"

"Guys! Guys!" Karl feebly tried to regain order, but he didn't have a gavel and his sheriff was still distracted killing dead flies.

"Well, listen to me," said Wilbur. "I believe if a bad person is going to kill someone's pets, there should be someone to stop them. That's what I'm saying."

"Okay, that sounds reasonable to me," said the moderator before turning to the other side of the room. "Quackity?"

"No one should be dying and no one's animals should be dying either, Wilbur! We are attacking the problem from the root–you just want to throw people in jail! I'm sorry, but I'm not for that!"

"Then what is the root?" asked Fundy. "Why did Fungie have to die?"

"And Champ!" Tommy piped up. "Not to mention my outdoor cow, 'Arold! I know that was you, Sapnap!" Tommy, how many cows do you have?

"The root is our morals," Quackity explained. "The root–"

"And how are you going to improve morals, Quackity?" challenged Wilbur. "You're just saying buzzwords! Give me one thing that you will implement to improve morals."

Quackity dismissed Wilbur's queries. "Next question, Karl. Give us the next one."

"You haven't said what you're going to do, Quackity!" Wilbur cried.

Karl continued anyway. "Um, Wilbur, what's your stance on corruption within politics?"

Now it was Quackity's turn to take a laugh. "Yes! Let's hear it! Let's hear it, Wilbur! That's the question I've been waiting for!"

"Wot do you mean?" Tommy's voice wavered from behind Wilbur. "Why are you laughing like that?" He came up to his president and whispered in his ear, "Why is 'e laughing like that?"

Don't worry, Tommy. "If it pleases the assembly," Wilbur said stoically. "As the man who called this election...as the man who stripped his own power to allow democracy to take root–"

"George Washington!" gasped Karl.

"No! Corruption is everything I am against."

"I remind you," said Quackity, "that you are not actually enacting democracy because you were set on running a one-party system until I showed up and that's what changed everything."

"You have no proof."

"You weren't expecting it! You were expecting a one-party policy! You–you–"

"I mean, let's think about this." Wilbur directed his attention to the moderator. "If it pleases the assembly, I would like to say that my opponent is talking rubbish."

If it didn't please the assembly, it certainly pleased someone named Tommy. For a good five minutes, the only noise in the courtroom came from his enthusiastic whooping bouncing off the marble walls again and again. Multiple occupants doubted the durability of the windows.

"Maybe I don't have physical proof," Quackity admitted when he got the chance, "but everybody in this room knows it. Well, except for Karl. Dang it."

"Anyone wanna talk taxes, now?" offered the jolly, ignorant moderator.

The debaters broke into noisy, unintelligible arguing–not about policies or solutions, but merely who should speak first, and it was so fascinating, no one noticed Tommy slip away from his station.

"C'mon, Wilbur," urged Quackity. "Who wants to take the lead on this? You wanna take the lead on this?"

"I offer it to the floor, Big Q. I'm offering it up to the floor."

"No, you take it. Take it."

"You want me to take this?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

But before Wilbur could at last start, Karl raised his hand and announced: "I've–I've decided Wilbur won this round!"

Gasps repeated around the chamber. Either the lot of them were mad, or just Karl. Tommy, back in his place, stifled a cackle. Wilbur, however, felt pleasantly surprised. "Oh–thank you. Thank you, Karl. I concur."

"Wha–what?!" Quackity coughed. "The heck was that?! We didn't even start!"

"Well, everyone," chirped Karl, "this was fun! Thanks for inviting me. Y'all have a wonderful rest of your lives." Then he bolted off the platform for the exit, but his slippers skidded on the glass and he plummeted face-first into the middle of the floor. An array of tiny booklets spilled out of his hoodie, scattering into a halo around his remains.

"That–that was not me," said the impeccable Tommy.

"What the–Karl?" Sapnap rushed over to the moderator's prone form. "Please tell me you're alive. Are you okay, dude? What are you trying to do to yourself? This is like the Niagara Falls incident all over again."

"Da bee tried to gill me!" was all Karl managed to sputter, seemingly unscathed save for a nosebleed.

"Okay, um..." Sapnap surveyed the stunned onlookers. "It seems that our moderator is out of commission. You guys keep going." He heaved up the moderator's limp body. "Karl just won't, uh, be there."

"He was paid. He was clearly paid," George hissed, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Wilbur, content with his victory, pushed for continuity. "Well then, shall we move onto the vice-presidential candidates' debate?"

"No, no, no, we're gonna talk about taxes!" protested Quackity as he finished helping Sapnap relocate Karl to the pews.

"Fine, we can discuss taxes quickly. Tommy, Tommy. Do you have our policy manual?"

Sapnap picked up one of the booklets dropped by Karl, flipped through the pages. "Wait...wait!" He raised his hand. "I have something to show the court!"

"Oh, 'ere it is, Wilbur!" Tommy shouted over the sheriff.

"Thank you, Tommy." Wilbur donned a pair of large, circular spectacles.

And so began the uproar on taxes and infrastructure, boisterous enough to silence Sapnap. If POG 2020 said they'd make big things, SWAG 2020 swore to make bigger things, to which POG 2020 would make even bigger things, and that's when SWAG 2020 promised extremely vigorously massive things. Through it all, Fundy yo-yoed between the two parties, unsure whether to side with the new faction and all their hogwash, or his own leader and his flawless ideals. Just when Wilbur was about to announce the biggest things they'd do, a voice cut in above all the others.

"That's enough, everyone!" They all turned their attention to the platform where Tubbo now stood majestically, bee slippers and all. "Are you kids done bickering or shall I put you all to bed?"

Ashamed silence. Tommy gazed open-mouthed up at his friend.

"Very good," proceeded the bee boi. "I will be acting moderator from now on, and before anyone says anything, I assure you all I will play the fair moderator–uncorrupted, impartial, and adorable. Now then, I think that will be all for this session. You may shake hands."

Wilbur put his spectacles away in his coat pocket and strode forward. Grace, decorum, don't show weakness. "Quackity, it was a pleasure debating with you."

"Likewise." Quackity slithered off his perch and the two candidates shared an aggressive, alpha male hand-shake.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur watched Tommy bound up the steps to Tubbo and hug him. "That my man, that's my Big Man Tubbo, acting judge once again! Now things are really gonna get going. Karl was a total partisan, but two can play at that game!"

"Well, about that," Tubbo looked uneasy. "You see, Tommy, you and Wilbur are my best friends ever, don't get me wrong. But some of our ideals might just be a bit–"

"Tubbo, please don't. That's not what I need right now."

"Oh, of course not. I fully support you, Tommy, all the way!"

Wilbur looked away. But what do you think, Tubbo?

After the hand-shake, Quackity returned to his party. "Thank you, thank you." He tapped his podium as if it were a microphone. "All right, can we have a small talk with our running mates beforehand? Just a one-minute talk."

"Yes, please, please," Wilbur agreed, taking the bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket and dousing a glob onto his palm. "Come on, Tommy."

"Sure, I'll be right there. Later, Tubbs."

Wilbur and Tommy made their way into the back room, a closet of a space with a rough finish unlike the smooth, manicured edges lining the rest of the courthouse. Clay bricks and wooden planks replaced marble and glass, chipped at the corners and creaking underfoot.

This building appears impressive on the outside, but when you take a closer look, it's...unstable.

Wilbur secured the flimsy wooden door. "Tommy. Tommy, I–"

"What's wrong, Will? What's going on?" So oblivious. So eager.

"Tommy, I don't think I should've–Tommy, I really am worried about you here."

"Why?"

"George is a–he's a smart man! I don't–I think you–"

" 'E's not."

Tommy, you must– "Tommy–"

"Wilbur, watch me fly. Watch me fly!"

"Tommy, I–" Wilbur stopped and soberly removed his hat. The eager child stiffened. Wilbur sighed. "Tommy, you've learned from me...for so long now. You've taken everything I've taught you. You–you've watched me debate. Watched me write our Declaration of Independence and our manifesto. I believe that you will–will hold my beliefs, and be able to voice them properly, but Tommy–"

Tommy's blue-green eyes widened as he listened to his leader–ready, expectant, but so young.

He can be mature, but he doesn't want to be, whatever he says about being an adult.

"I'm worried that your fire–the fire in your heart is going to overtake you, and you're going to–"

"It won't this time, Wilbur!" Tommy straightened to his full five feet and six inches. He still sported the blue smear on his cheek from earlier."I've already done enough fire and, uh, arson."

Wilbur flickered an amused smile. He slapped his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Make me proud, Mr. Vice President."

Tommy trembled beneath his hand, but his jaw remained firm. "I will! I will, Sir."

Tommy marched back out to the debate floor. Wilbur hung back, watching Tommy's proud figure, the way he puffed his chest and held his head high. How he feared that small, proud figure would not last.

Tommy...they're going to eat that child alive–no! I believe in him. He's a good lad, but he really needs to...improve his speech. And calm down. He's too invested in just pettiness. It's going to turn into a shouting match, and George is so quiet, so refined, it's not going to look good. Tommy needs to know that we're behind him and that we're here for him.

Wilbur took a deep breath. It was okay. Tommy could do this. He'd been through worse.

Wilbur straightened his hat and returned, just in time to see Quackity and George emerging from the other side. Even from here, Wilbur could hear Quackity's whispers: "Play offensive, he's gonna play rough, play offensive." A couple of booklets flashed in their hands, but vanished in an instant.

What are you planning, Big Q?

"Are we ready, everyone?" said Tubbo. "It's time to commence the next part of the debate, between the vice-presidential candidates, Tommy Innit and George...uh, what's your surname, George?"

George shrugged. "Just leave it at George."

"I'm ready to start if that's all right with you, Big Man Tubbo," said Tommy at his podium.

"Youuu may."

"All right, George," said Tommy. "Welcome. Now, listen, I don't wanna waste your time and I certainly wouldn't want to waste mine. I'm, I'm gonna address one of the f-first points Quacki'y made, which–"

"F-First?" George chuckled.

Wilbur groaned into his hands. Tommy cocked an eyebrow. "Really...?"

"Go on."

"Ahem. I'm gonna address one of the first points Quacki'y made, which is allowing other people into L'Manberg. Now, the reason L'Manberg was created was for freedom. The Dream SMP wouldn't tolerate us making our own separate, uh, kingdom...!" He sped up before George could open his mouth, "And then George, the–the Dream Team rigged our land with TNT and blew up everything we owned when we 'ad to fight with our very 'ands and knees. My friends, we 'ad betrayals. I 'ad to give away my discs that were my most precious poss–"

"With your knees?" George interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"You fought with your knees, Tommy?"

"George, I would really–"

"So what it comes down to is, you talk about freedom here–"

"I would–I would really request you wouldn't–you wouldn't cut me off."

"Look, he's scared of losing," Quackity cackled. "Sorry, but for a little man, as little as you, you kinda don't take banter well, do you?"

"I'm not scared of losing, I'm scared of not being able to say my point, because George wants to–"

George cut in again. "You talk about freedom, yet you want to lock it up to only the people you want."

"George, the reason why it's only for the people we want is because the Dream Team, which you're a part of, mercilessly blew up our land, tried to kill our friends and Tubbo's–"

"We never intended to kill any of you–this is a deathless land. We were trying to teach you a lesson. Can you tell me why your land needed to be blown up? What happened in the first place? "

"George! If you stand by the fact that something needs to be blown up, then 'ow dare you–"

"It's because of the disorder you instigated. You wanted war. You know who wins in war?"

Karl gasped from the benches, holding a tissue to his nose.

George stared Tommy in the eyes. "Nobody."

"Yes!" Quackity started clapping enthusiastically. When Fundy failed to share in the applause, Quackity gave him a hard shoulder and he happily participated.

That's where your logic fails you, George. We did win. We did. And now you're trying to take that from us, too.

"In my country bright and fair…"

While Tommy protested to no avail, George remained rigid. "Nobody. Especially not the people. You are causing mayhem, okay? You are causing chaos, and the people are hurting from it. They want peace within the land and you are not allowing it. I have proof." George crossed the room, approaching Tommy. In his hand he held one of Karl's booklets.

"Get back to your podium!" hollered Tubbo, but nobody cared.

George came right up to Tommy's smudged face and held out the book. "Do you recognize this?" Wilbur stood.

"Stop! You're–you're being a baby right now!" Tommy knocked the book out of George's hand and shoved him away.

Tommy, stop–

"Woah, woah! Hey!" Quackity was between them in an instant. Before Tommy could react, Quackity had pushed him, violent enough to make the child lose his footing and tumble backward. But Tommy leapt up in an instant, and would've creamed the two of them had not Wilbur restrained him.

"Leave it, Tommy. Leave it!" Wilbur hissed, wrestling with the squirming child. "Quench the flames!"

George laughed. "He's just–he's just proving my point! All he cares about is war!"

Tommy flailed. "Shush, Gogy! You 'aven't let me talk–"

Tubbo began pounding his podium with a little fist. "Everyone, on your side! On your side!"

Wilbur still held onto Tommy, who quieted somewhat. George backed up, but made sure to wave the book in his hand for all to see. "Look at this! I have evidence to bring to the people."

Tubbo paused. "This is a debate, not a court case. Why is there evidence?"

"Hear me out."

"No, don't 'ear him out," came Tommy, tearing away from Wilbur. "Gogy, listen to me, my friend. You're cut'ing me off. Your lack of–"

"Shut up, Tommy, and listen!" Quackity snapped.

Tommy shut his mouth, humiliated. Wilbur could only look on in dismay. I told you, Tommy…

"What I hold right here," announced George, "I am holding a proof of payment from POG 2020 given to Karl to rig the vote of the debate!"

"What?" blurted Fundy.

"No, that was actually–that was–" Tommy started.

Wilbur sucked in his breath. He didn't. That child–

"Wait...!" objected Karl, but didn't have the strength, so he toppled off his bench and said no more.

"See for yourself." George handed off the book to Tubbo. He glanced at Karl. "I'm surprised at you also, Karl. I thought you had renounced taking bribes back in secondary school."

Karl twitched.

Wilbur looked down at Tommy, but the boy avoided eye contact. "Tommy..."

"And," said Quackity, "thanks to our good sheriff, El Sapnapo, there's more. It wasn't just one book of two hundred emeralds in checks, but eight books of two hundred emeralds in checks paid to Karl Jacobs by POG 2020!" He stacked the evidence upon Tubbo's podium while everyone watched in disbelief. "Just what I'd expect from the dirty crime boy, Wilbur Soot! If that's not corruption, what is?!"

"No!" yelled Tommy. "It wasn't Wilbur!"

No, Tommy, don't...

"Will wouldn't cheat to get elected–'e doesn't need to!"

Quackity bristled. "Don't think I don't know your president's dirty history. This goes right along with the rest of the drug-dealing and underhanding. Get off that podium! You don't deserve a voice."

Tommy didn't stop. "Let me tell you about Wilbur Soot. 'E's the one that created L'Manberg, and 'eld us together through all storms. 'E's the only rightful president of L'Manberg–anyone else would be a mockery. Because really, L'Manberg isn't a country–it's Wilbur Soot."

Wilbur pursed his lips, hung his head.

A crestfallen Tubbo leafed through the bribes in front of him. "Tommy, you didn't..."

Tommy blazed ahead. "So 'e 'ad to win. No matter what. I dare say 'e's already won!"

"This is ridiculous," muttered Sapnap.

Wilbur stepped forward. "Can I request a brief recess? I wish to speak to my vice president, please. A quick recess."

"Your vice president's up," Quackity sneered. "Get him in order, Wilbur. Get him in order."

"Tommy, come in here. Tommy." Wilbur took Tommy by the arm, yanking him toward the back room while the child screamed his final remarks.

"I won't–I won't be going through with this, George, Quacki'y...there is no president but Wi–"

"Tommy!" Before the two could reach the back room, Wilbur rammed Tommy against the wall and pinned him there. "Tommy, stop! No more!"

At last the child stopped fighting. Stopped trying. His unbreakable spirit cracked. His inextinguishable determination wavered. Those wide, blue-green eyes ran over with tears when they met their president's burning gaze.

Don't cry. "What have you done, Tommy?"

There was nothing for him to say. Nothing but, "Will, I–I–I'm sorry."

"You tried to bribe someone, Tommy."

"I, well–" He smirked dejectedly. "Technically, I didn't try, I actually did. I was very successful in my–" He stopped upon seeing the utter disappointment in Wilbur's expression.

"Tommy, you're jeopardizing this whole election. Why were you shouting at Quackity?"

The child's gaze darted around the question.

"Tommy."

"Cause 'e's–! I'm defending your honor, Wilbur!"

"My name's been through enough! You need to fight for what this country believes in. Ignore what any of them say about me–I can take it. What you need to do right now," and he jabbed a finger at Tommy's collarbone, "is prove what we're about. Can you do that for me, Tommy? Can you go back out there and can you fill the debate question from the speaker? Just one. Just one question."

"I'm trying, Will. I'll clutch up, don't you worry. It's just–George–'e doesn't–'e wouldn't let me talk, Wilbur! Why wouldn't 'e let me talk?"

"No one said it was going to be easy, Tommy. Listen to me."

Tubbo peeked in from around the corner. "Are you guys ready to speak?"

"Just a moment. I want you to look me in the eyes, Tommy. Tommy?"

"Yes?"

"Will you again engage in bribery? At any point."

"No..."

"Will you uphold the values and ideals of our nation?"

"Yes."

"And are you gonna crush Gogy?"

Tommy managed a smile, fire reviving. He wiped the tears off his pale eyelashes. "Aye, Mr. President!"

There you go, Tommy. "Yes! Then let's get back in there, and show them what we've got!"

The two of them, president and vice president, returned to the floor, met by a dozen reproachful glares. Tommy sauntered back up to the podium, Wilbur hanging back, not willing to sit yet.

"Tommy, you wanna, you wanna talk about this act of corruption you so blatantly committed?" Quackity snickered from the shadows on the other side.

"You know wot, Big Q? I'd love to talk, but no one seems to let me."

"I'll allow him to speak," said George.

"Well, I mean, you don't allow bloody nothing, prat," Tubbo mumbled, probably thinking no one would hear him. Probabilities failed him and the entire court might as well have been incinerated at his words.

"Language!" honked Bad Boy Halo, who'd randomly appeared in the audience.

"Ohhh!" Tommy gasped for air. "Good on you, Tubbo! Show 'em who's boss!"

Quackity charged the moderator's platform. "Hey! How dare you speak to my running mate like that? Whatever happened to being impartial?!" He whipped around to Tommy, smacking Tubbo with a wing. "What, Tommy, did you pay this guy too?!"

"No...!" Tubbo squeaked. "That's my–that's my opinion! I'd say the same to them." He gestured to the POG 2020 side. Someone threw a bee slipper at him.

"You're not supposed to have an opinion!" Quackity jabbered. "You are impartial! No one needs your opinions."

Karl raised a weak hand. "I'll...I'll do it!"

"Hush up, Karl. You're corrupted."

Wilbur stepped forward. "Quackity, you're upsetting the courtroom. Please–"

Tommy stopped him. "Wait–I've got this, Wilbur." Once he had their attention, he spoke, principled and deliberate this time. "Listen up, try as we like, no one is impartial. I acknowledge my error in the last session, but this is now the vice-presidential debate, Big Q. It's not your place to speak. Please sit down."

Amazingly, Quackity obeyed. He tucked himself into a depressing corner and pretended to pout.

Wilbur nodded, feeling much better, and he sat. There you go, Tommy.

"Okay...are we finally ready?" Tubbo said after an uncomfortable pause. "Welcome back, everyone! Let's dive in. First topic on the table: conflict, conflict. I feel like that's more apparent than ever right now and needs to be discussed. So, tell me your opinions on conflict between nations and maybe even why you should stop it."

On the moderator's signal, George began this time. "A long time ago, in a much simpler time, it was just the Dream Team SMP. It was very nice, very peaceful, and we loved it. It was–and still is–our deathless land. And then...you came along." Tommy quivered. "If you, if you came here just being...amicable like the rest of us, we wouldn't have had to have a war in the first place. Put simply, my opinion on conflict is we should keep it to a minimum, but clearly, in your mind, you want it to the maximum."

Wilbur frowned. "We were amicable." Tubbo was right.

"Now, George," said Tommy, slightly irked. "I think the point you're making about conflict, and that it probably was a nicer time before I joined the SMP...that's only because someone stood up to your tyranny. Unlike Sapnap...wait, Sapnap's part of the tyranny."

Sapnap fingered his sword hilt. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No way," said Karl from the pews, he and Bad stuffing their mouths full of gluten-free muffins.

Tommy brushed it off. "Never mind. The point is, George, you tried to run us out, you tried to blow up–"

"I don't know why you're making this argument against me. 'Why did I blow up L'Manberg?' I didn't even do it. I was under Dream's command. It wasn't my decision."

"George! 'Ow dare you say it because you were under 'is rule. That is 'ow wars get started, my friend. What a shtupid thing to say."

"No!" George raised his voice, startling Karl onto the floor again, muffins and all. "The wars started because of you, Tommy. You were the catalyst! You were the reason this war began."

"Because we wanted independence. Because we needed it."

"Is independence your excuse for everything? For what happened on the railroad tracks? Your bribery just last session? The defaming wall? This is a smear campaign, that's what it is."

"Wot do you think you're doing right now?!"

"This man here, the person you want to elect into power, is praising himself for scamming, maligning, causing pain..."

"Only 'alf of what you did under Dream!"

Tommy, the flames, the flames…

"Stop bringing Dream into this! This has nothing to do with Dream."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought everything in the Dream SMP 'ad to do with Dream! Because 'e 'as to own everything and oversee everyone's lives. You're 'is friend, you know bet'er than anyone else who controls the Dream SMP. Why did we even let you in 'ere, you and Sap?" George started back and Sapnap readied his weapon, but Tommy kept going. "You 'ave the entire country, and what do you decide to do? Waltz into L'Manberg, the one part of the SMP we fought and suffered to claim as our own. Because the war never ended."

"Tommy–" Wilbur broke in.

"I'm not done yet! And neither is Dream! 'E's never going to stop until 'e 'as it all. I wouldn't be surprised if you're playing the puppet even now, and that this is just that green bastard's plan to reclaim our nation to 'imself. Well, I dare the tyrant to stop the tricks, drop the mask, and show 'is face in court 'imself!"

A crash. Windows shattered. A gust of wind followed, raging through the courthouse. Wilbur shielded his face against the gales and shards of broken glass. When he dared to open his eyes, he saw Dream. Silhouetted in the vacant windows, crossbow in hand, scarf whipping in the torrents.

Nobody moved. No one except him. He strolled the debate floor, glass clicking underfoot. "Look at you all." He locked eyes with George for a split second, then turned to the POG 2020 party. "L'Manberg. Why do you think I let you keep existing? Surely not to defame me, no, that would not be right."

Dream, please don't…please let us…

Tommy couldn't remain silent. "Dream," his voice cracked. "Dream, you said that you'd leave us alone after the war. That was the trea'y. You 'ave no right to–"

Dream was at his throat in an instant. "Tommy Innit! You are a liar and a slanderer! You are wrong; I have honored the treaty. It is you who has disrespected it time and time again. It is L'Manberg that cannot get over the fact that I defeated you."

I've upheld the treaty. My citizens think they toy with it without consequences. Not Niki.

"You won the fight, but we won our independence," Tommy breathed, inches away from his archenemy but never succumbing. "L'Manberg is ours. It's the L'Manbergians', and no one else can ever 'ave it, because then it wouldn't be the beautiful place of freedom and sanctuary that it is."

Dream paused for a moment. Then he straightened and turned away. "I don't want your stupid country. I want you to stop biting my heels and whining when I kick you off." He marched past the platform, then noticed the booklets layered on the podium. "Oh, there they are," he said, swiping the mound of them. "You are a thief as well." Tommy winced. Wilbur watched the child, to make sure he didn't launch himself at Dream and ruin everything. Again. Dream strode back to one of the empty windows where he surveyed the whole country. "Remember this," he said, "I let you have independence when I didn't have to. You gave your blood, your discs, but there is a lot more you could lose." And he jumped out the window.

A collective sigh issued from the courtroom. Karl had all but fainted.

How long will he just talk? How long before we–before they–run him to violence again?

"So..." chuckled Tubbo, "anyone wanna do finishing statements?"

Wilbur started to speak, but then the floodgates opened, releasing the built-up emotions. No one could hear anything anyone else said because everyone had to say what he wanted to say. The chaos became so thick you could practically see it in the air, as well as a few tossed muffins. And in the midst of it all, Wilbur struggled to simply say his last words.

"Wilbur's presidency has done nothing for the country! The minute the peace treaty breaks, every inhabitant of the Dream Team SMP would run him out!"

"You're colorblind; your argument is invalid!"

"Forget presidency–let's be anarchists!"

"No matter who wins the election, she's never gonna love you back!"

"I don't care if you're the king or if you're Ponk, you're never getting L'Man–"

"Rule number one: you're wrong."

"Rule number two: Tommy Innit is never in the wrong!"

"Thanks, Tubbs. Big Q, you've just been demoted to Medium Q!"

"You're all a bunch of muffinheads!"

"Stop talking over me!" Wilbur stomped and threw his hat to the ground, glowering at the assembly. "This is a ridiculous stance. I refuse to debate when no one will listen to me. You are making a mockery of the debate floor. I'm not giving you a platform. Farewell, gentlemen." And he stormed out of the courthouse, stopping only to pick up his boots and kick his remaining slipper off behind him.

It was good to get out of there. Away from the noise and nonsense. The evening breeze greeted him at once, drying away anxious sweat, combing through the tangled curls of his dark hair.

"Are you just gonna leave him there?"

Wilbur hadn't noticed Dream sitting on the edge of the bridge, filing arrows. He didn't even look up from his work. Wilbur found it strange seeing him so passive and unguarded.

"Tommy? I suppose I shouldn't," Wilbur sighed. "That child can't stop making trouble when I'm not around."

Dream blew on the tip of the flint arrowhead. "He's trying to be like you, you know. Everything he does is to prove himself to you."

How do you know this. Why do you care. "That...frightens me." And he didn't even entirely know why.

Wilbur looked back at the courthouse. Through the gaping windows, he saw Quackity now standing at the main podium, enthusiastically imparting his final statements without interruption.

I should be in there. I won't let him have my country. Tommy needs me.

"He's not wrong, though," said Wilbur. "If the L'Manbergians can't have L'Manberg, what is L'Manberg?"

Dream smiled, the edge of his grin visible just beneath the shadow of his mask. "It is the Dream SMP." He took out a pouch filled with something black, and coated the arrowhead with its contents.

"And we've given up too much to go full circle."

"So what are you going to do, Wilbur?" Dream adjusted the arrow into his crossbow. "What will you do if L'Manberg is compromised? Break down and cry? Pray to God to give you your little autocracy back?"

"Of course not. What good would that do?"

"You don't believe in God, Wilbur?"

"I believe in myself. Only I can make my own decisions and change my future. Same goes for L'Manberg. We made it ourselves and we'll survive by ourselves."

Dream got to his feet and stretched his back. "And if you do not?"

"Then we'll never stop trying." Wilbur clenched his fists. "No matter what you do to suppress us, we will never bend."

A round of applause echoed from the courthouse as Quackity finished his speech. He noted that Fundy had moved over to the L'Manberg side of the room. Good choice, Fundy. I would hate to make an enemy of you, too. Quackity hopped out of view, giving way to Tommy. As Wilbur watched him climb the steps, he could almost see the enormous weight upon the boy's shoulders.

Tommy...they may be having their immature victory, but the people have a wiser mind than this. They can see through their golden tongue of lies. You just hold your own, Tommy, keep it together and trust me that they'll know who to vote for when the 21st of September comes around.

"Challenge accepted." Dream suddenly raised the crossbow, aiming it straight at Tommy.

"Dream! What are you–"

The arrow burst into flames as it released. The smoldering missile streaked through the archway, into the building. There was no time for Tommy to react. It whizzed past his right cheek, singing his hair, and buried itself into the marble behind him. The courtroom frenzied–everyone yelling at once, running to his aid, putting out the sparks. Too stunned to hold his own, Tommy's legs gave out from under him.

"Dream!" shouted Wilbur.

"No, it's okay! I missed!"

It didn't take long.

Wilbur grabbed Dream by the shoulders. "You 'missed'? What are you saying? Since when do you just 'miss'? Does the treaty mean nothing? Does our freedom mean nothing?!"

Dream waited until Wilbur stopped shaking him before replying. "You like to debate, write treaties, come up with big fancy words. You like to say things. Well, let me say something to you." He gazed down from the brim of the bridge. "L'Manberg can be independent, but L'Manberg can't be free." Then he leapt off the edge into the trees below, leaving Wilbur to himself on the overpass.

Please enjoy this next installment! Have a good day.

Froggy: Merci encore!

God bless,

Unicadia and VAERYS