Alya was right. What exactly did a man like Bruno do with free time? What even were his hobbies? For as long as he could remember in this new life, he had spent every waking hour either with his family or actively trying to build the world he envisioned.
Hell, twenty years might’ve been an understatement for how long it had actually been since he’d had a true day to himself—one where nothing demanded his immediate attention. And that was perhaps the most damning part of the peaceful era he had created.
After thinking this through to its logical conclusion, his first instinct was to call Heinrich, maybe grab a drink, catch a fight in person, or do... whatever the hell people did these days to waste a few hours unproductively.
But Heinrich declined. Something about getting the 8th Army—now under his direct command—up to speed on the new doctrine and equipment being phased into both the German and Russian militaries.
Bruno respected that. But it left him staring into the void of his contact list, wondering: did he actually have anyone else to call?
Erich was dead. Crossed off the list. The only other men he might’ve considered friends were Wilhelm and Nicholas. But those were literal emperors. Historical figures. How could he possibly ring them up and say,
"Hey, want to grab a drink and catch a movie?"
No. In Bruno’s mind, that was inconceivable. He thought, Maybe I’ll read a book... Except he had already read all the ones worth reading. In this life and the one before it. Anything else felt like a waste of valuable time.
Earlier in the morning, he already completed his daily workout routine, like always. So the gym was out of the question as well.
Eventually, after spinning Alya’s innocent question over and over in his mind, Bruno gave up. He returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and stared at the untouched tape recordings of his last conversation with the President of the United States.
And then, in the silence, he reflected aloud:
"I’m starting to remember why I felt so out of place in my previous life... There was no place in such a life for a man like me, outside perhaps some dreadful corporate headquarters gazing over meaningless spreadsheets.
My leisure is building empires and bending the will of others to my own. Anything else feels... wasteful. Fuck it.... I’ll treat the President of the United States to a hostile negotiation."
Bruno didn’t realize it, but Heidi had seen him loop around back to his office and simply sighed and shook her head, before taking a drink from her glass of wine. Her obvious disappointment in Alya’s provocation and the end result was on plain display for her daughters to witness. But nobody dared pour lighter fluid on the flame that was already burning in her mind.
The sun had begun to set over Washington D.C. And as a result, it was just around dinner time. Six hours behind Bruno, the President of the United States was in the middle of a feast to celebrate recent gains in Mexico.
Border threats were practically down to zero, now that the Black Skulls had seized control of the northern provinces—restoring law and order through the barrel of a gun and the loop of a noose.
And the cunning Germans? Gone. Vanished. No trace of involvement. Not the slightest hint remaining of the pact his administration had signed with them in secret.
The President stood at the head of the table, wineglass in hand, ready to make a toast to family and advisors alike— Thew first words to escape his mouth were a proclamation of victory for the Monroe Doctrine.
"I’d like to thank you all for being here tonight, and I hope you are enjoying a lovely meal. But if you don’t mind I would like to take a moment of your time to discuss something important with you all.
In fact, if I may be so bold, I would proclaim that what has been achieved today has been a masterstroke of diplomacy and covert power. Positioning the United States for the first time in her young history to become a true rival to the European Powers across the Atlantic!
I have just managed to-"
Midway through the victory speech, a servant entered the room and leaned in whispering something in the President’s ear that only he could surmise. Annoyed at the interruption in his hour of triumph, the President growled in response.
"Tell him to go suck his own cock! I’m in the middle of something right now—I don’t have time for this nonsense. Can’t you see that I am in the middle of something important right now?"
The aide whispered again and when he did the color drained from the President’s face. The wine glass, once raised in triumph, was set down with careful reverence. He adjusted his tie, composed himself, and turned to the room with a tight smile.
The tune in his voice has shifted immediately from fury, to timidity, and this was something that did not go unnoticed by those he had gathered. In fact, they silently eyed one another with foreboding curiosity as he tried his best to assure them all was well in the land of stars and stripes.
"Apologies for the vulgarity. It seems I have someone on the line in the oval office who doesn’t know how to take ’no’ for an answer. I’ll be right back. Please—don’t wait for me. Enjoy yourselves. You’ve more than earned it."
With that, the man scurried off from his own celebration a bit too swiftly, sparking immediate yet hushed conversations behind his back. In the end, the celebration wouldn’t last. Because what followed wasn’t a conversation.
It was a reckoning. And as Bruno’s voice spilled from the secure line—cold, calm, and undeniably in control—the President would come to understand:
They hadn’t outplayed the Germans. Rather, they had been dancing at the end of a leash this entire time. And that... That was a truth too bitter to swallow during a victory feast.