The President and his Military Bodyguard

Damien's POV

"Sir," my secretary, Richard, called out, cutting through the static hum of my concentration. "It's time for your meeting. We should get going."

His voice was always irritatingly polite, as though he hadn't yet accepted that I no longer had the luxury of days without urgency. Since the moment I took office as President of Ameria, the throne has brought no crown of peace. Just ink-stained fingers, sleepless nights, and the obligation to smile while others lied through their teeth.

I rose from the leather chair behind my desk in the Ash House, letting out a slow exhale. Another day, another round of performative diplomacy.

Outside, my chief of staff, Anita Farr, was already waiting. She was young, razor-smart, and dressed like she intended to outpace anyone who challenged her. Her black power suit fit like it had been stitched onto her determination. She didn't speak when I emerged—just fell into step beside me, tablet in hand, briefing already loaded.

The convoy was waiting.

Inside the bulletproof vehicle, I stared out the window as the streets of the city blurred past. Towers of steel and glass stretched into a sky smeared with grey. The city looked tired. Or maybe I did.

"Quick recap," Anita said, not bothering to ask if I wanted it. "You're meeting with President Roul of Virelia. The topic: finalizing the mutual security and energy trade pact."

"And the details?"

"They supply us with restricted access to their nuclear fusion technology—clean, high-output energy that could power half of Ameria’s cities and military installations for decades. In addition, we'd gain access to their Skarnite deposits. It's a rare mineral used in superconductors, quantum processors, and military-grade stealth plating."

"And in return?"

"We provide them with elite weapons systems, long-range artillery support, and a limited deployment of troops to secure their eastern border. They've been struggling with militant incursions from the fragmented states in the Red Crescent Zone."

"So, we boost our energy independence, reduce reliance on fossil fuels, revolutionize our tech manufacturing, and get a political foothold in Virelia’s volatile zone."

"Exactly. The fusion tech alone could transform our energy grid—cut costs, attract foreign investment, and slash our carbon output by seventy percent within the decade. We'd be able to decentralize power infrastructure, bringing stable electricity to underserved regions, boosting domestic manufacturing, and lessening public unrest related to blackouts and fuel shortages. Access to Skarnite means we can dominate the next-gen electronics market. Our universities and private sector R&D would explode with breakthroughs."

"And the military benefit?"

"Our presence in the Red Crescent would let us monitor insurgent routes, secure black market trade corridors, and extend Ameria’s strategic reach into neutral territory. It also deters rival powers from gaining a foothold. This would secure trade channels, limit the spread of arms trafficking, and give us direct eyes on volatile actors threatening Western-allied interests."

I gave a noncommittal grunt. As if any of my advisors would carry the weight if this went sideways. As if they had to plaster a smile on their face while dealing with war-hardened foreign presidents and domestic wolves wearing polished shoes.

We pulled up at the venue—a steel-and-glass monolith downtown, recently renovated for international summits. I stepped out, flanked by my security detail. Suits, sunglasses, earpieces, tension. A human wall built to keep death at bay.

We were met by an assistant in a crisp gray blazer. "President Voss, we're almost ready. Just a quick final sweep of the interior. Shouldn't take more than five minutes."

I nodded once. Richard hovered beside me, checking his watch with the urgency of a man who'd missed too many flights.

Moments later, Kingman, one of my top security men, burst from the building's main doors, jaw clenched, voice slicing the air. "Everyone DOWN! Bomb threat inside!"

There was no time to think. Just ten steps back—

Then:

BOOM.

The ground ripped from beneath our feet. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. Heat tore through the air.

We hit the pavement hard, our bodies thrown like puppets with cut strings. The shockwave rolled over us like a furious tide.

When I opened my eyes, the building where I was supposed to shake hands with the Virelian president was now a gutted skeleton, flames licking what was left of its core. My ears rang, my vision blurred, and for a moment, the world was just chaos and smoke.

But I was alive.

"President Voss!" Richard scrambled toward me, dirt streaked across his forehead, his tie hanging crooked. "Are you hurt, sir? Are you bleeding?"

"I'm fine," I said, though my head throbbed like hell. "Where's Anita? Where's Kingman?"

"Here!" Anita coughed as she emerged from the smoke, her suit torn, tablet shattered in her hands. Kingman was close behind, radio in hand, barking orders into the void.

I stood and brushed ash from my coat. The explosion still echoed in my bones.

Richard turned to Kingman, eyes narrowed. "What the hell just happened? Where did the intel come from? Who the hell knew this was going to happen?"

Kingman didn't flinch. "We swept the building this morning. Nothing came up. Then one of our informants—low-level, embedded in a tech crew—flagged an unlisted delivery truck outside. We confirmed the plates were fake. We moved fast. But not fast enough."

"And the bomb?"

"Planted near the central elevator shaft. Meant to take out the structural core. Whoever set it wanted a spectacle."

I clenched my jaw. "And President Roul?"

"Unclear, sir. Virelia's official convoy hasn't arrived yet. We're waiting on confirmation."

Richard stepped in front of me. "Sir, this wasn't random."

"Of course it wasn't," I snapped. "It was a message."

"But from who? Virelia? One of our own? Someone trying to frame someone else?"

"Exactly." I stared at the flames, every flicker searing itself into my memory. "That’s what we’re going to find out. Today."

Kingman tapped his earpiece. "Perimeter secure. No secondary devices found. We've got air support on standby and the building's evac plan is underway. Emergency Medical Services (EMS) is arriving now."

"I want the footage," I said. "Every damn camera within a mile radius. If a rat scurried in there this morning, I want to know its name and what it ate for breakfast."

Richard nodded. "We need to release a statement."

"You release nothing," I said coldly. "Not until I know whether I was the target—or a witness."

The smoke began to settle, but my mind didn’t.

If President Roul had been in that building, we were looking at an act of war. If he hadn’t, someone just bought themselves leverage.

Either way, this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.