The Cadillac Beast flew silently down the cleared-out highway.
Inside, Liang Jian’s shock was slowly being replaced by a programmer’s cool logic.
As a man who dealt with bugs and system crashes for a living, he knew that when faced with a fatal, incomprehensible error, the first step wasn't to panic. It was to read the error log.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the reflection of Trump’s face in the window, and focused inward, trying to understand what was happening inside his own head.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his skull.
It felt like someone had jammed a massive, foreign hard drive into his brain’s USB port and started a brutal, unauthorized data transfer.
A torrent of broken images, sounds, and emotions flooded his consciousness.
IMAGE ONE: A magnificent oval office. A man in a military uniform, stars on his shoulders, is briefing him. He can feel a wave of impatience and pride rising from this body’s core. He waves a hand dismissively, cutting the general off. “I’ll handle it. Better than anyone.”
IMAGE TWO: A grand ballroom. He’s shaking hands with a politician whose smile is fake and whose eyes are cold. A name flashes in his mind—Senator John Miller, a key rival in the election.
IMAGE THREE: A dimly lit room, with only his most trusted advisors. A document lies on the table, with words circled in red marker: “Shadow Syndicate,” “Deep State,” “Threat.” He remembers laughing it off, thinking it was just the intelligence agencies trying to justify their budget.
IMAGE FOUR: A slideshow of faces. His daughter Ivanka’s, filled with concern. His wife Melania’s, calm and distant. And… Emily Carter’s, perpetually professional, always in the background like a silent shadow, yet always there.
The memories were chaotic, a corrupted database with a shattered index file.
But Liang Jian didn’t give up. He tapped into his professional instincts, the part of him that organized code and untangled databases. He began to force-sort the data, slapping mental labels on the fragments.
Identity: Donald J. Trump. Former U.S. President. Current Candidate.
Status: Campaigning. Just survived assassination attempt.
Known Enemies: The Democratic Party. John Miller. A mysterious “Shadow Syndicate.”
Known Allies: Family. Some campaign staff.
TBD/Suspicious: Emily Carter. The Secret Service.
He was building a mind map, an initial schematic for this insane new game. The map was mostly fog of war, but at least it wasn't completely blank.
He now knew that the account he’d taken over was a high-level one, with immense power, but also facing immense danger.
That bullet had just been the tutorial’s first trash mob.
The Beast slowed to a stop.
Liang Jian felt the data-dump recede, leaving him with a throbbing, hangover-like headache.
The car door was opened from the outside.
Emily Carter’s calm face appeared. “Sir, we’ve arrived at the safe house. You’re secure here.”
Liang Jian took a deep breath, straightened the expensive, slightly dusty suit on his new body, and stepped out of the car with a posture of authority that felt alien, yet disturbingly natural.