The sun dipped below the skyline, casting an orange glow over Ho Chi Minh City. The streets were teeming with protesters, their chants swelling in the air, a chorus of anger and fear. The once bustling city now felt like a tinderbox, ready to ignite. Banners—fueled by carefully crafted lies—flapped violently in the humid wind, accusing the Coalition of terrorism and betrayal, their words cutting deep into the heart of the city’s discontent.
From his luxurious suite on the top floor of a glass-and-steel skyscraper, Nguyen watched the chaos unfold, a smirk curling on his lips. His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of his teacup as he sipped the dark, bitter liquid, the taste grounding him in the moment. It was an exquisite sight, the result of weeks of manipulation, perfectly falling into place.