She raised her microphone to the cara, her voice laced with excitent. "We’re live at the campaign rally, and the situation has taken a turn no one could have predicted. Russell Warren didn’t shy away from the sharp accusations of graft. Instead, he refrad them in an incredibly compelling way."
"He told these workers that everything he’s done, even the deals that look shady to outsiders, was to protect this state’s industrial lifeblood. And the reaction from the workers here... it’s absolutely stunning. They’re cheering, going wild for his candor."
Warren stood on high, looking down at the sea of faces below, all flushed with excitent.
He knew he’d won his gamble.
In this forgotten corner of the world, the anxiety of survival was far more powerful than any abstract moral code.
He turned and shot an icy, mocking glare at the reporter behind him who had asked the tough question.
"Any more questions?" Warren asked.
The reporter opened his mouth, glanced at the burly workers glaring at him, and silently lowered his microphone.
Warren sneered, turned, and jumped off the wooden crate, wading back into the crowd.
This ti, he was sward by the workers, like a triumphant general.
Countless rough, calloused hands reached out to slap his back and shake his hand.
Mud sared onto his work jacket, but he paid it no mind. He even laughed as he took a cheap cigarette from a worker and stuck it in his mouth.
The fla of a lighter flickered in the twilight.
Warren took a deep drag, the harsh smoke flooding his lungs.
He squinted, looking through the smoke at the fading skyline in the distance.
Warren figured Murphy had to be in front of a TV, watching the live broadcast.
He could just picture the dumbfounded look on his face.
Because mud is dirty, but it’s also soft.
It can trap your feet, but it can also be used to build a bulwark.
Most importantly, when everyone is stuck in the mire, the one willing to lead the charge and roll around in the mud becos the hero.
Night fell completely.
Massive searchlights flickered on, bathing the extraction site in light as bright as day.
The drilling rigs continued their tireless roaring, extracting black wealth from deep within the earth.
Warren’s figure gradually disappeared into the crowd of workers, leaving only the sound of cheers still echoing, lingering long in the desolate valley.
The dia broadcast vans began packing up their equipnt. Reporters, their faces a mixture of emotions, started editing their stories for publication.
They all had their headlines ready, though they weren’t the ones they had anticipated.
The gri of Western Pennsylvania had stuck to everyone’s heart.
anwhile, in Pittsburgh, Leo pressed the power button on the remote.
The image on the television screen vanished, abruptly cutting off Warren’s inflammatory roars and the workers’ frenzied cheers.
"He admitted it," Leo muttered to himself. "He laid it all out in the open."
Roosevelt’s voice, tinged with gravity, echoed in his mind. "This is a top-tier opponent, Leo. He knows how to manipulate people. In the eyes of those workers, a robber who can snatch food from the jaws of Washington’s tigers is far more trustworthy than a gentleman who only pays lip service to morality."
Leo stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
"This is going to be a tough fight," Leo said, his fingers tapping lightly on the windowpane.
Back in Western Pennsylvania, Warren took off his heavy, mud-caked boots.
He sat in the back of the luxury van, his body aching all over.
Outside the window, the vast shale gas field receded into the distance.
"Boss, that speech was incredible," his assistant said excitedly from the front seat. "That clip about the EPA bureaucrats has already hit a million views on X."
Warren didn’t answer.
He looked down at his grimy hands. Black mud was caked under his fingernails, impossible to scrub away.
"Get a bottle of water," Warren said.
His assistant handed him a bottle of Evian.
Warren twisted off the cap and poured the water directly onto his hands, scrubbing them vigorously.
The clear stream of water mixed with the grit, turning a murky yellow as it dripped onto the carpet.
He scrubbed so hard his skin turned red.
Only after the entire bottle was empty did his hands barely return to their original color.
Warren tossed the empty bottle aside, leaned back against the seat, and closed his eyes.
He didn’t hate the mud, but he didn’t like staying dirty, either.
Once the objective was achieved, the mud lost its value.
As for all the Mikes who had just been cheering for him, they would have to keep rolling around in the mud tomorrow. But he, ultimately, was going back to a clean Washington.
The car entered the darkening highway, speeding toward the next battlefield.
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