North Island, Presidential Mansion.
The sky outside the window had already taken on a hint of dusk.
Mongo stood in front of his desk, not looking at the map on the wall but staring at the manifesto on his desk, no thicker than a finger.
Or more accurately, it was a codex.
Four months ago, they had pledged allegiance to Shelter No. 70, and now their loyalty lay with this codex that everyone had signed.
In fact, without this damned war, this wouldn't have been such a bad thing for the residents of Shelter No. 70.
They had lost the boundless authority inherited from their forebears, but they could also shed the infinite responsibility bestowed upon them by ancient oaths.
From now on, there would be no distinction between Blue Jacket and the average survivors, whether previous members of Shelter No. 70 or island residents, all would bear common obligations and responsibilities as citizens of the Federation.
