You know that look people get when they realize they've completely underestimated you?
Like they were expecting a clown and got a shark instead?
Yeah. That was the White House this morning.
News of last night's "incident" hadn't even gone public yet, but word travels fast in D.C. — especially when the people who've been waiting for you to screw up suddenly realize you might actually know what you're doing.
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I walked into the Roosevelt Room for my first post-crisis briefing, perfectly tailored suit, Rockwell Dynamics signature tie pin gleaming under the lights, and that smile — the one that says I know something you don't.
The room fell silent.
I didn't say a word at first. Just set my coffee down, opened my folder, and let the silence do its work. Power isn't about shouting. It's about making other people feel like they're wasting your time.
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"Mr. President," my Chief of Staff began carefully, "the… incident has been contained, but we're expecting the press to start asking questions within the hour. How would you like us to handle—"
"Spin it," I said, cutting him off. "Make it clear that this administration neutralized a credible nuclear threat within twelve hours of taking office. That's all they need to know."
> "But sir, we—"
I held up a hand. "No. Listen. The people don't want the details. They want the headline: 'President Rockwell saves the world before breakfast.' Give them that. Let them argue about the rest on cable news."
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I turned to my National Security Advisor. "Status on the uranium?"
> "Secure, sir. The militia surrendered without resistance. Our containment team is on-site."
"Good. Make sure they understand one thing: anyone who touches U.S. interests, touches me. And nobody touches me without bleeding."
The man nodded, and for a second I caught it — that flicker of respect. Fear and respect, wrapped up in one neat package.
---
By noon, the talking heads were already losing their collective minds.
"Who is Colton Rockwell, really?"
"Can the arms-dealer-turned-president be trusted with the nuclear codes?"
"Was this a decisive victory, or sheer dumb luck?"
Didn't matter.
The story that stuck was the one I fed them: Youngest President in U.S. history neutralizes nuclear crisis in record time.
I made sure every network had footage of me walking into the West Wing that morning, calm, confident, and very much in control. No sweat, no panic — just a man who'd looked the apocalypse in the eye and told it to sit down.
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The cabinet, though — they were the real entertainment.
Half of them had walked into that Situation Room last night ready to write my political obituary. Now they couldn't meet my gaze without flinching.
The Secretary of Defense, a career general with four decades of service, actually stammered when I asked for his updated readiness report.
"Relax, General," I told him, signing off on the document. "You're not in trouble. Yet."
---
That evening, I held my first official press conference.
The briefing room was packed — reporters shoulder to shoulder, cameras flashing, everyone hungry for a soundbite.
I stepped up to the podium, adjusted the mic, and let the noise die down.
"Good evening," I began, voice steady. "Last night, a hostile faction attempted to threaten global security. They failed.
"Thanks to swift action by my administration, the facility has been secured, the threat neutralized, and no lives lost.
"This is what leadership looks like. Fast, decisive, and effective. Get used to it."
I walked off before they could shout a single question.
---
By the time I got back to the Oval Office, my phone was buzzing nonstop. Calls from world leaders, congratulating me through clenched teeth. NATO, the UN, even my own opposition party — all of them trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
I poured myself a drink and ignored them.
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Later that night, I caught my reflection in the darkened window of the Oval Office — the youngest President in U.S. history, a man the entire world had just realized they couldn't afford to underestimate.
For the first time since taking this job, I could feel it: the shift.
I wasn't just the man who won the election.
I was the man they were afraid to cross.
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And fear, my friends, is the purest currency of all.