As John sent out the announcement concerning the upcoming presidential election to the rest of the United States, he was already following Summer toward the location where the memorial ceremony would take place. He had agreed that his presence was necessary, especially considering the circumstances surrounding the ceremony and the uncertainty that still gripped the country. He would attend in full military uniform, just as the other generals and high-ranking military officials of the United States would, ensuring that the armed forces stood visibly alongside the remaining government officials. At a time when the nation had lost so much confidence in its political leadership, the military could not afford to appear indifferent to the suffering of its people.
The 5th Legion was currently stationed in Washington, D.C., having been ordered to secure the city after the situation involving the secret realms had finally been brought under control. The government could not afford another shock while the country was still struggling to comprehend the horrors that had occurred beneath the Capitol building. Beyond maintaining security, the legion's soldiers were also providing the additional manpower required to prepare the memorial grounds and ensure that everything proceeded according to plan. The decision had been made to bury every victim recovered from beneath the Capitol in a unified cemetery, creating a permanent reminder of the atrocities committed by the corrupted humans and the lives that had been lost because of them.
The attack had already been described as the greatest assault on the United States since Pearl Harbor, and the comparison was not made lightly. Although the circumstances were entirely different, the scale of the tragedy and the shock it had inflicted upon the nation were difficult to ignore. The government wanted the memorial to reflect the seriousness of what had happened rather than become another temporary ceremony that people would eventually forget. By giving every recovered victim a proper burial, the country could at least ensure that those who had suffered would not be abandoned a second time, even if their identities could never be established.
While John changed into his formal uniform, he continued coordinating the preparations with the commander of the 5th Legion. They went over the specific steps of the ceremony, checking the timing of the procession, the positioning of the soldiers, and the order in which the different parts of the memorial would take place. Even the guards stationed at Arlington National Cemetery had been involved, as their experience with military funerals and national memorials would help establish the solemn atmosphere that the occasion demanded. John wanted every movement to be carried out properly, not because appearances mattered more than the dead, but because the victims deserved the respect that the nation had failed to protect them from losing.
Meanwhile, Summer was examining the country panel provided by the System, a feature she had barely considered before the current crisis forced her to investigate every available option. The panel was unique in comparison with the ordinary information available to individuals, and its existence suggested that the System recognized countries as entities with their own administrative functions. Previously, she had been too occupied with the immediate problems facing the United States to investigate what such a panel might offer. Now, with the government needing to organize an election and communicate with a population scattered across a rapidly changing country, even its most obscure functions deserved her attention.
Unfortunately, the panel was not nearly as impressive as Summer had initially hoped it might be. It displayed a handful of statistics and offered some basic information, but most of its features were either inconvenient or entirely unavailable, represented by rows of greyed-out options that she could not access. Still, there was a shop included in the interface, and its contents proved more interesting than the rest of the panel. Among the available services, she discovered an option for organizing national elections, which confirmed that the System could provide at least some assistance with the political transition the United States was attempting to arrange.
More importantly, Summer discovered that the shop also offered a national broadcasting service. Her attention immediately settled on that option because she knew that at least a quarter of the American population was currently beyond the reach of any city where people might gather to watch television. With communication infrastructure disrupted and countless people living in camps or isolated settlements, reaching the entire nation through ordinary channels would be extremely difficult. A national broadcast, however, would allow her to address Americans wherever they were able to receive the System's transmission, making it possible to share the memorial with people who otherwise would have been excluded from the occasion.
The service cost 100,000 silver coins, which was not an insignificant sum under the current circumstances, but it was affordable enough to justify the expense. As Summer examined the description more carefully, she noticed that the displayed price had already been discounted because the memorial would be livestreamed. The System appeared to recognize the cultural significance of the event, taking into account the enormous collective attention surrounding a national ceremony intended to commemorate such a terrible loss. Summer found the arrangement somewhat unusual, but she had little reason to complain about receiving a discount when the service would allow millions of people to participate in the same moment of remembrance.
At four o'clock in the afternoon, screens appeared once again throughout camps, settlements, and cities across the United States. On them, Summer stood at a podium with the remaining government officials and generals arranged behind her, their expressions serious as they faced the cameras. The sight of so many senior officials gathered together was a reminder of how much the nation had lost and how few people remained to carry the responsibility of governing it. Summer waited until the broadcast had settled before addressing the country, knowing that her words would reach people who were frightened, angry, grieving, and uncertain about what the future would bring.
"Good afternoon, my fellow Americans," Summer began, her face solemn as she looked toward the cameras. "I stand before you today to remember the victims of the tragedy that has struck our nation and to bury those who were found beneath the Capitol building." She paused briefly, allowing the words to settle before continuing, aware that no speech could adequately express the suffering represented by the graves waiting behind her. Nevertheless, as the director of the CIA and one of the remaining senior officials of the United States, she had a responsibility to speak clearly at a time when silence from the government might only deepen the uncertainty gripping the country.
"We have decided to hold a presidential election to restore trust in our government, because that trust has been rightfully lost over the last month," Summer continued, her voice becoming firmer as she moved from remembrance to the country's immediate political future. "But know this: we Americans, as a nation, stand strong, and we vow revenge against the organization responsible for this attack on our country." Anger had entered her voice by the time she finished, reflecting the determination that had carried her through the investigation and the many revelations that had followed it. She did not attempt to hide that anger, because the victims deserved to be remembered honestly, and the country needed to understand that the government had not simply forgotten the people who had suffered.
"With that, let the ceremony begin," Summer concluded, deciding that she had said enough for the moment. She did not want to burden the people watching with an excessively long speech before the actual memorial had begun, especially when many of them were already struggling to process what had happened. The purpose of the gathering was to honor the dead, not to turn their suffering into an opportunity for political speeches. With the opening address finished, she stepped back and allowed the ceremony to proceed, leaving the rest of the occasion to the solemn rituals that had been prepared.
The former East Potomac Park had been transformed into a vast cemetery, with the surrounding area cleared to make room for the graves and the structures intended to preserve the memory of the victims. A total of 10,821 people had been recovered from the pit beneath the Capitol building, and that number had become the official count recorded by the government. Every one of them would receive a burial, regardless of whether investigators could establish a name or uncover the circumstances that had brought them there. The sheer scale of the cemetery made the tragedy impossible to dismiss as an isolated incident, turning the grounds into a physical reminder of what had happened beneath the nation's capital.
The former facilities in the area had been repurposed to support the government's work, and construction was already underway on a monument dedicated to the victims. Alongside the cemetery, workers were installing a wall of marble on which the names of those who had been killed by corrupted humans over the previous three years would be carved. The monument was intended to preserve the memory of the broader tragedy, ensuring that the memorial would not be limited to the people recovered beneath the Capitol alone. As the work continued, the government was attempting to create a place where future generations could learn what had happened, even after the immediate shock and grief had faded from public memory.
Summer stood in silence as she watched the ceremony unfold, reflecting on the enormous undertaking required to prepare the cemetery in such a short time. The grounds had needed to be cleared, the graves prepared, and the procession organized while the government was still dealing with the consequences of the crisis itself. Yet the soldiers and workers had carried out their responsibilities, allowing the nation to gather and pay its respects rather than leave the victims without a proper farewell. Somber music drifted from the speakers as rows of coffins were carried toward the graves, each one representing a person whose life had ended in circumstances that no one should ever have had to endure.
The soldiers carrying the coffins marched in full dress uniform, maintaining their formation as they moved toward the graves assigned to them. Each coffin was accompanied by a carefully organized procession, and the soldiers carried out their duties with the discipline expected of a formal military funeral. The gravestones themselves bore no names, because the investigators had been unable to identify the people whose remains had been recovered. Although they could estimate each victim's gender and approximate age, they could not reliably connect those details to a particular coffin, so the government had chosen to leave the stones blank rather than risk assigning someone the wrong identity.
Within half an hour, the procession had reached the point where every grave was accompanied by six soldiers and its coffin. Across the country, Americans watched the ceremony through the national broadcast, their attention fixed on the rows of soldiers and the graves stretching across the cemetery. For many people, the past month had felt too extraordinary to be real, with the collapse of familiar institutions and the appearance of corrupted humans creating a situation more difficult to comprehend than being transported to fight an alien species. However, seeing the coffins carried in disciplined formation and lowered toward their final resting places made the consequences of those events impossible to ignore.
The nation seemed to grieve as one while the ceremony continued, and the reality of the tragedy finally began to settle into the minds of those watching. The graves were no longer an abstract number mentioned in a government report, nor were the victims merely names in an investigation that most Americans could only follow from a distance. They were people who had been lost, and the country was now witnessing the final respect being paid to them. Whatever doubts remained about the scale of the disaster, the sight of thousands of graves and soldiers standing in perfect order gave the tragedy a weight that statistics and news reports alone could never convey.
"Ten-hut!" John shouted into the microphone, his command carrying across the cemetery and through the broadcast reaching the rest of the United States. At once, every soldier and general in attendance stood at attention, their movements precise as the entire assembly prepared to observe the next part of the ceremony. The command brought the procession to a formal pause, allowing the people gathered there and those watching from afar to focus entirely on the victims. For a moment, the military presence that had helped stabilize the country became a symbol of the respect the nation was attempting to offer those who could no longer speak for themselves.
All sound was then cut from the ceremony, and a message appeared on the livestream announcing two minutes of silence in honor of the victims. For the following two minutes, no speeches were given, no music played, and no commands interrupted the stillness. Across the country, the broadcast carried the same silence into camps, cities, and settlements, allowing people separated by distance to share a single act of remembrance. It was as though the entire nation had fallen mute, setting aside its fear, anger, and uncertainty long enough to acknowledge the lives that had been taken.
When the two minutes had passed, cannon fire rang out across the memorial grounds, offering the victims a formal military farewell. The national anthem followed, filling the cemetery as the coffins were lowered into their graves and the soldiers maintained their positions. It was a solemn conclusion to the burial itself, marking the moment when the victims were finally laid to rest after the horrors that had brought them beneath the Capitol building. With the final part of the ceremony underway, John prepared to address the American public, as he was now the highest-ranking national official remaining in a position to speak on behalf of the country.
Summer had already taken the first step by opening the ceremony and announcing the presidential election, and John understood that his own appearance before the cameras would carry considerable weight. He was not a politician and had never sought to become one, but the circumstances had left the United States with few senior officials capable of providing reassurance and direction. As the military's highest-ranking remaining official, he could not simply remain silent while the nation struggled to rebuild its government and recover from the disaster. With the graves behind him and the entire country watching, John prepared to deliver his speech to the American people.