How I Became Acting President in South America

Scorching heat. The acrid stench of gunpowder.

When I finally managed to come to my senses and open my eyes, the Presidential Palace lay in complete ruins before me — a sight so utterly divorced from reality that it felt like I was trapped inside a dream.

The moment of the explosion kept replaying in my head, over and over.

"...sir."

President Juan, walking toward me. And behind him, Javier, fidgeting restlessly with a black bag in his hands.

Why?

"...Minister."

Why would he do something like this? For what?

Thoughts chased thoughts in an endless loop — and then it happened.

Crack!

A sharp, searing pain bloomed across my cheek.

The one who had slapped me was Isabella. She was pinned beneath me, unable to so much as twitch — and, to make matters worse, my hand was resting squarely on her chest.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to — it was an emergency, I had no choice... please just don't sue me..."

"What on earth are you talking about? You need to take command of the rescue immediately!"

Her words snapped me wide awake. She was right. There could still be survivors inside the collapsed Presidential Palace.

I lurched to my feet and shouted at the presidential guard charging toward us.

"The banquet hall! There might be survivors in the banquet hall! Check there first!"

Of course, there could be another bomb. The remaining sections of the palace, the ones still holding some semblance of shape, could come down at any moment. But none of that mattered right now. Getting the survivors out — even a second sooner — was what mattered.

"Isabella! Get in touch with the fire department! I'm going in to see if anyone's still inside!"

"Have you lost your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind?! Do you have any idea what that place is?"

"There's nobody else! Someone has to help!"

"I said don't go!"

Ignoring Isabella's protests, I soaked a handkerchief in the fountain and sprinted into the Presidential Palace.

Shards of debris crunched and clinked sharply beneath my feet. The interior still radiated a lingering heat, thick with acrid smoke, and only the occasional shaft of sunlight cut through the gaps in the collapsed ceiling and walls.

It should have been around here.

I had meant to head straight for the banquet hall, but the interior I thought I knew had been transformed beyond all recognition, and finding my way proved far harder than I expected. By feel, a left turn from here should have brought me to the cabinet meeting room, a right turn to the presidential office. What stood in front of me instead was a massive slab of concrete, listing at an angle and blocking the wall entirely. I couldn't get a bearing in any direction.

Where the hell do I go?

I was running out of time. This wasn't a sealed space, but a single wet handkerchief wasn't going to last me long.

I was scanning the wreckage like a madman when a sound reached me — faint, barely there.

Nngh... hhgh...

I was certain. A moan.

I moved toward it without a second's hesitation. I climbed over a fallen wall, pushed through a pit of dust that had cascaded down from the ceiling, and found, in one corner, a staircase that had been wrecked and left standing behind a wall. The sound was coming from below, no question.

"Is someone in there?! Answer me!"

I shouted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠until my throat tore, and from below came a voice — weak, but unmistakable.

"Please... save us!"

A familiar voice. It was Paulo, the Presidential Palace's executive chef. Which meant...

The basement kitchen.

I went down the stairs at once.

"Wah—!"

The dust had turned everything dark, and I missed a step and went down hard.

"Ghh."

I grabbed my throbbing ankle, switched on my phone's flashlight, and found the entrance reduced to utter chaos. I threw myself at the door immediately, but something on the other side was blocking it, and it wouldn't budge.

Come on, open.

After a long, bruising wrestling match with the iron door, I finally forced it open and got through into the kitchen. I crawled in through a narrow gap in the rubble and found the head chef and the sous-chefs huddled together in a cluster.

"Minister? How did you even get down here..."

"That's not what matters right now. Are you all right? Can you move?"

"I'm fine, but... the others..."

I looked further in. Of the seven people there, four were down, blood streaming from their heads. They must have been struck by falling debris. Even at a glance, the injuries were severe.

"Then the ones who can walk will carry the ones who can't. I'll take one myself."

The head chef thanked me with tears in his voice.

"To come save the likes of us..."

"There's no such thing as 'the likes of you' when it comes to saving lives. I'll clear a path so we can get out. Hold on."

I started shifting as much of the fallen rubble as I could. Using the sturdy pots and rods from the kitchen as levers, I inched the blocking chunks of concrete aside until I had finally made a gap wide enough for a person to pass through.

"All right, we're leaving! Push the wounded through first."

They pushed from the inside; I pulled from the outside. Once all four of the seriously injured were out, I moved them together with the three who had gotten off lighter. After getting all seven survivors into the open, I went back in.

The fact that these people were alive meant there could be more.

But.

"Fuck."

The longer I searched, the more corpses I found. The luck I'd had the first time never came again.

I was nearing the limits of my stamina when a place I had never seen before caught my eye. An iron door I was looking at for the first time. By location, this should have been the presidential bedroom — the explosion must have torn it open and left it exposed.

This was here?

Thinking someone might be inside, I kicked the door open with everything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had.

"Cough, cough!"

A cloud of dust billowed out in a rush.

Nobody here.

I was about to turn away when something snagged my eye. A heavy safe, smashed open by the blast.

The door creaked as I pulled it open, as if I were being drawn to it.

This is...? What is this?

Inside a metal case no bigger than my palm was a USB drive.

No idea what it is, but if it was in a safe, it's got to be important.

I took it all and headed out of the Presidential Palace. My stamina was gone. I couldn't search any further.

And right on cue.

Sirens split the air as dozens of fire trucks came screaming toward the Presidential Palace.

With the full capacity of San Marcos thrown into the effort, the response to the explosion moved fast. Construction equipment was brought in to clear the wreckage of the palace piece by piece, and hundreds of rescue workers and soldiers were deployed to comb the ruins for survivors.

Twenty hours after I had taken command of the entire operation, I was confronted with a staggering result.

Seventy-seven survivors. Sixty-three dead. And every last member of the cabinet, including the President and the Prime Minister — gone.

The bombs had gone off in the worst possible places. There had been two points of detonation: the banquet hall, where the Prime Minister and the cabinet had been gathered, and directly behind the President as he came out to meet me. He had been so close to the epicenter that his body couldn't even be found.

"Hah..."

Other people's deaths didn't really land. I hadn't been close to any of them, after all. Ian's death was different. He may have lied to me, but he had been a friend who believed in me.

Even that grief, though, lasted only a moment.

"You need to pull yourself together. This is not the time for that."

Isabella, who had vanished, returned looking perfectly put-together and proceeded to browbeat me.

"For... what?"

"You need to go to the television station. Immediately."

"Right now?"

"The people need to be told about today's terrorist attack, how we intend to respond to it, and in what manner the affairs of state will be conducted going forward."

"And why would I be the one to..."

"Because."

She let out a sigh and answered.

"You, Minister, have become the Acting President."

"I'm sorry?"

"The Acting President. There is no one left alive but you."

"Ah..."

She was right. Of the entire cabinet, I was the only one still breathing.

In the order of succession, the Speaker of the National Assembly should have taken the role — but at present, San Marcos had no National Assembly. The late Sun King, Juan Marcos I, had dissolved it two years ago on grounds of corruption. The assemblymen had been lining their pockets so shamelessly that he had done it with the full backing of the people.

"...That only applies to San Marcos nationals, doesn't it?"

"Did you not receive San Marcos citizenship yourself, Minister?"

"Ian told me it was honorary citizenship when I accepted it..."

"San Marcos has no such thing as honorary citizenship. You became a real citizen."

Hey — you can't just turn someone into an illegal dual national without asking.

"We have no time to delay. You must go to the television station at once."

Isabella took me by the wrist and pulled.

"...Can't you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠just make the announcement yourself, Chief?"

"Would that even be appropriate?"

Her eyes flashed with a venomous glare.

Isabella... you're terrifying...

A short while later, I stood at a podium the television station had prepared for me, still wearing the same shirt soaked through with dirt and sweat. They had offered to lend me a change of clothes, but Isabella had insisted that going on as I was would feel more immediate, so out I went.

I swallowed, drew a slow breath, looked down at the address to the nation Isabella had handed me, and began to read.

The writing was remarkably elegant. I was every bit as lost as anyone — my head was pounding with confusion — but I looked into the camera as calmly as I could, determined not to spread fear among the people.

And just like that, I became the first Korean to declare martial law in a foreign country.

"Acting President, Eugene Choi."

I don't even know what's going on anymore...