Scott Merry #2

The Confession

Scott Merry took a long, steadying breath as the barrage of questions from the press intensified.

“Congressman Merry! Can you explain your involvement in the events of January 6th?”

“Do you regret your actions?”

“Are you confirming the election was legitimate?”

Merry raised both hands. The room quieted, cameras zooming in as his face filled every live broadcast. His gaze was steady, his voice resolute. “Let me be clear. January 6th was not a protest. It was not a rally that got out of hand. It was an attempted insurrection.”

The reporters collectively drew in a breath. The gravity of his words settled over the room.

“It was orchestrated,” Merry continued, his words slicing through the air, “by John Leastman and his inner circle. Leastman and his allies weaponized the frustration and loyalty of patriotic Americans to serve their ambition.”

A murmur swept through the crowd. The name "John Leastman" had been whispered in political circles but never openly linked to the insurrection—until now.

“I was complicit,” Merry admitted, his voice unwavering. “I was part of the machine that churned out baseless claims of election fraud. I stood by, amplifying the lie, while knowing full well that it was a lie.” He paused, his hands gripping the podium. “But let’s be honest—the truth was always clear. We lost the election. And over sixty court cases across multiple states—dismissed. Judges, many of whom were appointed by Donold Grump himself, found no evidence to support the allegations of widespread fraud. None.”

Reporters scribbled furiously. The room, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, was eerily silent except for the tapping of pens.

“And what happened next?” Merry’s voice hardened. “Instead of accepting the truth, Donold Grump and his cronies doubled down. Rudy Guglianni—Grump’s so-called legal mastermind—paraded conspiracy theories so absurd that even the courts laughed him out. And what did that get him? Bankruptcy. He lost his fortune and his dignity because he bet everything on a lie.”

A flash of cameras lit up the room, capturing Merry’s unflinching expression.

A voice rang out, sharp and clear: “What about the pipe bombs left near the Capitol? Who was responsible for those?”

Merry’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly before answering. “Emptee Gee.”

A wave of shock swept over the press corps. Heads turned, whispers erupted, and the cameras shifted closer.

“The ‘lone wolf’ narrative was a lie,” Merry said, his tone grim. “Emptee Gee wasn’t acting alone. She was part of the plan—a plan to sow chaos, to create fear and confusion while the mob stormed the Capitol.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. “I’ve seen the communications. I have the proof.”

The room erupted into chaos again, reporters shouting questions all at once.

Merry held up a hand, commanding silence. “There’s more,” he continued. “Emails. Text messages. Recordings. A paper trail so damning that it tells the entire story. I’ve turned over every shred of it to Congress, and I am ready to testify under oath.”

A woman in the back raised her voice above the fray. “Why speak out now, Congressman? Why not sooner?”

Merry’s shoulders lifted as he took another breath. He had anticipated this question. “Because it’s never too late to do the right thing,” he said. “Democracy only works if we hold ourselves accountable. I’ve spent the past few years lying to myself and to the people I swore to serve. That ends today.”

The microphones crackled as another voice pierced the silence: “What’s your message to Donold Grump?”

Merry’s expression hardened, and he locked eyes with the nearest camera. “Grump built his empire on lies, and now those lies are collapsing. He betrayed the American people. And it’s time he answered for it.”

The room erupted again, but Merry stood calmly as the noise roared around him. He glanced toward the back of the room, where his aides, Maggie and Ethan, stood quietly. Their eyes were filled with tears—not of sorrow, but of pride. They knew this moment would define Merry’s legacy.

Maga Logo Suite

Donold J. Grump sat motionless in his gilded chair, his suite at Maga Logo feeling smaller by the second. The rainbow-painted walls seemed to ripple with each word from the television.

On the screen, Merry’s face filled the frame, his voice unwavering.

Sparky, Grump’s iridescent dragon, fluttered above the chair, his wings flickering with muted light. “Donny,” Sparky whispered, his voice low and tense, “he’s torching everything. The Croakers won’t sing your tune anymore.”

Grump’s eyes narrowed, his hands trembling as Merry’s condemnation echoed through the speakers.

“This…this can’t be happening,” Grump muttered.

With a sudden burst of fury, he grabbed a large plastic ketchup bottle from the nearby table and squeezed it with all his strength. Red streaks splattered across the wall in jagged lines, dripping down in uneven streams like the last gasps of a crumbling empire.

Sparky flew in a nervous circle, glowing a furious red and gold. “You’re losing it, Donny.”

Grump ignored him, staring at the ketchup-stained wall as though it could somehow offer him answers. The slow, rhythmic drip of the ketchup onto the floor matched the pounding in his chest.

When the bottle was empty, he tossed it aside and slumped back into his chair.

Sparky landed on the armrest, his glow dimming. “It’s over, Donny. You can’t ketchup your way out of this one.”

Grump let out a long, heavy sigh. “We’re totally screwed,” he muttered.

The television continued to broadcast Merry’s press conference. His voice carried the weight of years of deception finally exposed.

For the first time in a long while, Grump didn’t have a clever retort. He watched, his eyes glassy with disbelief, as the world began to shift beneath his feet.

Sparky tilted his head, his expression softer now. “You wanted loyalty,” he said quietly. “But maybe…you never understood what it really meant.”

Grump said nothing. The last of the ketchup dripped down the wall, each red streak a silent reminder of the empire that was slipping from his grasp.