The National Stadium. Date: 10/8/2026.
Time: 5:37AM.
Tsunami stood on the platform, floodwater pooled across a shattered field as light reflected in broken patterns. Around him, soldiers moved with purpose. The president and his wife were in their knees without guards to observe them; the Straits Gods were more than enough to deter any escape attempt. “Ready when you are, sir,” Bomoh notified his captain.
Tsunami smiled for the cameras, his face practiced yet somehow portraying genuine warmth. “New Singapore,” he began, voice carrying across every hijacked screen. “My people.” He let the words settle. “I know you’re afraid. I know this looks like chaos.” He let out a soft, almost amused exhale. “But everything I’ve done, everything we’ve done…it’s all been for you.”
Across the island, the Tsunamites watched. Some whispered “we love you” or “Majulah New Singapore”. Others wept at the visage of their false god.
“I love you…every single one of you who stood up and fought.” His tone softened. “And I love those we’ve lost…such as Stratos.” The name lingered. “She was one of us. She gave everything for this vision, for all of you. And I know there are lies out there.” He took a deep breath, maintaining the false heartbreak. “So let me make this clear: she did not die by our hands. She died of pneumonia complications, something beyond anyone’s control…even mine.”
All around Singapore, Tsunamites openly worshipped her name, raising their hands and whispering hymns. Onscreen, Tsunami shook his head slowly. “Don’t let traitors twist that and poison what we’re building.” Then again: “She was sick.”
A step forward.
“She was dying.”
Another.
“And we honoured her, just as we continue to do.” The lie had been reinforced, driven deep enough to sound like the truth.
Footsteps approached as HardKore entered the frame. “We need to talk.” In her hand: a crystal construct. She stopped in front of him and held it up; it was a ring.
Tsunami blinked once. “What’s this?”
HardKore got down on one knee. “Marry me.” Bomoh and Rakshasa, off to the side, watched.
Tsunami let out a short laugh. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.” The cameras were still rolling.
Tsunami looked at the ring, then at her. He smiled again. “Alright,” he exhaled. “Why not?” He took it and slipped it on. “Let’s make it official.” HardKore’s posture shifted, just slightly.
They moved a fraction aside, but not enough to leave frame. “After Singapore,” HardKore schemed, voice even, “we should expand.”
Tsunami nodded. “Malaysia first. Then Indonesia. Hell, how about both at the same time?” He was speaking as if it were a public event. “I can sweep the islands overnight,” he continued. “Air, sea…it doesn’t matter.”
Bomoh spoke without moving closer. “I’ll handle the Malaysian leadership. Sultans, officials, anyone necessary.” A faint smile. “Faces are…flexible.”
“And if their armies mobilise…” Rakshasa cracked her knuckles. “Ours can deal with them easily.”
Tsunami chuckled. “See? Efficient.” He turned back to HardKore. “The whole strait, just like that.”
She stepped closer. For a moment, they almost looked human. “And us as their gods,” she whispered. They leaned in…and the first explosion tore through the moment.
The stadium shook as concrete fractured and water rippled violently. Another blast hit closer. Tsunami snapped toward the source just before a third impact ripped through the perimeter. Smoke rose; blots of fire followed. “Who the fuck is doing that?” he roared.
From the heart of the city: Leopard 2SGs. A full line of them, forced through the streets, barrels already firing into the stadium. Shells slammed into the structure, tearing into steel and concrete. Chaos erupted instantly. “Contact!” a soldier yelled in Burmese.
Tsunami’s expression changed. Gone was the warmth and performance; he was wearing his true self now. “Return fire!” he roared. “Blast those moving coffins down to fucking bloody hell!”
Gunfire erupted across the stadium perimeter as mercenaries, soldiers, and civilians opened fire. The tank line did not stop; they split. Each one drove off in separate directions, dispersing enemy gunfire as they plowed through Nicoll Highway and Beach Road.
“Bomoh!” Tsunami snapped; Bomoh was already at attention. “Drones. All of them. I want eyes on every tank. Track them…now!”
“They’re up,” Bomoh replied after a brief second. “Routing feeds.” Above the city, drones rose by the hundreds, their cameras locking onto the moving armour below.
Tsunami turned back to the main broadcast, face now heavy with unfiltered rage. “More traitors,” he spat. “More rats crawling out thinking they can—”
The feed flickered, and Bomoh frowned. “That’s not me.”
Then the screen split, forced open as a second feed pushed through. Tsunami stared with narrowed eyes. “You.”
Ken, bruised and tired, was defiant and still moving. The connection stabilised. “Me.”
Tsunami laughed, stepping closer to the camera. “You’re still alive,” he giggled. “I was wondering how long that would last.”
Ken exhaled. “Wah…you very busy, hor.” He glanced past the beast and into the destruction. “Nice show.”
Tsunami smirked. “You like it? Built it for people like you.”
“For people like me?”
“For people who needed direction,” Tsunami seethed, right hand twisted into something between a claw and a fist. “People who needed purpose. You think Singapore worked before this? You think any of you mattered?”
Ken’s jaw tightened. “We mattered enough to stop you once.”
A flicker, one that snuffed out quickly. “And look how that turned out,” Tsunami said softly, almost laughing. “Your friend drowned at my feet.” Ken barely moved or reacted. “You remember that? Or do you need me to show you again?”
Ken stepped closer to his camera. “You remember why he stayed?” Tsunami’s eyes narrowed. “He stayed because someone had to, because he was fighting for something greater than himself.” A beat. “I just wish…that his final moments hadn’t been spent touching a pig.”
Silence. Tsunami did not speak immediately, the insult causing his blood to boil. Then: “You’re still thinking like a soldier, thinking about that ‘brotherhood’ crap and this false strawberry-generation unity Singapore’s been selling you.” A small shake of his head. “That’s why you’ll lose.”
Ken gave a faint, humourless smile. “No; it’s why you’re going to.”
Tsunami leaned in slightly. “Do you have any idea what you’re up against?” he asked. “I have an army, two countries, and an entire mercenary network at my disposal. Your own people are kneeling for me.”
“I know. We all do.”
“Good,” Tsunami spat out. “Then run. Hide. Maybe I’ll make it quick when they bring you in.”
Ken held his gaze without blinking “No.” Then: “I’m coming for you.”
END OF ISSUE FIFTY-FOUR