“Adam, I’m sick of your crap — FACE ME RIGHT NOW.”
The shock that followed was not just about one document or one rivalry, but about the realization that much of what the nation had accepted as “settled history” might have been shaped in shadows.
Kellan’s words did more than accuse Aldren; they indicted a culture of selective truth-telling that had thrived under the cover of decorum and procedure.
For a moment, the Senate stopped being a stage and became a witness stand.
In the hours that followed, spin machines roared to life, but something fundamental had shifted.
Citizens replayed the footage not just to choose a side, but to search for sincerity in a place they had long viewed with suspicion.
Whether Kellan was a hero or a reckless arsonist remained bitterly contested.
What no one could deny was that he had forced the country to stare directly at the machinery of its own narratives—and decide what, and whom, it was willing to trust.
