Chapter 39: First Hit

“Hello everybody!” Thompson exclaimed. “We’re ready to start up the next match! Our first fighter—”

“Our first fighter!” Truman screamed over her, “Is perhaps the greatest Presidents of all time! Known for her fiery temper and unparalleled grit, she leads an army of dedicated followers who she treats like members of her own family! She’s a divisive figure to be sure, but whether you love her or hate her; you can’t deny you know exactly what she stands for and what she stands against! Give it up for [Old Hickory], Andrea Jackson!”

Jackson walked in wearing a tanktop and flexing her muscles to the audience around her. She was a large woman with a sturdy build, a sharp jawline, and a prominent widow’s peak at the center of her forehead.

“So Truman…” Thompson snarked as she leaned back in her chair, “I take it you’re a fan of Jackson?”

Truman gave an embarrassed cough.

“Er, yes…I suppose I am.”

“Well now,” Thompson chuckled, “that introduction is going to be a tough act to follow, but I think our next contestant might just end up drawing even more attention with their entrance! They’re a fighter clouded in total mystery, whose true identity remains unknown even to me! I’ve got nothing more to say, so let’s hear it, for [The Masked Fighter], JD!”

A camel stepped onto the grounds carrying the mysterious JD atop its back. The fighter wore a gray suit and gray mask covering their body save a singular hole cut into the right side of their mask, revealing a deep blue eye shining underneath the shroud.

Thompson turned to Truman expectantly as the fighter made their way forward.

“Well?” she asked. “Do you have anything you want to say about our mystery fighter here? Or did you use up all your energy introducing Jackson?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Truman replied with a chuckle, “I didn’t mean it anything like that. I just find it difficult to get myself excited for our `mystery fighter’ when I already know who they are.”

Thompson furrowed her brow.

“You do?”

“Yup. In fact, every President here knows who this masked fighter really is”

“What! How the hell did that happen?”

“You see,” he explained, “us Presidents are attuned to a special force known as Executive Energy, which is the fuel source for every Artifact, Power, and Executive Power. Because of this sensitivity, us Presidents are able to detect whenever another President experiences Election anywhere in the world.”

“I see,” Thompson rubbed her chin, “and that special sensitivity means you know exactly how many Elections have come after your own?”

“Precisely,” Truman said as he started counting off his fingers, “And if we assume old Washington is telling the truth about how many Election have come after his, then there’s been a total of 39 Elections from his onwards. Excluding JD here, there are a total of 31 named Presidents in our tournament, with Cleveland having been Elected twice. Adding these 32 Elections together with the Elections coming from the 3 organizing Presidents the tournament, as well as the 3 Presidents that have already passed away; we get a total of 38 Elections that are already accounted which JD can’t possibly correspond to. As such, only one option for them remains…”

Truman pointed triumphantly to JD.

“The only person our masked fighter can be…is [The Last of the Whigs], Midori Fillmore!”

“Seriously?” Thompson shouted, leaping off her seat. “You’re saying that JD is the one and only, Midori Fillmore!”

Thompson continued to stand for a second, then sat back down, scratching at her head.

“Who the hell is Fillmore?”

Truman gave a light chuckle.

“It’s no surprise you don’t know much about her. After all, she tends to stay out of the spotlight and isn’t very well known outside of us Presidents. That being said, Fillmore’s a formidable fighter, having been trained by the late President Jacqueline Taylor herself with her being rumored to possess one of the strongest EP’s in the nation, if not the whole world!”

“Wowzer! This sounds like it’s going to be a real heck of a match then!”

“It might be,” Truman replied with a snark, “unless Jackson ends it all with a single hit.”

“Hey now!” Thompson remarked with a light punch to Truman’s side, “Enough with the gushing; let’s get on with the crushing!”

In the arena, Taft gave a glance to the two fighters, then slammed his gavel down.

“Begin!”

Instantly, JD charged up ahead, throwing a quick punch as they approached their opponent.

Jackson lifted up her arms in anticipation of the attack, but JD suddenly stopped their arm just before connecting. Swiftly, JD ducked down underneath Jackson’s guard, then struck out at Jackson’s exposed stomach before she could move her arms back down to block. Jackson coughed hard at the blow, falling down to one knee.

“Holy smokes!” Thompson screamed. “JD’s starting things off with a heavy hit to Jackson!”

“It was a decent attack,” Truman grumbled, “but this is where the match really begins.”

“What all do you mean?”

“You see,” Truman replied with a grin. “Jackson always lets her opponent get the first hit in…”

JD started to move themselves back, but Jackson lunged ahead, grasping onto JD’s extended right arm with enough force to shatter bones.

“That was an excellent first strike you gave,” Jackson remarked, standing herself upright as she drew back her free arm. “Now let me give you, with the permission of heaven…the final strike!”

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39 Elections. The 39 Elections mentioned by Henry Truman corresponds to the 39 real-life Presidents who were deceased at the time that I started writing this book; namely Presidents 1-41 excluding Jimmy Carter (with Grover Cleveland being counted twice as both the 22nd and 24th President due to his non-consecutive terms).