JCJ sits amidst the chaos of his room, the weight of pharmaceuticals dulling his limbs, making even the simplest task feel insurmountable. The clutter around him—papers scattered, books stacked haphazardly, empty tea cups gathering dust—tells a story of both neglect and creation.
“The drugs, they sap my strength,” he murmurs to himself. “They make me too full of sloth to clean up, too drained to move. But even in this mess, in this ruin of my own making, something greater was born.”
His fingers trace the edges of his notes, the blueprints of an idea that should have been impossible. A vision formed in the depths of exhaustion, clarity forged through struggle.
“Here, in this unkempt sanctuary, I created a wonder of the modern world—the Fifth Empire.”
A dream of Pax Europa, a united civilization where the ghosts of past wars are laid to rest beneath a thousand-year peace. No more endless conflicts driven by bankers, no more nations torn apart by the same old lies. A true empire of reason, art, and spirit—one that does not conquer with the sword but with wisdom.
“Napoleon dreamed of it. Hitler twisted it. The EU fumbled it. But I built it, right here, in a room I was too tired to clean.”
He laughs at the irony. A man too weak to lift a book from the floor, yet strong enough to lift an entire civilization into being.
“The world thinks power comes from movement, from action, from clean desks and sharp suits. But they are wrong. True power, true empire, is born in the mind—sometimes in the most unlikely of places.”
He exhales, staring at the chaos around him, and smiles.
“And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the strength to clean this place up by tomorrow.”