Demoralisation was the first step of the Agitprop (Agitation and Propaganda) program originally employed by the Soviet Union. Its goal was, fundamentally, to program a generation of people to react positively to notions such as socialism and never get taught about the upsides of capitalist or western values. Utilizing the more forgiving nature of these western states, these ‘ideologically contaminated’ people would then spread upwards through the institutions and subvert it from the inside. From the start of education to the demoralised person hitting the ‘useful’ age, it took twenty years.

It was a strategy by which the Soviet Union had wanted to take over the United States without engaging in hot warfare. Arguably, its effects could still be felt to this day. Not that the USA hadn’t used its own dirty propaganda tricks in its time. The woes and ideological battles of the mundane world were, however, not why John was thinking about Agitprop at the moment.

‘I need to keep the spirits high,’ he thought. Demoralisation was traditionally a guided effort, but there was no reason why stress or hopelessness couldn’t create a particularly nihilistic outlook on the world which then propagated itself in society through continued pressure. In a way, the threat of the Lorylim was just as bad as the Lorylim themselves. People got crazy when they thought there was something coming for them.

This natural demoralisation wouldn’t stick for twenty years, but it could wreak havoc within society regardless. The good news was that, if things got too bad, humanity had a tendency of bouncing back through humour. When the black death had ravaged across Europe, the humorous depictions of death skyrocketed in the common art. Times got tough and people got tougher.

Those people that survived.

Which was why John was thinking about ways to invert the Agitprop ideas. He had to moralize his people and accelerate the building of a common identity. That way, he would hopefully be able to resist any collapse of society.

Fusion was a house of cards he had glued together. People in Florida had incredibly little in common with those in Little Maryland and both were incredibly civilized compared to the downright terroristic competition culture the Small Lake Pact had before John reformed them. It would take more than a couple of months to get over those differences.

With the looming Lorylim making everyone uneasy, it would only take a few unlucky gusts of wind to make the entire thing collapse. It didn’t even have to be the Lorylim themselves that attacked. Internal issues, natural catastrophes or a third-party invading all could make the mood boil over and cause Fusion to tear itself apart from the inside. Large powers rarely fell because of one issue alone.

As much as the Lorylim and associated dangers threatened to unravel the precariously arranged fabric of the Federation, it was also an opportunity. Standing up against an outside threat was the quickest way for any central authority to gain the trust of the people it lorded over. Failure was the death of Fusion, victory a leap towards consolidation. Rome had been forged by the veterans of the wars against Carthage. If confrontation was inevitable, then John had to arrange it so the old house of cards wouldn’t collapse but merely fall into a new order.

‘The four steps of Agitprop are demoralisation, destabilization, crisis and normalization,’ John thought. ‘The opposite of that would be moralisation, stabilization, resistance and normalization. The final step has to be the same, I don’t want to be stuck in a perpetual state of preparing for a new evil. That’s how I end up leading a military dictatorship.’

Moralisation had to highlight the advantages of Fusion. It wasn’t even necessary that the things he said were true, but because John respected his media adversaries and he had principles, he would stick to what was reality. “I guess I need to increase my media presence.”

“Funny that you say that,” Scarlett said, approaching the couch with a cup of iced coffee in hand. John was lying on his back, watching a movie on the flatscreen. That was until Scarlett moved her naked body into the armchair next to him. From that point onwards, he was captured by her pink lips.

He had returned from law drafting about an hour ago. They had come to a conclusion on the act and the final version would be sent to him via email over the course of the evening. He was as happy with it as he could be with a liberty impeding defence act. Since then, he had showered, gotten into an orgy, and been left behind by the rest of his harem who were now showering themselves. They were having lesbian fun in there, John could hear it, but he had been barred from entry by his girlfriend. Ladies time, she had called it.

Scarlett was the only one around because she had come in about five minutes ago from her own work. If John had still been busy with his girls, the chances that he would have in-depth thoughts about propaganda tactics rather than the perfection of their butts were rather low.

“Two questions,” John said. “Since when do you drink iced coffee?”

“Since I’m naked most of the time and don’t feel like scorching my skin off,” Scarlett responded.

“Alright, and what’s funny?”

“I was just having the same thought. You should go out there and put out all of your dirty laundry within the next week,” the technomancer told him. “My true identity, what your scar is, everything.”

“I was thinking more that I should espouse all of the good things about Fusion.” John raised an eyebrow and sat upright to have the conversation eye to eye. “Inverting the demoralisation that could come from the Lorylim threat.”

Scarlett mockingly blew air out of her nose. “Of course, you’d immediately lose yourself in the complicated long term. John, the current tense mood is an opportunity to depress everyone to the lowest point. As Machiavelli described, it’s best to get all cruelties done in one fell swoop and then distribute all of your benevolent actions across time.” She placed both feet on the table. “To put it in my jargon, a business that makes a moderate deficit every third year is less attractive than one that goes bankrupt every fifty. Dealing with repeated interruptions is poison to patience.”

“So, you suggest we drown them in bad news and then bombard them with everything that’s good?” John asked.

“Exactly,” Scarlett responded, placing her feet on the low table. “As long as day to day things keep going normally, the outrage or annoyance will fade. Then we just continue as normal. You transition from the revelations to pointing out the advantages and get moralisation shit done. It will only look better after a week of awful news.”

“It’s a bit risky,” John rubbed his chin, “we might create too much bad news all at once and undermine trust in the system.”

“Sure, but the alternative is that it comes out when we do not control the narrative,” Scarlett returned. “My identity is a timebomb we set up ourselves and I guarantee you that we just got a few dozen new journalists looking into how Lorylim work. One of them will stumble over how Lorylim scars look on elementals and put two and two together while looking at some photos of you.”

“Right.” John could only agree with that.

With the whole Gestalt debacle over, there would doubtlessly be researchers motivated to look into all of the facets of the topic. Usually, Lorylim were a thing the normal person didn’t care about. Because the media ultimately sold a product, getting into information nobody cared about wasn’t in their interest. Very few people in England would care about a magazine describing volcanic activities, until one suddenly appeared in the middle of Wessex. Same was true for an eldritch horror that several generations of people didn’t encounter.

“Better to have a positively spun ‘confession’ now than a negatively spun scandal in the middle of a moral upswing.” He rubbed his forehead and went through the library of news networks. “I suppose I should break this in a neutral network. If I go somewhere with softball questions, that’ll just make me look worse.” He sighed. “I wished I could go to SSSN or CPDI with this. That would at least be fun.”

“You can after the initial reports,” Scarlett suggested. “As you say, you should up your media presence. Remind people who you are, ‘Master’, and don’t let the scandal be what defines your public image. Acknowledge it, keep the story from being spun away from the narrative by reiterating the points in interviews, and we should be golden.” She emptied her cup. “You better fucking do this right; political instability is bad for business.”

“I don’t have 250 Charisma to fail at some interviews,” John joked. “That aside, we don’t have any overly dirty laundry. The perks of leading an honest life.”

“You should write a biography we can emergency publish at some point,” Scarlett suggested and then a loud sound dominated the room.

John was confused about the pre-recorded, church-bell like sound for a moment. It came from the speakers of the television and repeated two more times, as per the program, before ebbing away. Once he realized what it was, he got up. “That must be the first time the doorbell is more than decoration,” he thought out loud and opened the Guild Hall menu.

A screen opened in front of him, showing the person that had just rung the doorbell. A woman with straight, black hair, wearing a business outfit with a pencil skirt, looked, slightly taken aback, at the screen that opened in front of her. Because the Palace was part of the Guild Hall, certain game themed oddities were to be expected. John had adjusted the settings so she only saw a series of volume bars, while he could observe all of her.

“Hello, John Newman here,” the Gamer greeted in a friendly tone. “May I ask who you are and what brings you to one of my front doors?”

“I’m Karla Keens, reporter from the American Abyssal Weekly’s women magazine, interview and podcasting,” she introduced herself.

‘Usually, Aclysia’s reputation keeps the press from bothering me in my home…’ John thought, already opening his mouth for the instinctive answer. “I’m sorry, but if you want to talk to me, please reach out to me through the official channels.” While he wanted to increase his media presence, he didn’t want to encourage anyone to bother him in the privacy of his castle.

He was already moving to close the window, not really interested in hearing whatever justification she may have had for being an exception, when she said something unexpected. “With all due respect, Mister President, I’m not here to talk to you. I want to talk to your girlfriend, Jane Hollmey. She doesn’t have a publicly available contact.”

That was true and John furrowed his eyebrows. “Could you inform me what you want to discuss with her?”

“I’d be interested in writing an article about her. During the recent Gestalt situation, she was an impressive display representing you in parliament. We at the AAW believe our female audience would really appreciate hearing more about and from her. She is doing a lot of good for the Federation, after all.”

‘That could be interesting,’ John thought. ‘No reason why I have to do the moralisation alone and Jane does deserve some recognition…’ “Wait a moment, I’ll ask her if she is interested.” The reporter nodded and John closed the window. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this?”

Scarlett shook her head. “Just a convenient coincidence. Anyway, I’ll be listening through your phone. No need for me to get dressed.”

“Isn’t that convenient for you,” John hummed while he walked towards the shower room’s door. The moaning got louder and louder still when he opened the second door that separated the changing area from the actual bathing one. All of the girls were inside the jacuzzi, partly stacked on top of each other or underneath the surface. Scented candles were burning along the rim.

“Oy, Johnny, I told ya it’s ladies’ hour,” Rave complained, looking over her shoulder. Her tone and expression made it clear that she was serious about that. Even with all of the perverted stuff going on in the background, there were doubtlessly serious topics to be discussed. “Harem meetings are important for girls to get along when sharing a man, ya know?”

“I know, I know,” John assured her. “It’s just that there is a reporter at the door that would like to speak to you.”

“To me?” Rave’s expression shifted from mildly upset to confused.

“She says she is from a woman’s magazine and would like to write an article about you. If you don’t care, I can send her away or I can give her another time.”

“Hmm… ladies, ya fine if I check this out?” Rave asked and got universal agreement from everyone around. “Alright, Gnome, ya keep mediating, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.” The autumn elemental shook her fists in a self-motivating gesture.

John and Rave left the bathroom behind. “Can I ask what needs mediating?”

“Just Siena and Aclysia having a disagreement about where Siena leaves her chocolate treats. Siena is a tease, Aclysia is being strict, ya know how it goes.”

“I do indeed,” John agreed and didn’t ask further about the matter. Every so often, he was pulled into these conflicts and rarely did he feel bothered by it. It was part and parcel of being part of a social group this large and multi-facetted. The harem making up among themselves smoothened out a lot of his day, though, so he was infinitely thankful that he had a girlfriend to take charge of his social life. “Alright, I’ll go tell her we’re coming. You get dressed.”

“I’m already wearing my best suit,” Rave said and grabbed a towel from one of the many shelves in the changing area. She quickly dried herself. The white towel travelled up her hairless legs and curves, transformed her healthily tanned body from a glistening to a simple work of art. Her nicely shaped thighs, her absolutely perfect bubble butt, her athletic waist and her decently sized chest all got the necessary attention. Once her almost impossibly wild and beautiful, bubblegum pink hair was freed of the majority of moisture, she was ready.

John just smiled and shrugged. “As you say,” he said and opened the doorbell camera again. “We’ll be on our way. I’ve unlocked the door. Feel free to come in and then enter the second room to the left.” The ground level of the palace had a multitude of conference rooms and the one he had just pointed her at was good for a small gathering. He put on his suit.

“Not gonna commit to being naked with me?” Rave asked.

“I don’t want to send the wrong signals to the reporter,” he told her.

“Whatever suits ya.”

“This suit does suit me,” John joked while they walked through the living room.

Rave rolled her eyes and then looked over to the redhead in the armchair. In passing, she said, “Yo, Scarlett, swing your delicious bum into the ladies’ meeting. I wanna cuddle ya and talk about things.”

“Things and stuff don’t really interest me,” the technomancer returned, by now on the laptop that controlled the living room’s entertainment outlets. “You have fun without me.”

Rave stopped for a second. “Seriously, I want you to be part of it,” the Lightbearer spoke slowly. “You can leave if it gets too tiresome for you, just come talk to us about things for a bit. Girls got to help each other sort girl things out, right?”

After a couple of seconds still working on the computer, Scarlett sighed. “Alright, I guess I got ten fucking minutes,” she said and headed to the bath.

“Wouldn’t want to let her deal with the whole ‘I kinda wanna be pregnant’ situation on her own,” Rave explained to her boyfriend, who had figured out as much.

As much as he had his own, fairly strong, feelings on the matter, it was doubtlessly true that the nature between men and women in this situation were different. All the talks he had with them about those things were fulfilling in one way, those they had with their fellow haremettes in another. Their complicated web of relationships was its own house of cards. More resilient even than the Federation’s political system, that much John had no doubt about, but still reliant on everyone to stand strong in order to be fully functioning.

“I’m so happy I can share the mess of my life with you,” John confessed, leading the way out the apartment door.

Rave suddenly grabbed his arm and pressed a long, loving kiss on his cheek. “That might be my favourite way ya said ‘I love you’ so far,” she whispered into his ear. Stomach fluttering with happiness, he put an arm around her body.