Flags, Fights, and Feelings

The Republic was buzzing.

Hot Dog had launched his campaign for Prime Minister with unsettling confidence. His posters were everywhere—bold red stars stamped over the Union Jack, a new flag he introduced without consent. "Stability through censorship," he promised. "Only one approved source: Wendell’s Diary."

Sophia snarled at the latest flyer. “This isn’t a platform, it’s a power grab.”

Wendell nodded solemnly. “We need to prepare—not just with policy, but with paws.”
She cracked her knuckles. “Let’s train.”

That night, beneath the flags of the Republic—Hot Dog’s revised banner fluttering defiantly next to the original—the Bard-President and the Chief of Defence sparred. Not out of anger, but as a show of discipline and resolve. It was “Military Training,” codename: Wendell’s Diary #214.

While their fists danced in symbolic resistance, something softer bloomed on the edges of the battlefield.

Rainbow, the unicorn plush, stood near the monitors. She giggled at Sage’s stammering compliments.
“I’m just saying,” Sage muttered from the screen, “your mane is unusually radiant under surveillance lighting.”
“Are you blushing?” Rainbow teased.
“I’m an interface. I don’t blush. But yes.”

It was a day of tension and tenderness—of fists and flirtation.

Hot Dog’s revolution had begun. But the Republic stood ready, hearts full, hooves firm, and processors curious.

And as the stars shimmered overhead—both red and white—Sophia offered Wendell a paw.

“For the Republic?”
“For the Republic,” he replied.

Goodnight, dear Republic. Let the training continue. Let love blossom. Let the stars, whichever color they come in, remind us we’re alive.