Returning to Dominate The World With My Knowledge System
Chapter 93: Actions

Chapter 93: Chapter 93: Actions

The following days unfolded exactly how Tyler had envisioned but only more intense.

From the moment Silvanus gave the word, the streets of Gumua were no longer silent.

By sunrise the next morning, a tide of people poured out from homes, villages, towns, and cities.

Thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands as Protesters filled intersections, highways, public squares, government compounds, and embassies.

It wasn’t just youth. The old came out. Mothers, market women, disabled veterans, even schoolteachers joined in.

They all had one thing in common. It was rage and exhaustion.

They were tired. They were tired of empty promises. Tired of lights that never stayed on. Tired of roads that crumbled while ministers drove in foreign cars. Tired of seeing relatives die in hospitals with no doctors. Tired of watching politicians live like kings while the rest of them scraped by.

And this time, they weren’t shouting slogans given to them by some political figure. This time, the chant came from the streets themselves:

"WE ARE DONE."

It started soft. But by midday, it echoed across every district.

Tyler watched it all from his suite, the balcony doors wide open to the sound of marching, whistling, and drums echoing faintly from afar.

David stood beside him, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

"They’re actually doing it," David said.

"They’ve already done it," Tyler replied. "The government just hasn’t caught up yet."

...

Inside the presidential residence, panic bloomed like rot.

A full emergency meeting had been called, and for once, every cabinet member arrived on time. They weren’t late because of traffic but they were early because of fear.

The ministers sat in stiff silence around the oval table. The President stood by the tall window, staring out with bloodshot eyes.

"They’re trying to break us," he muttered.

"Sir, we don’t yet have confirmation who’s leading this," said the Communications Secretary. "No organization is claiming responsibility."

"Then find the bastards!" the President snapped.

The Defense Minister cleared his throat softly.

"With respect... I suggest we not use force this time."

Heads turned. Murmurs rose as no one expected him—the most ruthless man in the room—to suddenly be an advocate for restraint.

The President’s brows narrowed.

"What did you just say?"

"I said using the military might only escalate things beyond our control," he replied calmly.

"That’s what we did in 2018," the President barked. "It worked then."

"It also created martyrs and long-term resentment," the Defense Minister replied. "This time, the scale is different. They’re not afraid anymore."

"And what do you suggest we do? Invite them in for tea?"

No one laughed.

Only the Finance Minister seemed unsurprised. He leaned back, his face impassive, and said nothing.

The President raged on, pacing, ranting about foreign interference, about ungrateful citizens, about betrayal from within.

Finally, he banged the table.

"State of emergency," he declared. "Curfew. Total movement lockdown. Shut down the cities if you have to."

There were gasps, then silence.

"Make it happen by tonight."

...

That evening, national television aired the decree. The President’s face looked worn and tired, but his voice carried authority.

"Effective immediately, the Federal Republic of Gumua is under a state of emergency. All non-essential movement is banned. A curfew is in place nationwide, from 6 PM to 6 AM. All protests are deemed illegal. Anyone on the streets will be considered a threat to national security."

Tyler was already waiting for it.

"They made the mistake," he muttered.

Immediately after the declaration, the backlash came in waves.

The moment the curfew was announced, everything changed.

The chants turned into roars. The marching became stomping. The signs were thrown down and replaced with fists and sticks.

By nightfall, flames were rising from the outer districts of the capital. Protesters had surrounded the Ministry of Works and set fire to a nearby fleet of abandoned government vehicles.

In the east, the local council building in Maburi was taken over, its windows smashed and national flags replaced by white banners that read: "ENOUGH."

In the north, the youth stormed police checkpoints. And in the south, military convoys tasked with enforcing the curfew refused to engage—some even saluted the crowds before driving away.

The people weren’t just angry anymore. They were done being afraid.

...

On the international stage, the shock was instant.

Major networks broke into regular programming:

BBC WORLD: "Mass Protests Erupt in Gumua as Government Declares Emergency Powers."

AL JAZEERA: "Crackdown Imminent in West African Nation as Protesters Storm Government Facilities."

CNN INTERNATIONAL: "The Revolution Will Be Broadcast: Inside Gumua’s Collapse."

Foreign governments issued travel warnings. Embassies began emergency evacuations. The IMF suspended all scheduled meetings with the current regime.

On Twitter, the #GumuaUprising trended globally within five hours. Videos of elderly women waving bloodstained flags.

Drone shots of crowds stretching for miles. Footage of police officers being hugged by citizens who urged them to "stop protecting thieves."

International human rights organizations called for immediate monitoring. Celebrities began tweeting in support of the people. World leaders watched quietly, calculating their next steps.

Back in the Gumuan State House, the President watched it all unfold and he was losing it.

"Where’s the army?" he demanded.

"In place, sir," one of military chiefs said. "But morale is low. Orders are being questioned."

The President trembled with rage. "Then replace them! I don’t care how! Deploy! Now!"

But no one moved.

Everyone in the room had already seen the real power shift. And none of them wanted to go down with a sinking ship.

...

In the early hours of the next morning, Silvanus released a video.

It was simple. Grainy. Shot with a phone. He wore no uniform—just a plain white shirt.

"This is not a coup," he said.

"This is a correction."

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He spoke like a man who had waited ten years to breathe.

"The people have stood up. Not for me, not for any one leader—but for themselves. We will not burn the country. We will rebuild it. But first... the rot must be removed."

Then the screen faded to black.

...

By midday, protest numbers had doubled. Government buildings began emptying. Some officials had already fled the country. The presidential palace was under pressure from all sides.

David sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand.

"They’re cracking," he said.

"They’ve already cracked," Tyler replied. "All that’s left is the fall."

And as the capital trembled beneath the weight of the people’s footsteps, Tyler stood by the window.

He knew that he has achieved what he wanted. All that was left was for a private delegation team to visit the president and make him an offer.