The Monongahela River was unusually turbulent today, a thin sheen of oil floating on its grayish-black surface.

In the distance, massive gantry cranes were hoisting one container after another onto barges.

At three in the afternoon, the sun was hidden by a thick blanket of clouds, casting the sky in a lead-gray hue.

Over a thousand workers had gathered here.

They came from Erie, from Scranton, from Johnstown, from Pittsburgh.

They wore oil-stained work clothes and hard hats of various colors, clutching wrenches, blueprints, or sandwiches they had just picked up from the cafeteria.

They had once belonged to different camps.

Republicans, Democrats, and independents. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

But today, they stood united under a single banner.

It was a flag never before seen in Pennsylvania, or even in the annals of American political history.

The flag’s background was a steel-gray.

In the center was a stark, black wrench.

It was the worker’s tool, the builder’s weapon, and the sole totem of this new alliance.

Leo Wallace stood in the center of a makeshift steel-frame stage.

He wore a white work shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar open.

To his left stood John Murphy.

The Congressman, who was preparing to run for the Senate, had also shed his expensive Washington attire for a simple, ordinary jacket.

Behind them, standing in a neat row, were seven mayors from the cities of the Industrial Revival Alliance.

Leo walked to the microphone.

Today was the day he would officially announce the formation of their new caucus.

To outsiders, this might just look like a shift in political alignment.

The Republican Party would see them as a pack of faithless traitors.

The Democratic Party would dismiss it as just another common party-switching gambit.

But only Leo knew—and only the Roosevelt in his mind knew—this was no simple changing of sides.

Leo’s heart raced. He struggled to even his breathing.

He knew every word he was about to utter would be a spark to ignite the fires of change.

Leo began to speak slowly, his voice booming through the massive sound system, drowning out the steam whistles from across the river.

"Look at your feet."

Leo’s first words silenced the restless crowd.

"It’s mud, gravel, and concrete that’s still wet."

"Now look above your heads."

Leo pointed to the dim, gray sky.

"It’s soot, exhaust fumes, the very air this city breathes."

"Under this sky, on this construction site, are you cold?"

No one in the crowd answered. There was only the sound of the wind.

"I’m cold."

Leo said, his voice candid.

"I know you’re cold, too. I know many of you haven’t paid your electric bills. I know many of you are worried about next month’s rent."

"But hundreds of miles away in Washington, in that big building with the white dome, the powerful people tell us we shouldn’t be worried about being cold or hungry."

"They tell us we should be worried about colors."

"They’ve slapped labels on you."

"You’re a red Republican. You’re a blue Democrat."

"They tell the red ones that your enemies are the blue environmentalist lunatics. They tell the blue ones that your enemies are the red gun-toting savages."

"They make you hate each other, tear each other apart."

"But I want to ask you something."

Leo’s voice boomed, suddenly louder.

"When the winter wind blows through your drafty windows, does that label keep you warm?"

"When your children cry from hunger, does that label turn into bread?"

"When the factory gates are chained shut, does that label help you break the lock?"

"No!"

A voice shouted from the crowd.

"That’s right, it can’t!"

Leo called back.

"It’s just a game."

"A phony game played by the elites high above us to mock us, to divide us, and to make us forget who our real enemy is!"

"They argue in their high-rises in Washington. They debate ideologies, values, and all those lofty principles written on paper."

"To them, partisan fighting is essential. It’s a war for the soul of the nation, a grand debate on the country’s direction."

"But that is a rich man’s privilege."

"When you’re sitting in an office with central air, without a care about next month’s rent, of course you have the luxury of worrying about abstract concepts. Of course you can treat politics like an accessory to show off your moral superiority."

"It’s a luxury."

"A luxury that people like us, struggling right here, can’t afford."

Leo’s voice dropped, each word landing like a blow to the chest of everyone present.

"Look at us."

"Look at this rusted land."

"We don’t have the right to debate ideologies. We don’t have the time to care about the decorum of the powerful."

"For every single person standing here today, for every family worried about putting food on the table tomorrow..."

"We believe in only one truth."

"Survival."

"Survival is the only necessity!"

Leo paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of those from Erie and Scranton.

He could see their lingering doubts, their fear of betrayal.

"I know some of you standing here today are conflicted."

Leo looked toward Ron Smith.