Born into a poor family in the city's forgotten corners, Reggie Jefferson Davis, the nation's 65th president, was no stranger to hardship. At just ten years old, he became a product of his environment, drawn into the magnetic pull of the streets. He heeded that call with sharp instincts, running errands for a notorious drug lord who ruled the underbelly of the neighborhood. As time passed, his responsibilities grew more dangerous. He sold drugs on street corners under flickering streetlights, ran gambling dens in back-alley hideouts, managed brothels behind the guise of run-down storefronts, and extorted protection money from local business owners—his youthful face masking a mind far older and more ruthless than his years.

It wasn’t long before Reggie’s ambitions outgrew the shadow of the drug lord. A quiet fury built within him, and by his late teens, he orchestrated the perfect betrayal. The drug lord who had once been his mentor was now a corpse, cold and forgotten, while Reggie claimed his territory and empire. He carved out a kingdom in the county's criminal underworld, along with his three closest allies and childhood friends, who were as much brothers as they were partners in crime. Together, they ruled with an iron fist, their control unquestioned, their names whispered in fear.

But when World War III erupted, the streets they once commanded crumbled into chaos. The nation tore itself apart, and Reggie found himself at a crossroads. With the same fierce ambition that had driven him to power, he turned his sights toward a new battlefield. He and his loyal crew formed the heart of a ragtag militia, a group of guerrilla fighters carrying the weight of a second Revolutionary War. Their mission was not one of glory but of survival—a fight for a fractured nation's future, with Reggie at the helm, as relentless in war as he had been in crime.