America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

"What should we eat after we land? I heard the pizza in Scranton is delicious..."

On the plane, Sean had shifted his thoughts from grand themes to what to eat that day.

Of course, before that, he also had a general understanding of the land he was about to land on.

Pennsylvania has witnessed over fifty large-scale elections, strikes, and sporting feuds throughout its history. The rights and wrongs are difficult to discuss, but historians have noted that it is precisely on this stage, where the rust belt and swing states intertwine, that the success or failure of many presidential elections and the rise and fall of policies have been determined. Hence the saying, "Whoever wins Pennsylvania wins the White House."

This area is bordered by the industrial corridor of the Great Lakes to the north, the political heart of Washington to the south, the financial empire of New York to the east, and the agricultural heartland of Ohio to the west.

Steel, coal, and railways once converged here, creating millionaires and millions of poor people.

When the factory chimneys no longer emit smoke, and when the mine elevators rust and stop working, all that remains are generations of people searching for a way out of the ruins...

After an unknown amount of time, the flight that took off from Los Angeles finally landed at Scranton International Airport.

The moment the cabin door opened, Sean Penn finally felt the pulse of Pennsylvania. (Friends in Guangdong, please calm down.)

Meanwhile, the original owner's memories told him that he hadn't returned here for fifteen years. Unfortunately, his return this time wasn't a triumphant homecoming, but rather a political show.

After conducting numerous security assessments, Mr. Ma's security team determined that he posed no further risk. However, California is, after all, a dangerous and treacherous place. Therefore, they suggested that he return to his hometown and contact them again if needed.

When he stepped out of the terminal, the scene before him stunned him.

The parking lot was packed with people.

They weren't journalists or security personnel, just ordinary Scranton residents.

They were dressed in heavy down jackets and work jackets, holding up all sorts of signs. Some read "Welcome Home," some "Sean, We Support You," and others simply said "Make the Bastards Pay."

Of course, there are also quite a few people who want him to pay back the money.

Among the crowd were elderly people with white hair, young mothers holding children, and teenagers wearing high school football uniforms.

When they saw Sean walk out, cheers erupted throughout the parking lot.

"Sean! Sean! Sean!"

Sean stood there, looking at these people.

His favorability rating system started jumping wildly, with numbers flashing across his vision.

【45】、【52】、【68】、【71】、【39】、【55】……

Most people's favorability rating is in the positive range; although it's not particularly high, it's at least not hostile.

A middle-aged man in worn-out overalls pushed his way to the front. "Sean, do you remember me? I'm Jimmy O'Brien, your dad's old coworker at the steel mill. I even held you when you were little."

Sean looked at him; the system showed his favorability rating as [58].

Yes, there is indeed a trace of this person in the original owner's memories. He was an uncle who always smelled of beer and liked to tell corny jokes.

"Uncle Jimmy," Sean nodded, "I remember you. You used to say that when I grew up, you would take me to see a Steelers game."

"Damn, you still remember?" Jimmy's eyes reddened. "After the steel mill closed, I never watched a Steelers game again. The tickets were too expensive, and it wasn't interesting. Those players made more money in a year than I did in a lifetime. They don't understand our lives."

"But you're different, Sean. You came from here. I saw your live stream; you haven't forgotten us. You know what kind of life we've been living."

"Yes, I haven't forgotten everyone." Sean shook his hand. "I'm back."

An even louder cheer erupted from the crowd.

A young woman squeezed through the crowd, carrying a little girl who looked about three or four years old. The little girl held a crumpled photograph in her hand; it was a still from Sean's film "Our Town."

"Mr. Sean," the woman's voice trembled with tears, "my name is Sarah, and this is my daughter Emma. My husband died at work last year, and his company only gave us $20,000 in compensation. I'm raising my child alone, I can't find a job, and the bank is about to foreclose on our house."

"I watched your speech, and what you said... I think you really understand us."

Her favorability rating is [72].

The little girl Emma looked up and asked in her childish voice, "Uncle, are you really going to be president?"

"Uncle? Am I that old? You rude brat," Sean thought to himself with a wry smile.

But he showed no displeasure on his face. After the little girl asked him a question, he immediately squatted down and looked her in the eye.

"I'll try, Emma. But whether I become president or not, I'll do everything I can to give you and Mom a good life."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

The little girl smiled, and her favorability rating jumped to [85].

Sean stood up and looked around.

These people, these people abandoned by the times, placed their hopes on him.

"Gentlemen," Sean raised his voice, "I know many of you still have doubts about me. You might be thinking, is this guy lying again? Is he just using us to clear his name?"

The crowd quieted down.

"I won't lie to you and say I'm a good person. I'm not. I've done many wrong things and hurt many people. But I'm standing here today not to ask for your forgiveness."

"I stand here because I owe you an explanation. Not as a celebrity, but simply as someone who came from this land."

"My father worked in a steel mill for twenty years and died in a car accident. My mother worked as a cashier in a supermarket, standing for twelve hours a day, and also died in the same car accident. As for me, I was sent to a foster family and then taken away by Hollywood."

"I thought I could have a better life if I left here. I was wrong. Hollywood is just another cannibalistic place, only the people there wear more respectable clothes and tell more beautiful lies."

"Now, I'm back. I finally understand that I'm going to start from here and walk step by step toward the White House. Not for myself, but for you, for all those who have been abandoned by this system."

And just like that, the crowd erupted in cheers once again.

"Sean! Sean! Sean!"

Sean looked at these people and knew this was just the beginning.

To protect your life and fortune, and to strive for greater heights, a good start is not enough.

He needs funding, a team, and a viable campaign strategy.

But I'm sorry, he doesn't have any of those things now.

……

That evening, Sean checked into a budget motel in downtown Scranton.

Musk's team offered him better accommodation, but he refused. He needed people to see that he lived in the same dilapidated places and ate the same cheap food as them.

He lay in bed, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, pondering his next plan.

Tomorrow, he plans to hold his first official campaign rally at Scranton’s City Hall Square and begin recruiting his campaign team.

He believed that his excellent information-searching skills and his ability to boast would be enough to fool a few naive young people.

However, he currently has no source of funds, so he either pins his hopes on Boss Ma or on small donations. As for his debts...

Damn it, who said you have to pay back money you owe!

Everything will be alright once he becomes president.

In short, his immediate priority is to prepare a speech...

Just then, his phone rang.

Sean picked up his phone; the screen displayed an unfamiliar number.

"Feed?"

"Mr. Sean Penn?" A woman's voice came from the other end of the phone. She sounded young, but her tone was very formal. "I'm the assistant to Philadelphia City Council Member Kathleen Donovan. Council Member Donovan would like to invite you to Philadelphia tomorrow to attend a public forum on workers' rights."

Sean frowned.

Catherine Donovan? Who is she?

Before he could even react, the other person launched into a long-winded explanation of the person, and Sean quickly learned about him:

Miss Catherine is the youngest member of the Philadelphia City Council and a leading figure in the progressive wing of the Democratic Party. She has been pushing for legislation to raise the minimum wage and strengthen union protections, and enjoys considerable popularity among the working class.

But why did she invite him?

"Why does Representative Donovan want to see me?" Sean asked. "As far as I know, she's a Democrat."

"Associate Donovan said," the assistant's voice held a hint of amusement, "that she's very interested in the list you mentioned at the press conference. She thinks that if there really are people on that list whom she's been trying to take down, you might be able to work together."

"Furthermore," the assistant added, "there will be over three thousand union members attending tomorrow's forum. If you can speak there, it will greatly help your campaign. Philadelphia is the largest city in Pennsylvania, and if you can make a splash there, the whole of Pennsylvania will open its doors to you."

"Is that so..."

Sean fell silent.

This could be an opportunity, but it could also be a trap.

Donovan is a Democrat, and her invitation to Philadelphia could be a genuine desire for cooperation, or it could be an attempt to publicly humiliate him and boost her own reputation.

But he couldn't refuse under any circumstances.

Philadelphia is too important.

That's where the American Declaration of Independence was signed, the city where the Liberty Bell is located, and one of the largest cities in Pennsylvania.

If he wants to win Pennsylvania, he must first win Philadelphia. Although Philadelphia doesn't represent all Rust Belt cities, nor is it the state capital.

"Okay, I'll go." Sean made his decision. "What time tomorrow, and where?"

"Tomorrow at 2 PM, Philadelphia Convention Center. Congressman Donovan will send someone to pick you up."

“No need, I’ll go myself,” Sean said. “Tell Congressman Donovan I look forward to meeting her.”

After hanging up the phone, Sean sat up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the night view of Scranton was desolate.

There were almost no pedestrians on the street, only a few dim streetlights swaying in the cold wind. He could imagine that in the far distance, the abandoned factory stood in the boundless darkness, like huge skeletons.

Sean took the bullet out of his pocket and examined it under the light.

"Philadelphia," Sean said softly, "the place where the Declaration of Independence was born."

"It seems I have to leave Scranton, leave my hometown. Perhaps it's time to write a new manifesto."