barnes '27 campaign manager

The conference room was buzzing with nervous energy as the entire campaign staff waited for a phone call from Bucky’s Republican opponent, Robert Musgrave. Earlier that morning, Governor McCaffrey had finally set the election date: Tuesday, April 27th. With the end point clearly in sight now, it was time for everyone to kick it into gear, including scheduling a debate.

“When’s that phone call coming again?” you asked no one in particular.

“Josh said he’d call at 10:00.” Eileen looked at her watch and scoffed. It was 10:02. “I think it’s really great that Musgrave has managed to employ the world’s largest single-celled organism for so long.”

“Josh has run Musgrave’s last four campaigns,” you said to the interns. “Musgrave has yet to win, or improve his polling much.”

“I mean, that kind of sounds ideal, right?” Marie said, looking up from her laptop. “Every two years, stable employment, no expectation to win so you can kinda phone it in?” Laughter rippled around the conference table until Bucky’s phone rang, silencing the room.  

“This is Bucky Barnes.” You strained to listen to the other side of the call until Eileen gestured for him to put the phone on speaker.

“—and I’m looking forward to our debate.” You heard Robert Musgrave say debate singular. That was good. Based on the public speaking practice you did last week, you were rooting for one debate, early in the election cycle. Unless Bucky improved a lot (fingers crossed), you thought it was best to keep him to prepared remarks. 

“Yeah, me too. My team sent you some potential dates, right?”

“Yeah, let’s see here…. How about the week of February 7th? That way we can just get it out of the way.” You felt a sigh of relief as you listened to Musgrave’s gravelly voice. Robert Musgrave was an idiot, but he had a weird charisma about him and his classic New York accent lent him more authority than it ought to in the minds of voters. Bucky was looking at you to confirm, and you nodded.

“Yeah that works, how about… Thursday, the 11th?” Bucky said after taking the sticky note you had passed him. 

“OK. My team will be in contact with yours to settle the details. It was great talking, Sergeant Barnes. I look forward to meeting you.”

“Yeah me too.” He did not look like he meant it, even a little. 

“Why was that a phone call?” Bucky asked once the interns lost interest and went back to their screens. “Could have been an email.”

Biting back a smile, you answered, “Tradition, mostly. You’re supposed to be civil and stuff.”

“So if we’re debating on the 11th, and the town hall is on the 2nd, we’ll need to find a good time for a mock-debate.” Eileen was standing with her back towards the table, looking at the campaign flowchart. “Maybe that Sunday or Monday?”

“We’ll need to check the availability of everyone. Do we know any journalists?” You mused as you scrolled through your phone contacts.

“Why do we need a journalist at a mock debate?” Bucky asked. “I don’t think practice will be news-worthy.”

“Journalists and teachers are usually good moderators,” you answered, thinking of Hamer's mock debate last year moderated by Thembi Wallace. “Or they can take notes on things you did well, or not so good on. We’ll want someone else’s opinion on your ability to communicate the message.”

“Oh, got it. Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

“Holy shit,” Eileen said, startling you. She was staring at her phone, eyes wide. “Georgia, turn on NY1.” The interns jumped to life to get the projector on—Vijay closed the blinds and Ganke turned the speaker volume on, so it only took a few moments for you to understand why Eileen was so freaked out. 

A third party candidate was announcing their candidacy. 

“As someone who’s covered politics in this city, this country, I know things are in dire need of fixing. But we need leadership we can trust.” The young woman speaking perfectly had groomed curls and intense eye makeup. You thought you had seen her before, but you couldn’t quite place her.

“Who’s Daniela Donato?” you asked, reading her name from the news ticker. “That name sounds vaguely familiar. 

“She’s a podcaster,” Eileen said, already pulling up her Wikipedia page. “Runs in the same circles as Joe Rogan and the other libertarian-y, anti-establishment types do.” You took her phone and scrolled down her biography. 33 years old, native New Yorker, Brown educated. Worked on Capitol Hill with a relative before starting her show. An estimated 200k monthly listeners… over one million monthly downloads in October 2026… two million Twitter followers…

“The political system is broken. It needs a massive overhaul so it can truly reflect the needs of the people. I’m as grateful as the next person for Bucky Barnes' service, but Brooklynites deserve better than choosing between a washed-up broker and the Winter Soldier, which is why I’m running for Congress.” 

Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand. “What the actual fuck.”

When NY1 cut back to the analysts, you motioned for Ganke to mute the coverage and gathered your thoughts in the subsequent silence.

“Okay, so obviously this is big news,” you said, pressing a hand to your temple. “Our message is the same, but we’re going to have to pivot.” You looked over at the interns, who were staring at you and Bucky with wide eyes. “Could you guys please give us the room, and start working on making a profile on Donato.” They nodded, beginning to pack up  “Does anyone know how to do opposition research?”

Marie half-raised her hand. 

“Okay, I’d like you to start working on that please.”

Once the door closed behind Ganke, you looked around the room, trying to take stock. Eileen was typing furiously on her laptop while Bucky stared out the conference room window, hands folded in his lap. 

After a moment, he broke the silence. “You all seem really freaked out by this.” 

You tried and failed to come up with something not so pessimistic. “Well, it’s not great.” 

“You said she was a podcaster. Does that translate to votes?”

“Maybe,” Eileen said through gritted teeth, showing Donato’s profile, which had already been reset and was now full of glossy portraits and campaign slogans. “Their campaign socials already have more followers than we do.” Bucky looked between you and Eileen through a furrowed brow. 

“That matters?”

“Honestly, the data is still kinda undecided on that. It’s an important tool for getting your message out there, but it's not like having more followers guarantees winning the election,” you said, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. 

“Eileen?” 

“Right now, I’m concerned about how professional everything looks. Independents rarely win, but if they can outspend us it makes them a threat.”

“So what now?”

“We need to know more. How about we break for a bit, Eileen and I will research Donato’s spending power, the interns are making an introduction to her issues… it’d probably be best if you either studied up on Donato’s platform or your own.” 

As the three of you left the conference room to split off into your own offices, your phone pinged with a text from Adam Weiss.

Adam Weiss: Just sent you an email about Fisk’s comments re:Bucky’s nomination being undemocratic, and how he’s “looking forward to a lively debate”. We need to put out a statement about nominating Barnes ASAP. Need to iron out language. 

Next to you, Eileen had pulled up social media on her phone and began to read aloud, just loud enough for you to hear, “‘My election sent a clear message: New Yorkers are tired of vigilantes. To nominate the Winter Soldier without any discussion with Brooklynites is not only unreflective of what voters want, but undemocratic…’ God-fucking-damn it, they’re screwing us!”

“When you put on a mask and decide to carry out justice yourself, that’s not heroism, that’s narcissism. These so-called heroes are just a bunch of whiny babies who run around our city creating chaos, making messes, and running away when it’s time to clean up.”

“So yeah, we watched a bunch of her podcast episodes, and as you can tell, she basically talks about every vigilante like they’re the Punisher,” Ganke said, swiping through some screenshots on the iPad he was holding. “Daniela Donato DESTROYS Spider-Man,” “Daniela Donato calls out masked MENACE Ms. Marvel,” “Hell’s Kitchen EXORCISM: Celebrating one year of a Daredevil-free city,” all of her video thumbnails used the Youtube clickbait font and had a weird, uncanny, AI quality to them, as if she were generating photos of herself. 

“She also hates the poor,” Georgia said as Ganke passed her the iPad. She pulled up a video of Donato from two months ago, she was wearing a very nice pink blazer and her hair had been freshly blown out. She may have horrible views, but she kept her stylist employed, you noted.

“I don’t think my tax dollars should pay for people getting ice cream and cupcakes. If you’re spending money on junk food, you don’t need the government’s help! Actions have consequences. Personal responsibility isn’t oppression—it’s adulthood”

“Yeah, just kind of a really myopic way to look at the world. She doesn’t think the government should help people, she doesn’t really like immigrants.” Georgia continued.

“Shocker,” Eileen murmured beside you.

The screen then changed to an article she had written for the Wall Street Journal in 2024 in support of the Patch Act, which would have deported all the migrants who came to the US during the Blip. The sub-heading read: “The Blip was a tragedy, but Americans shouldn’t have to sacrifice safety in the name of compassion. America can’t house the world’s problems, she needs to focus on our people first.” No longer able to restrain yourself, you sighed in utter contempt.

When you had Returned three years ago in Taiwan, you had woken up with literally nothing. All of your belongings were gone: no wallet, no phone, no passport. Even if you had the money to fly home (you didn’t, your bank account had been closed), without any documents, you were unable to enter the US. The government took months to verify your identity and reactivate your citizenship. During the first two weeks after the Snap, Eileen and you had to stay in a refugee camp until Eileen managed to get into contact with an uncle of hers. Eileen and you shared a twin-sized bed in his apartment for months until both of you were approved to return to the US. 

And you were one of the lucky ones. You had somewhere to sleep every night and could speak the local language, so finding work was easier. Uncle Kevin worked in shipping, so he was able to make sure the house had dinner every day, even if it was sweet potato congee. When you weren’t working, you would try to go to the resettlement camps to help out—there were plenty of people who were travelling during the Blip and foreign migrants who came for work opportunities after the Snap who didn’t speak Mandarin, so the camps always needed translators. Illness was rampant. Medical supplies were scarce. Countries became isolationist and trade dried up. Supply chains were fucked because four billion people suddenly reappeared, and there wasn’t enough food for everyone. 

Next to you, Eileen had tensed, jaw set. The aftermath of the Blip was still a sore spot for both of you—you both were still banned from a few downtown bars for getting into rowdy, expletive-filled arguments with other patrons about the Patch Act. Across the table, Bucky was watching the presentation with an intense focus, sometimes leaning forward to jot some notes on a sheet of paper. It occurred to you, not for the first time, that Bucky had been involved with the Patch Act. Sort of. He stopped the people who wanted to stop the ratification of the Patch Act. Eventually, Captain America had gotten the Global Repatriation Council to change their minds on the issue, but it was all kind of nebulous. You filed the thought away alongside all of the other burning questions you had about Bucky’s life before you had met. 

“This country used to reward hard work. Now we reward victimhood. And I’m just asking:  when did earning your place become too much to ask for?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” Vijay said, taking back the iPad and pulling up her campaign website. Even the website looked expensive, with sleek typography, a responsive design, and professional-grade branding. “Her website doesn’t have a ton about her platform yet, so we had to watch her show. And also, we didn’t know where else to mention it, but she doesn’t even live in Brooklyn! She owns an apartment in Tribeca.”

“Is that allowed?” Bucky asked, looking over at you and Eileen. “I thought you had to live in your district.” 

“No, just the state you represent. But we can use this—since you do live in NY-8, maybe we can convince the voters you are more relatable,” EIleen said. “Speaking of relatability, we are going to need to lean into that hard.”

‘How? I don’t think I’m particularly relatable,” Bucky said, looking towards his left arm. 

“We will have to figure it out. We’re already outspent. The Donato campaign is registered with the FEC and has raised more money than we have. She’s also working with podcaster money and generational wealth.”

“It’s a matter of honing our original strategy, using the funds we do have to get out the vote for our likely supporters. Spending all our money on advertising. Public appearances when we can’t afford advertising.” You said, looking back at the screen as Vijay was clicking through the Donato campaign’s photos. Donato at a speaking engagement, Donato with Peter Thiel, Donato with Mayor Fisk—

“Wait a second, Vijay,” you said abruptly, as soon as you thought you saw someone you recognized. In the back of the photo, off to the side from where Donato and Fisk were shaking hands, you saw the face that had haunted your work-related nightmares for the past few months: a tall blonde woman with a tan and bright red lipstick who had a propensity for shouting at her staff. It was Kate Stewart, the woman who thanklessly ran Francesca Hamer’s last campaign. 

Eileen caught it at the same time you did. “Oh my god, she got Stewart!”

“Looks like she finally got the promotion she wanted,” you mused. “I just can’t believe she quit the party to go work for Daniela Donato.”

“I always thought she was just normal evil,” Eileen said with a wry smile. “Not libertarian evil.”

“You guys used to work for her?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, she’s kinda—” You said ‘terrifying’ at the same time as Eileen said ‘awesome.’

“She’s very talented and likes to win, so she wouldn’t have taken a job with Donato if she thought the odds were impossible,” Eileen said. 

Eileen was right, of course. And Stewart likely had all the resources and insider knowledge she would need to do it. Hell, she probably still had access to the canvassing maps you had made and volunteer lists.

“So this is the real opponent,” Bucky said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Daniela Donato and her team. Sounds like we better get our shit together.”

“Yes, boss!” Ganke said from the other end of the table.  

“Good energy, Ganke,” you said, closing your laptop to stand. “Let’s start with what we got. Marie, please keep working on the oppo research, Vijay, Ganke, I need you guys to reach out to our volunteer network and get people to commit to canvassing. Georgia, reach out to Michel and see if you can coordinate a time for some more professional pictures to be taken. And Eileen—”

“Call advertising.”

“You got it,” you said, clapping her on the shoulder. “The Donato campaign will be moving fast. We need to be faster.” You turned to Bucky, who was stretching his shoulder, metal fingers catching the light. When he became aware of your eyes on him, he dropped his arms.

“Guess I should start trying to be relatable.”

“Good instinct. Do you know how to do that?”

“Not a clue.” 

“We’ll work on it."

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Now things are finally getting interesting!! Bonus points to whoever can guess which political figures I am (barely) satirizing lmao

Thanks for reading, as always!