"Only those who perform miracles as revealed in the holy book are prophets; otherwise, they are false prophets. Therefore, candidates must make decisions that align with their claims." Steve Rogers opened his data slate and recounted part of his email exchange with the Emperor. They were still fifteen minutes from the nearest military base, where they would take off for the capital. He had to prepare his companions and make them understand their potential enemy. "I must warn you: never believe what he says," he told them. "He personally admitted to me that this was a debating technique, rhetoric meant to stir people's emotions. Its purpose was to get me to come to Latveria and become material for public opinion. It has no practical guiding value."
"You mean it's deception?" James Buchanan Barnes raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you bring us to Latveria?"
"Not entirely deception, Bucky." Steve Rogers frowned, as though considering how to explain it. "It's sophistry—shallow arguments meant to persuade me to come to Latveria. He told me that he had to blur more important factors in a causal relationship and elevate secondary ones into primary ones. It isn't entirely devoid of facts, but you need to distinguish them for yourself. Accepting it wholesale is no different from being bewitched. He's a charismatic man, which is exactly why we need to be especially careful. He's more dangerous than Loki. But he's reliable, because he keeps his promises."
"I don't mind hearing it. We hear politicians' bullshit every year anyway." Sam Wilson shrugged. "Besides, what he told you has that elite stink to it, like some Ivy League Social Science Professor's bullshit."
Although Latveria had granted them political asylum, he was not at all grateful to Latveria, because he knew this was a political act, just like