About me, Mamdani, Trump, and Madara Uchiha all meeting in NYC. I provided the conflict, characters, and told it to use my voice and to make everyone’s actions consistent with their patterned behavior. I enjoyed the output immensely.
PART I — TIFU BY DEFENDING NEW YORK CITY FROM MADARA UCHIHA WHILE DONALD TRUMP WAS GIVING A SPEECH ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING
Or: How I Met Mayor Mamdani, Saved the Free World, and Still Got Charged $3.50 for a Chocolate Milk.
So this happened on Thursday.
For context, I’m a 40-year-old former federal agent, current bank employee, recreational marathon runner, and the sort of person who has spent an unreasonable amount of time contemplating whether I could lift the legendary Staff of Benkei.
I mention these qualifications because they are relevant to the story, although not in the way I would have preferred.
I was in Manhattan because I had a meeting that could have been an email, which is something I believe humanity should consider a crime against civilization.
Donald Trump was also in Manhattan, speaking at the United Nations about global warming.
Now, I’m not going to get into politics here. I will say that I was curious what Donald Trump had to say about global warming because it struck me as a little like inviting a raccoon to deliver a keynote address about municipal waste management.
He might actually know something about the subject, but I suspect we’re approaching it from different angles.
Anyway.
I’m walking down 42nd Street when the sky turns red.
Not sunset red.
Not Canadian wildfire red.
Red like someone had opened the settings menu for the universe and turned the saturation all the way up.
And then this fucking guy appears.
MADARA UCHIHA — APPROXIMATELY 12:47 PM
For anyone unfamiliar with Naruto, Madara Uchiha is basically what would happen if Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, and a particularly angry anime convention attendee were compressed into one human being and given the ability to drop meteors on cities.
He also has very long hair.
I want to emphasize the hair because it was the first thing I noticed.
This man was standing in the middle of Midtown Manhattan with approximately four feet of immaculate black hair, and there was not a single strand out of place.
I had been outside for eleven minutes and already looked like a wet golden retriever.
Madara looked around.
Thousands of New Yorkers stopped to stare.
A yellow cab honked at him.
“MOVE, ASSHOLE!”
Madara turned his head.
The cab exploded.
Well, technically, it was lifted approximately forty feet into the air, rotated several times, and deposited upside down on the roof of a Duane Reade.
The driver crawled out.
“YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?”
Madara smiled.
I recognized the expression immediately.
This was a man who had found an entire civilization of people who had absolutely no idea how badly they were about to lose.
Then he spoke.
“Such arrogance. Such noise. This world has forgotten the meaning of peace.”
Which, to be fair, is a reasonable assessment of 42nd Street.
He announced that he had come to free humanity from suffering through the Infinite Tsukuyomi, an illusion that would place every person on Earth into an eternal dream.
His plan was to use a Mangekyō Sharingan genjutsu to hijack the live United Nations broadcast, synchronize it with a chakra-powered reflection in the sky, and ultimately activate the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
Now, Naruto fans will recognize that this isn’t quite how the Infinite Tsukuyomi traditionally works.
But Madara had apparently spent the last six months researching modern telecommunications, and I think we can agree that giving an immortal ninja warlord access to fiber-optic infrastructure was an oversight on humanity’s part.
I called 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s an anime villain on 42nd Street.”
“Sir, is he threatening anyone?”
“He just threw a taxi onto a pharmacy.”
“Is anyone injured?”
“Not the driver, apparently.”
“Can you describe the suspect?”
“Six feet tall, red armor, extremely luxurious hair, and I believe he’s responsible for several historical atrocities in another dimension.”
There was a pause.
“Sir, have you taken any substances today?”
This was an extremely inconvenient question.
- THE MAYOR
I encountered Mayor Zohran Mamdani approximately seven minutes later.
He was standing outside a subway entrance surrounded by aides, police officers, and several people recording TikToks.
Unlike everyone else, he seemed remarkably composed.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Well, Mayor, we have a problem.”
He looked at the burning taxi.
“Yes, I can see that.”
“No, I mean a considerably larger problem.”
I explained the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
Mamdani listened carefully.
This impressed me because I have previously tried explaining Naruto lore to adults, and the experience is comparable to trying to sell someone a timeshare in a swamp.
“So his intention,” Mamdani said, “is to impose a collective fantasy upon the entire population without their consent?”
“Correct.”
“And everyone would experience what they most desire?”
“Yes.”
He considered this.
“That sounds like a profoundly authoritarian approach to universal happiness.”
“That’s actually a pretty good summary.”
“Does it address housing affordability?”
“No.”
“Then I’m against it.”
We shook hands.
And just like that, New York City had a resistance movement.
Unfortunately, the resistance consisted of a socialist mayor, a middle-aged banker who could run approximately nine-minute miles on a good day, and a police officer who kept asking whether either of us had a gun.
We did not.
Madara, meanwhile, had begun walking toward the United Nations.
I suggested we evacuate the area.
Mamdani agreed, but pointed out that there were approximately eight million people in New York City and our evacuation infrastructure was not designed for supernatural military invasions.
“Could we use the subway?” I asked.
“The trains are running.”
“Really?”
“Mostly.”
This was the first indication that things might work out.
- THE PRESIDENT
At the United Nations, President Trump was midway through his speech.
“Nobody knows more about climate than I do. Nobody. And they tell me, sir, you understand the weather better than anybody. Beautiful weather. We used to have tremendous weather.”
An aide approached and whispered something.
Trump stopped.
“Apparently there’s a ninja outside.”
The room became silent.
“A ninja. From Japan, they tell me. Very strong. Tremendous hair. I know a lot of people in Japan. They love me there.”
Madara appeared on the broadcast monitors.
He was standing atop the Secretariat Building, looking down at the city.
“People of this world. Your struggles are meaningless. Your ambitions are illusions. I offer you a world without pain.”
Trump stared at the monitor.
“Who is this guy?”
Madara continued.
“All nations will submit to my will.”
Trump narrowed his eyes.
“He’s not taking questions?”
A security official tried to move the president away from the podium.
Trump refused.
“No, no. I want to talk to him.”
This was not the response anyone had anticipated.
“Madara, if you’re listening, I think we can make a deal. A very good deal. You want the world? That’s a big ask. Very big. But we can talk.”
Madara turned toward the camera.
“I have no interest in your negotiations.”
Trump looked offended.
“Well, that’s not a very good attitude.”
And then something happened that I think history will struggle to explain.
Donald Trump challenged Madara Uchiha to a debate.
- MY EXTREMELY BAD PLAN
By this point, Mamdani and I had reached the UN complex through a service entrance.
We had learned three important things.
First, Madara was using the broadcast infrastructure to amplify his genjutsu.
Second, the technique required an uninterrupted period of synchronization.
Third, Madara was unbelievably powerful.
I had seen him defeat approximately sixty National Guardsmen without moving his feet.
One man fired a rocket launcher at him.
Madara caught the rocket.
He looked at it.
Then he handed it back.
I did not enjoy this.
“We need to disrupt the broadcast,” Mamdani said.
“Agreed.”
“Can you access the transmission equipment?”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“Well, I used to be a federal agent.”
He looked relieved.
“Excellent.”
“And now I work in operational risk.”
He looked less relieved.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m professionally qualified to explain why everything we’re about to do is a terrible idea.”
We found a technical operations room.
Inside were six terrified engineers and a man eating a sandwich.
I explained the situation.
One engineer told me that the broadcast was being routed through multiple redundant systems.
“Can you shut them down?”
“Yes, but the signal keeps reappearing.”
“Why?”
“There’s a giant purple man made of energy standing on the roof.”
Ah.
Susanoo.
Of course.
Madara had deployed his Perfect Susanoo, a colossal armored manifestation capable of destroying mountains.
And he was using it as a broadcast antenna.
I stared at the monitor.
“Well, that’s fucking inconvenient.”
Mamdani leaned forward.
“Could we interrupt the transmission locally?”
“Maybe,” the engineer said. “But he’d just restore it.”
I considered this.
Madara was an immensely powerful shinobi, a brilliant strategist, and a man whose entire existence had been devoted to imposing his vision of peace on the world.
He had one glaring weakness.
He loved fighting.
Not in the sense that he enjoyed violence.
He genuinely, spiritually, existentially loved encountering someone strong enough to challenge him.
Which gave me an idea.
A terrible idea.
An idea that should never have been allowed to escape my brain.
“I’m going to fight him.”
Mamdani stared.
“You’re going to what?”
“I’m going to challenge Madara Uchiha to single combat.”
“Can you defeat him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why would you do that?”
“Because I think he’ll find it funny.”
There was a long silence.
“How long can you survive?”
I thought about my marathon training.
“Maybe ninety seconds.”
Mamdani looked at the engineers.
“How much time do you need?”
“Two minutes.”
“Can you give us two minutes?” he asked me.
I sighed.
“I can probably give you a very exciting forty-five seconds.”
- BIBBIDDY VERSUS MADARA UCHIHA
I climbed onto the roof.
Madara was standing at the edge, overlooking Manhattan.
His hair moved dramatically in the wind.
Mine did not, because I am bald.
“Madara Uchiha!”
He turned.
“Another insect.”
“That’s rude.”
He studied me.
“You possess no chakra.”
“That’s not entirely true. I have a VO₂ max of approximately forty-seven.”
He blinked.
“I do not know what that means.”
“It’s actually pretty good for my age.”
“Your age?”
“Forty.”
He looked disappointed.
“Then you have wasted your youth.”
“Well, that’s unnecessarily personal.”
I removed my jacket.
Underneath, I was wearing my black running shirt.
Madara examined me.
“You intend to challenge me?”
“Yes.”
“With what technique?”
I thought about this.
I had spent thousands of hours playing video games, had practiced dual-wielding weapons, and could perform a respectable number of pull-ups.
I had also watched every important Naruto fight.
Unfortunately, watching someone perform a technique does not grant the ability to perform it.
This is something I believe the anime community should discuss more openly.
“I specialize in endurance,” I said.
Madara laughed.
Not a polite laugh.
A genuine, delighted laugh.
“Endurance? Against me?”
“Well, I’m not claiming this is going to be competitive.”
He folded his arms.
“Show me.”
I charged.
Now, I want to be very clear about what happened next.
I am six feet four inches tall.
I weigh approximately two hundred pounds.
I am in reasonably good physical condition.
I have some experience with combat training.
None of these facts mattered.
Madara moved approximately three inches.
I missed him completely.
He tapped me on the forehead.
I flew backward through an air-conditioning unit.
It hurt.
A lot.
I stood up.
Madara looked mildly impressed.
“You survived.”
“Yeah, well, I’m training for Chicago.”
“What is Chicago?”
“A marathon.”
“A battle?”
“Sort of.”
“How many opponents?”
“About fifty thousand.”
His expression changed.
“Fifty thousand?”
“Give or take.”
“And you intend to face them alone?”
“Well, technically we’re all running in the same direction.”
He smiled.
“Interesting.”
This was the most positive feedback I had received about my athletic career in months.
Then he punched me.
I went through another air-conditioning unit.
- MAMDANI’S REVOLUTION
While I was being systematically introduced to the building’s HVAC infrastructure, Mamdani was organizing the most improbable coalition in New York City history.
He had persuaded the broadcast engineers to isolate the physical signal paths, the NYPD to secure the streets, and the MTA to help move civilians underground.
He had also somehow convinced several union electricians to climb into a service shaft beneath the UN.
This struck me as the most believable part of the entire story.
If anyone in New York could get a union electrician to perform emergency work on short notice, it was probably the mayor.
But the system kept regenerating its connections.
Madara’s chakra was maintaining the transmission.
“We need to break his concentration,” one engineer said.
Mamdani looked at the monitor.
Onscreen, I was being dragged across the roof by my ankle.
“He’s doing his best.”
“His best isn’t enough.”
The mayor frowned.
Then he noticed something.
Every time Madara spoke, the energy around the transmission array fluctuated.
Every time Madara laughed, it fluctuated more.
And every time Madara became excited about the fight, the fluctuations became severe.
Mamdani picked up the radio.
“Can you hear me?”
I was lying in a crater.
“Unfortunately.”
“We need him to get excited.”
“He’s already pretty excited.”
“More excited.”
“Mayor, he just used me to demolish a ventilation system.”
“Can you provoke him?”
I looked at Madara.
Madara looked at me.
I had an idea.
It was worse than the previous idea.
“Hey, Madara!”
He turned.
“Do you know Hashirama Senju?”
His smile vanished.
“What did you say?”
“Hashirama. Big guy. Wood Release. Very handsome. Better hair than you.”
The atmosphere changed.
I immediately regretted the hair comment.
“Do not speak his name so casually.”
“Oh, so you do know him.”
Madara’s Sharingan spun.
I continued.
“I’ve actually studied your fights. Pretty impressive stuff.”
He waited.
“Although, objectively, you did lose.”
There are certain moments in life when a person realizes they have made a mistake.
I had one of those moments.
Madara’s Perfect Susanoo materialized behind him.
A gigantic spectral warrior rose above Manhattan, its swords stretching into the clouds.
Madara grinned.
“YOU DARE COMPARE YOURSELF TO HASHIRAMA?”
“No! That’s not remotely what I said!”
He drew a sword the size of a skyscraper.
I started running.
- THE GREATEST DEBATE IN HUMAN HISTORY
Back inside the United Nations, Trump had not stopped talking.
This turned out to be extremely important.
“Look at this guy. He’s got the armor, the sword, the whole thing. Very theatrical. But can he build? That’s what I want to know.”
Madara’s face appeared on the broadcast.
“Silence, fool.”
Trump pointed at the screen.
“See? That’s the problem. Very rude. Terrible negotiating skills.”
Madara’s left eye twitched.
“You are beneath my notice.”
“Then why are you watching?”
This was actually a good question.
Madara did not answer.
Trump continued.
“And I hear you want to put everybody to sleep. Everybody. That’s your big plan? We have people working very hard. Tremendous people. You can’t just put them all to sleep.”
“For centuries, humanity has destroyed itself through conflict.”
“Well, I’ve ended many conflicts. Many people say more than anybody.”
“Your accomplishments are meaningless.”
“Wrong.”
Madara’s Susanoo flickered.
The engineers stared at their monitors.
Mamdani grabbed his radio.
“He’s distracted!”
I was sprinting across the roof while a gigantic sword destroyed everything behind me.
“THAT’S GREAT NEWS!”
“Keep him occupied!”
“I’M TRYING!”
At this point, I had a profound realization.
Donald Trump and Madara Uchiha were two men who could not psychologically tolerate being dismissed.
And they had found each other.
It was like watching two silverback gorillas argue over who owned a mirror.
Madara turned toward the UN chamber.
“I have conquered nations!”
Trump responded immediately.
“I’ve won elections. Very big elections.”
“I fought entire armies!”
“I’ve had tremendous crowds.”
“I battled the Five Kage!”
“I’ve dealt with the United Nations. Believe me, much worse.”
Madara looked genuinely confused.
For the first time in his extraordinarily violent life, he had encountered an opponent who could not be defeated by demonstrating superior power.
Because Donald Trump did not appear to recognize superior power as a relevant category.
- THE INFINITE TSUKUYOMI
Unfortunately, Madara was not an idiot.
He realized what we were doing.
His expression hardened.
“Enough.”
He slammed his hands together.
The sky split open.
A massive red eye appeared above Manhattan.
The Rinne Sharingan.
Every television in the city flickered.
Every phone began displaying the same image.
The broadcast engineers screamed.
“We’ve lost control!”
Mamdani looked up.
“How long?”
“Thirty seconds!”
He grabbed the radio.
“We need you to stop him!”
I looked at Madara.
Madara looked at me.
I was bleeding from my forehead.
My shirt was torn.
I had lost one shoe.
There was a distinct possibility I had fractured several ribs.
I considered the situation.
And then I remembered something.
Madara had spent his entire life pursuing an impossible dream because he couldn’t accept that human beings would continue hurting one another.
He wanted to eliminate suffering by eliminating choice.
And I knew exactly what to say.
“Madara!”
He turned.
“What now?”
“You’re a coward.”
His expression changed.
I stood up.
“You’ve got all this power. You can fight entire armies. You can drop meteors on cities. You can literally rewrite reality.”
He watched me.
“And your solution to human suffering is to put everybody to sleep?”
“Humanity cannot save itself.”
“Maybe not.”
I wiped blood from my mouth.
“But that’s not your decision.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Do you imagine your world is worth saving?”
I looked out over Manhattan.
The smoke.
The broken buildings.
The sirens.
The traffic.
A man on the street was still trying to argue with a parking enforcement officer.
“Not always,” I admitted.
Madara seemed surprised.
“People are selfish. They’re stupid. They hurt each other. Sometimes they hurt people they love. Sometimes they don’t even know why.”
He said nothing.
“But they also get up tomorrow and try again.”
I thought about my grandmother.
My mother.
Hope.
The people who had donated to my marathon fundraiser.
The people who hadn’t.
The runners who would be lining up in Chicago on Sunday, each carrying some private struggle nobody else could see.
“Sometimes the only thing that makes suffering bearable is knowing you can do something about it.”
Madara’s expression darkened.
“You speak of hope as though it were strength.”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I’m saying you’re too afraid to let people fail.”
For a moment, he looked almost sad.
Then he said something that I will remember for the rest of my life.
“You remind me of Hashirama.”
I felt an unexpected surge of pride.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Then he kicked me off the building.
- THE MAYOR SAVES NEW YORK
I fell approximately eighteen stories.
This was not ideal.
Fortunately, Madara had not intended to kill me immediately.
A branch of his Wood Release caught my ankle and left me dangling upside down over First Avenue.
I suspect he wanted me to watch the Infinite Tsukuyomi activate.
Which, frankly, was petty.
But the distraction had worked.
Mamdani and the engineers had isolated the last transmission circuit.
There was just one problem.
The circuit had to be physically severed, and the automatic breakers were being held closed by Madara’s chakra.
The electrician looked at Mamdani.
“Someone has to pull the manual disconnect.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Extremely.”
The mayor nodded.
“Then let’s do it.”
The electrician shook his head.
“No offense, Mr. Mayor, but you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Correct.”
“Good. Then hold this flashlight.”
I like to imagine that this was the precise moment Mamdani became a true New Yorker.
Because he did not argue.
He held the fucking flashlight.
The electrician pulled the disconnect.
A brilliant flash erupted through the room.
The broadcast went black.
Across the city, millions of screens went dark.
The red eye above Manhattan flickered.
Madara looked toward the UN.
“What?”
The chakra synchronization collapsed.
The Infinite Tsukuyomi failed.
And somewhere inside the General Assembly, Donald Trump was still talking.
“See? I told you. We made a deal.”
- THE END OF THE WORLD, POSTPONED
Madara descended to the street.
I was still hanging upside down.
He looked at me.
“You have accomplished nothing.”
“Well, that’s not entirely fair.”
“The world remains broken.”
“Yes.”
“Humanity will continue to suffer.”
“Probably.”
“And you call this victory?”
I considered the question.
I had sustained multiple injuries.
I had lost my shoe.
My marathon was in three days.
And I was now approximately seventy percent certain that my insurance would not cover injuries sustained during combat with fictional Japanese warlords.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I think I do.”
Madara studied me.
Then, to my astonishment, he laughed.
Not his usual contemptuous laugh.
A genuine laugh.
“Very well.”
He released the branch.
I fell directly into a dumpster.
“Continue your struggle, then. Show me what your world becomes.”
He began to disappear into a swirling distortion of space.
“Wait!” I shouted.
He paused.
“One question.”
“What?”
“Could you heal my legs?”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“I’ve got a marathon on Sunday.”
Madara stared for a very long time.
Then he laughed again.
“Pathetic.”
And vanished.
Asshole.
- THE AFTERMATH
Mayor Mamdani found me approximately twenty minutes later.
I was sitting on the curb eating a protein bar.
He looked exhausted.
“You saved the city.”
“Technically, your electrician saved the city.”
“He says the mayor held the flashlight very well.”
“That’s leadership.”
We shook hands.
He asked whether I needed medical attention.
I told him I was mostly concerned about my marathon performance.
He looked at my leg.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Can you run?”
“Probably.”
“Should you?”
“That’s a different question.”
He smiled.
“You’re an unusual person.”
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
Then a Secret Service motorcade passed.
Trump rolled down his window.
“Great job today, everybody. Tremendous victory. We beat the ninja.”
Mamdani and I looked at each other.
Neither of us said anything.
The president pointed at me.
“That guy got thrown off a building. I saw it. Very bad landing.”
Then he drove away.
I stood up.
My phone buzzed.
It was an email from work.
SUBJECT: ACTION REQUIRED — THIRD PARTY INCIDENT CLASSIFICATION
Apparently someone had opened an operational risk incident regarding the destruction of the United Nations broadcast infrastructure.
The incident had been assigned to me.
The due date was Friday.
I stared at the screen.
I had fought Madara Uchiha.
I had helped prevent the enslavement of the human race.
I had been thrown off a building.
And I still had to write an incident report.
I opened the form.
Root Cause:
Unanticipated concentration of hostile chakra within critical broadcast infrastructure.
Preventive Action:
Consider adding Uchiha clan members to enhanced third-party due diligence screening.
Lessons Learned:
Do not challenge Madara Uchiha to single combat.
I submitted it.
The system rejected the entry.
ERROR: ROOT CAUSE CATEGORY NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE SELECT FROM DROPDOWN.
I stared at my phone for a long time.
And for the first time that afternoon, I understood Madara’s desire to place humanity into an eternal dream.
TL;DR: Madara Uchiha invaded New York City to enslave humanity using a magical broadcast. Mayor Mamdani organized a citywide response, Donald Trump accidentally distracted the villain by refusing to stop arguing with him, and I got beaten nearly to death trying to buy us time. We saved the world, but I may have compromised my Chicago Marathon performance.
Also, the incident report is still open.
