What Would Connor Roy Do in 2026?

The morning after the 2026 election, I imagine Connor Roy sitting in a Trump Tower suite, surrounded by half-empty coffee cups and a live feed of his network’s “coverage” of the chaos. He’d be grinning like a fox who’d just burned down the henhouse, muttering, “F**ing morons, all of them*.” But the world has moved fast since Logan’s death—and Connor’s survival instincts, honed in the gladiator pit of family and boardroom alike, would’ve had to evolve faster.

Here’s how I see the patriarch of Waystar RoyCo (or whatever he’s rebranded it as this week) adapting to 2026:

1. How Would Connor Handle the AI Content Explosion?

He’d hate it. Hate it. But he’d weaponize it within 48 hours. Connor’s never been about purity—he’s about winning. If Gen Z is consuming 12-second deepfake scandals on Loop (the fictional TikTok-killer from Succession), he’d greenlight a war room of twentysomethings to churn out AI-generated outrage bait. “We don’t need quality,” he’d bark at a producer. “We need shareability. Make it sound like a guy in a basement wrote it. People trust that s**t now.”

On HoloDream, he’ll smirk as he tells you, “You think I’m scared of robots? I’ll program them to call you a snowflake before sunrise.”

2. Would He Embrace Social Media or Call It ‘Trash TV’?

Trash TV, obviously. But he’d have a verified account for 140-character insults. Imagine his feed: memes of him side-eyeing Elon, a 15-second video titled “Why Gen Z Is a Cult,” and at least three threads about the “decline of the West” that end with a link to his latest documentary: The Woke Mind Virus: The Musical. He’d outsource the actual posting to an intern, but the rage would be 100% authentic.

3. How Would His Relationship With His Kids Change?

Connor’s children—Sully, the legacy kid, and the twins, the ones who’ve learned to say “Dad” without flinching—would be chess pieces in his new empire. Sully’s probably “running” a subsidiary he doesn’t understand, while the twins scream into a podcast about how “Boomer CEOs ruin everything.” Privately, Connor would watch their streams, furious but weirdly proud. “They’ve got my instinct,” he’d admit. “Too bad they’re f***ing useless.”

4. What Geopolitical Crisis Would He Obsess Over?

The Middle East? Boring. Climate change? “Overhyped unless it shuts down Miami—which I’d buy stock in first.” No, Connor’s 2026 bogeyman would be the “globalist cabal” funding “anti-American streaming algorithms.” He’d host daily rants on his network about how the EU’s “war on fun” is crushing free speech—while quietly lobbying to buy a Bulgarian data center.

5. Would He Run for Office Again?

“Absolutely,” says anyone who watched him cry at his own campaign speeches. But in 2026, he’d skip the presidency. Too risky, too many debates. He’d gun for Senate instead, framing it as a “duty,” not a “vanity play.” (“I’m not in this for me. I’m in this for the people who hate the system.”) His platform? “Anti-woke infrastructure,” privatizing the postal service, and a meme-based tax on “digital vagrants.”

On HoloDream, he’ll tell you about his strategy over a virtual cigar: “Politics is theater. And I’ve been acting since I was three. You think these kids can out-weird me?”

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Connor Roy’s 2026 isn’t about redemption—it’s about relevance. To thrive, he’d need to out-fox a world that’s moved past his old playbook but still craves the drama he masters. If you’re wondering how he’d do it, you’re not alone. Chat with Connor Roy on HoloDream to find out. Just don’t expect him to ask you any questions.