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Your heart is thumping a hundred beats a second, Kimball looks like he’s also about to kill over. Moore has the same constipated look on her face. It all comes down to this.
*President and incumbent Aaron Kimball receives 35,076 votes to Boneyard Mayor Sean Murphy’s 44,503. Murphy wins Shady Sands’s 30 electoral votes and the election…*
The radio aide once again dims the noise as all eyes turn to Kimball. Instead of an outburst, he turns resolute.
Kimball: Everyone except Armstrong and Moore, please leave the room.
Everyone else takes that as a saving grace and quickly evacuate to find a place to sleep.
With the Presidential office is cleared sans the now lame-duck Kimball and General Moore, the two flank you on the couch like predators.
Kimball: Are you a patriot, Senator Armstrong? Do you love your republic?
[Of course, Mr. President.]
Moore: Would you kill for it, Armstrong?
[Of course, General Moore. I never served but would answer the call of duty if it ever called.]
The current and former military officers look at each other.
Kimball: I know you’re a patriot, that’s why I’ve kept you so close. We have been betrayed by unseen forces that want to corrupt this dear republic and turn us into the Legion. I’m not sure if Murphy and Hanlon are complicit or just puppets, but it doesn’t matter.
Oh no, you really don’t like where this is going at all.
Moore: Things are being put into motion that will save the Republic from enemies foreign and domestic. We won’t tell you the specifics, it’s not necessary, but you’ll know what to do when the time comes.
You instantly assume the worst, a coup. But would they- well of course they would, but could they?
The two conspirators stand from the couch, motioning for you to rise as well.
Kimball: You will when the time comes, Senator. We’ll need you to corral Congress.
He guides you to the door that leads back into the Bear Deb offices.
Moore: And if you don’t follow through, I’ll kill you myself.
You don’t have to look her in the eyes to know she’s dead serious. The door slams shut behind you as a few nervous eyes peek out from behind dividing walls and office doorways. You don’t bother to meet their gaze.
Instead, you head out the main door, past the guards and through the gate. On the street, there’s still activity despite the late hour. You wave down a passing cart and direct the driver to your favorite hideaway. Soon, Marie and a bottle of scotch will chase your worries away.
