#ContinuityOfGovernment, #WW3, #Deep State
Buried a thousand feet beneath Ohio, the ten trillion dollar, UN-constructed SuperBunker can shelter a million members of the global elite indefinitely, with all the comforts of the surface including simulated blue skies, boutique shopping, and three golf courses. The President of the United States, Arman “Our Man” Manfred, regains consciousness in one of the bunker’s six hospitals. Surrounded by his trusted advisors and his official hagiographer, his office becomes ensnared in the Machiavellian underworld of SuperBunker geo-politics. The situation worsens when the president’s Russian and Chinese counterparts execute Protocol 4, sealing the blast doors and severing all contact with the surface, relegating the world’s leaders to governing a mere computer simulation of the world above. An attempt to blackmail the POTUS with a salacious video taken by his own security agency forces President Manfred into seclusion. With his office infiltrated by a traitor and hobbled by incompetence, he attempts one final ‘Hail Mary’ that might just save the office of the president… even if it destroys the world in the process.
One week later, at precisely noon, Protocol 4 was about to be rescinded, as scheduled. A public ceremony was arranged and an army of Greys were deployed to construct the temporary bleachers, build the stage, and hang the sky-blue bunting. The ten-million-dollar vending contract was awarded to a firm from South Carolina. Although no one from that firm was actually present in the bunker, or even aware of the award due to Protocol 4’s information blockade, the contract was inserted as an ear-mark into an emergency military funding bill. Upon passage, the contract was awarded to Ralfamerk, Inc. which ensured both South Carolina senators, whose spouses had family members on the board, would vote in favor the president’s Federally Appropriated Regional Transportation bill that funded, among other things, a ten billion dollar monorail stretching from Rapid City, South Dakota to Bismarck, North Dakota.
The Greys constructed a raised dais on the stage in the turfed athletic fields directly across from the Hotel Americana. Behind the dais was a platform with seating for dignitaries. Behind those seats hung a backdrop of sky-blue curtains embroidered with the image of three interlocking hands gripping at each other’s wrist. One hand was light brown, one was white, and one was black. Temporary fencing was erected and nude-imaging scanners, manned by security personnel which included Chinansky, were placed at the entry points. There was very minimal risk of terrorism or violence as whatever was brought down into the bunker was tightly controlled. Rather, the nude-imaging scans were conducted to find contraband as a concession to the firm awarded the exclusive vending contract. The crowd of mostly Greys had to be prevented from smuggling in any snacks in order to maximize Ralfamerk’s event revenue. A congressman from New Hampshire had a cousin on Ralfamerk’s board of directors. He voted yes on the ear mark and appropriations bill as well.
The crowd began to pass through the scanners and into the viewing area. Security agents wearing sunglasses scanned the crowd and whispered into their lapels. Greys put the finishing touches in place, tested the sound system, adjusted the signage, and rolled out the red carpets.
It was a perfect simulated day. The canvas sky above was featureless blue. The temperature was dialed in at a perfect seventy-two degrees. Just before noon, the dignitaries shuffled in with a flurry of perfunctory handshakes and forced grins. They took their seats behind the dais. At precisely noon, the fanfare music blared. Everyone stood. Chinese President Hu Li appeared from behind the stage, followed by Russian President Timoshenko, and then President Manfred. The three shook each other’s hands, placing their free hand on the other’s shoulder as an expression of primordial dominance, then turned and straightened their blue suits and grinned for the crowd and paparazzi masquerading as journalists. When cued, they each approached their separate podium on the dais. They had negotiated in advance that only the President of the United States would speak, although the remarks were approved by all three leaders.
“Welcome,” the POTUS began. “Two weeks ago, the leaders of three of the world’s great nations were able to set aside our differences and come together for peace.” The president turned left to Hu Li who grinned and then right to Timoshenko who nodded approvingly. “The outcome of this unprecedented meeting was the agreement to temporarily suspend the protocol that has left us cut off from the world we have been entrusted to govern. Our ability to forge an agreement has shown us all that nations can still work together… that war is not inevitable… that peace and cooperation is still possible. So, without further ado, gentlemen…”
The trio of presidents each placed their hand on a giant white button affixed to their respective podiums.
“On a count of three. One… Two… Three…”
Each pressed their button. When signaled, the crowd roared in approval. The presidents turned and congratulated each other with handshakes and smiles and shoulder pats. The sky-blue curtain raised behind the dignitaries showing an image of a bunker blast door. The video screen zoomed in on the door.
Before the event, the presidents drew lots to determine the order of presentation. Timoshenko lost so he went first. The other two presidents took their seats.
Timoshenko began to speak in his Dracula-toned English. “After much deliberation, and with much difficulty, we have made our decision regarding who we have chosen to be allowed into the bunker…”
The crowd hushed in anticipation. Would it be Roskolnikov the famed composer? What about Nikolsky the Nobel prize winning physicist?
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
“Could it be Potoff the statesman who brokered the peace between Khazakstan and Belarus? Or what about Karamzin the great author?
“Please give a warm welcome to…”
The crowd hushed in anticipation.
A husky man with rosacea cheeks and narrow eyes appeared on the screen. A crooked smirk cleaved his face. He wore a shimmery gray silk suit and carried a metallic briefcase.
A sparse applause trickled out from the crowd.
“Who in the hell is that, again?” The POTUS whispered to Fricke who sat behind him.
“He’s one of the oligarchs. They call him the Ukrainian Cranium,” Buckminster answered.
“I didn’t ask you, Bucky,” the POTUS snapped. “You can just sit there in silence until I call on you.”
“Why do they call him the Cranium, Fricke?”
“He is apparently a genius at money laundering.”
The president of Russia applauded vigorously, waived, and took his seat.
Next up was Hu Li. He stepped to his podium.
He unfolded a piece of paper to read from and adjusted his thick lenses. “I will say that our serection was very easy to a-make. I am happy to ernounce that Master Chung has been approve. Welcome home Master Chung.”
The skinny Chinese boy appeared on screen, looking disinterested, bangs of black hair falling into his eyes. The Asian section of the crowd applauded wildly as Chung had become a cult figure since the kidnapping. The POTUS faked a smile after Hu Li glanced at him on his way back to his seat.
When Hu Li was finally seated, the POTUS rose and approached his podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. This is a momentous event, perhaps the most momentous event since Protocol 4 was declared. These are challenging times but there is now reason for renewed hope.” The POTUS gestured to the other two presidents. “A lot… a lot of good has been accomplished since we’ve found a way to work together. And not only with our international partners, but within our own government as well. I must take this opportunity to cite the passage of the Governmental Abatement of Greenhouse Act, which was passed by our senate and signed by me last week as an example of progress. If the world still exists when this crisis is over, we can all rest assured that we will have committed to reduce increases in greenhouse gas emissions, thus doing our part to ensure that we’ll avoid the environmental catastrophe of a .4 degree increase in global temperatures by the turn of the century!”
“Also, I just signed legislation that will create a ten-billion-dollar subsidy for our pharmaceutical companies so that they can continue to provide low cost pain killers to African Americans, working mothers, the handicapped, and the LGBTQ community. No person shall ever be deprived of opioids based upon the color of their skin or handicap or their gender or gender identity ever again!”
The president beamed with pride.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have achieved global peace, protected the environment, expanded our transportation infrastructure, and done our part to end discrimination and promote equality!”
“On the heel of these great victories for democracy, I think this is as good a time as any to make an announcement. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially announcing my campaign for re-election as your president of the United States.”
“Thank you! Thank you!”
The applause quickly petered out.
“And finally, we come to this: the person who has been granted asylum in our magnificent SuperBunker. You must know that I met with a committee and we reviewed many excellent candidates. The process was exhaustive. Candidates were scored based upon their accomplishments… their contributions to America. And I am happy to say we arrived at a decision that I think you all will approve of. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, let me introduce to you the next American citizen of the SuperBunker…”
The president turned to face the monitor behind him.
“His accomplishments include…”
The crowd drew a collective breath.
“Over 75,000 career passing yards.”
“A seven-time league champion.”
“You all know him, you all love him. He’s the greatest of all time. America’s MVP! Quarterback for the Hartford Saxons, Brock McGuinn!”
McGuinn’s sheepish smile and dimpled chin appeared on screen. The crowd, at least the Americans section, roared in unconditional, uninhibited approval. The POTUS clapped vigorously, grinning.
“Brock McGuinn, everyone! The GOAT!” the POTUS repeated, cajoling the crowd to louder and louder cheers.
“MVP! MVP! MVP! MVP! MVP! MVP!”
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