#ContinuityOfGovernment, #WW3, #DeepState
With his office infiltrated by a traitor and hobbled by incompetence, an increasingly unstable POTUS attempts a ‘Hail Mary’ that might just save the office of the president… even if it destroys the world in the process.
Nurse Baum had barely slept for a week. The fate of her daughter consumed her thoughts, filling her with despair. Most of the Greys felt this way, having been separated from their loved ones on the surface and presuming them to be incinerated or dispersed by the mass destruction. Yet Emma Baum and the thousands of other guest workers carried on with their duties, imprisoned in the SuperBunker, subject to the perplexed or often indignant stares of their underworld masters. The elites just couldn’t comprehend why the Greys weren’t more grateful for being spared.
Emma opened her eyes and turned to the cot next to her. It was vacant and had been so for the last three nights. She got up, grabbed her duffle, slid her slippers on, and navigated the maze of snoring, staring, weeping, coughing co-workers to make her way to the changing stalls. Once dressed, she went to the lockers where she fixed up her hair. She no longer wore makeup in hopes of currying the president’s favor as a rumor had spread that the POTUS had gone insane, having murdered his gay lover in an apocalyptic rage, deep in the inner catacombs. This was dismissed as wild conspiracy theory by the elitists, of course, so the subject was not broached in conversations with them.
Emma Baum stared at the contents of her locker, locking on the vial of phenobarbital she had swiped from the pharmacy. She buried it with her duffel bag and removed her handbag from her locker. She walked out of the dorm and onto the avenue. The canvas sky, high above, was clear blue, and the simulating orb lights were soft and yellow. She strolled past the boutiques that were preparing to open for business: the designer barista, the fine clothier, the waxing salon, the cigar shop, the cosmetics emporium— each manned by glum-faced Greys. She forced herself to keep her eyes focused directly ahead as she walked.
“Psst,” hissed a voice from behind.
Emma dismissed it and continued to walk.
She redoubled her pace, turning slightly and catching a glimpse of a figure stepping out from the alley she had passed. She pressed on hoping whoever it was would relent but the footsteps gained. She turned to see who was pursuing her. He was a shadowy man with a high collar coat, sunglasses, and a Gatsby hat pulled down low on his forehead. She still had a few hundred meters to go to the safety and security of the medical center security queue. Surely, he wouldn’t attempt anything out in the open.
Baum broke into a trot. Her mind raced. “What did I do?” She immediately thought of the phenobarbital she had. Busted!
“Emma Baum,” the voice called.
The voice was familiar.
“Nurse Baum, I have something for you.”
They were both standing in the avenue, passed in both directions by a steady stream of elites dressed down in designer fleece sweatpants, exotic sneakers, highlighted hair pulled or slicked back, faces masked in thousand-dollar sunglasses.
“Nurse Baum, it’s me.”
She recognized the voice. “Mr. Fricke?”
She started to turn.
“No, don’t!” he ordered. “The camera AI will catch it as a suspicious gesture and hone in.”
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Just then, a portly security guard on a Mo-Mo rolled up. She pretended to check her screen until the gendarme was safely past.
“No time for that. I have a very important favor to ask.”
“What is it? I don’t want any to get involved in anything.”
“I just need you to deliver a message. A piece of paper.”
“Because you’re the only Grey I can trust at the moment.”
“Why would you trust me?”
“Because we have something you what in return.”
Baum immediately thought of her daughter. “And what would that be?”
“It will be well worth it for you.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s all I can say, for now. Just trust me.”
Even if her instincts told her it was most likely a bureaucrat’s bullshit, she had nothing to lose. A fleeting hope rooted in bullshit was better than total despair.
“Who am I delivering it to?”
“It’ll say on the message.”
“What is the message?”
“I’ll walk past you and place a card in your handbag. It has instructions written on it.”
“Is it top secret? What if I read it?”
“It doesn’t matter if you read it. Just deliver it. Do that and I will come for you.”
Baum nodded her head in agreement. Fricke walked past her and slipped the card into her bag with an imperceptible sweep of his hand.
“I’ll find you after,” he whispered as he walked past. “You must be ready to come with me at any moment. And don’t speak of this to anyone.” He kept walking ahead, turning left into a vegan confectionary.
Baum walked on to the hospital. She turned off the mall avenue and passed through the automatic sliding glass doors, past the desk, and into the security queue. Once through the imaging detector manned by another sullen Grey, she boarded an elevator. She ran her thumb along the ridge of the heavy paper card as the lift carried her down, not daring to remove it as there were cameras recording every movement. She waited until the door opened and she poured out onto hallway. There, she plucked the card from her bag. Holding it at her waist as she walked, she glanced down to read it. The face of the card was addressed:
C/O Mr. Quixote
1569 Section L
She unfolded the white cardstock paper card. Inside was a note written in a flourish of blue fountain pen ink… a note consisting of one word:
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