The Chancellor's Mansion, Browderville, USSA
The Chancellor was sitting in a fancy leather chair, ornately decorated with its legs embellished with the fierceness of four lions. The desk was equally ornate, made with five different sorts of wood created in and imported from Brazil one century ago. The War Room was packed with the Chancellor's most loyal generals, bellies fat from their food and wine and their chests covered with medals. The Chancellor himself attempted to look imposing; however, years of stress, alcohol, and morphine have taken their toll. His hair was grey and disheveled; his face was wrinkled and looked akin to an unborn fetus; his eyes, which in their better days could kill on sight, were now two black, charred lumps of charcoal.
"The enemy is closing in," Gen. Thomas Gale said while pointing a map on the desk, which depicted Browderville and the surrounding areas. "They've taken Washington, D.C. and Lexington to the West, and are in firm control of Annapolis to the North. The Chesapeake Bay is now a rebel lake. They are now advancing onto us, in Browderville. We expect them to arrive in oh-five hundred hours."
The Chancellor relaxed himself; he sunk slightly back into his chair. "Don't worry, Tom," he said, waving his fingers into the air. "Frankel's assault would repel these cappies."
Gale, with his colleagues, looked more nervous than ever. They looked at each other apprehensively, their foreheads gleaming with sweat. Silently, they agreed not to inform Browder of Gen. Antonio Frankel's suicide.
"Mr. Chancellor," Gen. Jake Abernathy started. "Frankel, um, Frankel..."
"Frankel wasn't able to mobilize enough men," Gale continued. "He was unable to carry out any of our planned assaults. We suspect that he and his forces have surrendered to the rebel armies by now."
Browder's feelings of relaxation immediately went away. On the outside, his change of feelings were only expressed via him changing his smile to a frown. Five seconds passed when nobody did anything, nor speak anything. Browder placed his elbows on the desk and slowly removed his reading glasses from his face, his arms and hands shaking and trembling as they do.
"Everyone in the room, leave," Browder said quietly, "with the exception of the following: Abernathy, Gale, Dexter, and Finn."
And so everyone who wasn't Abernathy, Gale, Dexter, or Finn did so, noisily shuffling themselves out of the room through the single door behind them. The last man out did not bother to close the door. Browder stood up a bit out of his chair and attempted to scowl at him, and failed. Despite that, the man slammed the door, as a final act of defiance.
Browder completely stood up and redirected his anger at his chosen four.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! FRANKEL'S ASSAULT WAS AN ORDER! I CAN'T TRUST MY TOP GENERALS TO DO A SINGLE DAMN THING! EVEN IF THEY CONSIST OF FOLLOWING SIMPLE ORDERS! I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST FRANKEL! AND YET HE SURRENDERED LIKE A COWARD! HE'S JUST AS BAD AS THOSE CAPPIES, LYING AND EXPLOITING AND SABOTAGING MY VISION OF GREATNESS!"
"But Browder," Gale quickly said, "I can't let you insult Frankel! He's dead!" Gale realized that he broken their secret promise not to disclose Frankel's suicide, but he realized that the line has been crossed.
"OH, SO HE KILLED HIMSELF, THAT SON OF A [expletive]! HE KILLED HIMSELF INSTEAD OF GIVING IN HIS ALL IN DEFENDING AGAINST THE CAPITALIST HORDE! HE'S A TRAITOR, A SCUMBAG, A WEAKLING! IF ANYTHING, GOOD FOR HIM! WE NEED LESS DEAD WEIGHTS LIKE THAT [expletive]! THE WHOLE WORLD NEEDS LESS DEAD WEIGHTS LIKE HIM!"
Gale was surprised how quickly Browder came to the correct conclusion, whatever his reasoning was. "But Mr. Chancellor, this is outrageous! Even if Frankel didn't kill himself, even if he did carry out his assault, even if he had enough men, defeat against the rebels is inevitable!"
"SHUT UP, THEN!" Browder continued, cutting off Gale. "SUCH PEOPLE, SUCH PEOPLE DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE DEFENDED! AFTER ALL, ALL THEY LEARN IN MILITARY "SCHOOL" ARE TWO THINGS: HOW TO PRESENT AN IMAGE AND HOW TO EAT A TWO-DOLLAR STEAK! THAT'S IT! THEY HAVE NO HONOR, NO COMMITMENT TO THE COMMUNIST CAUSE! THAT'S WHY OUR ENEMIES HAVE DESCENDED UPON US: THEY SMELL WEAKNESS IN OUR MILITARY! THEY SEE WHAT PATHETIC SCUMBAGS OUR GENERALS ARE! I SHOULD'VE JUST GAVE THEM THE APPROPRIATE ATTENTION THEY DESERVE, LIKE HITLER!"
Browder slowly sat down back into his seat, panting heavily. His berated generals look on, wondering about their eventual fates.
"I," Browder said, looking down at the floor, "I was never a military person." He said his words as if he had just a bit of pride left. "In fact, I was a conscientious objector when that warmongering Wilson was president. Now I'm president, and look what I had did. Now if only our generals did the same, had that same level of commitment. But they don't. They are what they are, and what Frankel did has shown that clearly. But hey, you can't just go up and change people, can't they?"
The generals remain silent, unmoving except for their breathing. The same applied for the mass of people listening just outside the wood door.
"So it has come to this." Browder looked up to his generals. His pride was gone. "In oh-five hundred hours, the rebel horde will come and seize Browderville. My second greatest accomplishment, will be ruined in oh-five hundred hours. My greatest accomplishment, will be ruined a short time after that. And all this time nobody listens to me - my generals are traitors, my people are rebels. What kind of leader am I, then, if I have no accomplishments nor followers in my name?"
Browder looked at a wall clock, then back at his generals.
"Perhaps I should do what Frankel did. Perhaps I should just get a gun and blow my brains out."
Gale started to bite his salty fingers.
"It's over," Browder said. "It's all over. You guys were of a great service; go home."
Also Lord Bigfoot, what about our dinner?
