Stephen Cook’s sixteenth CookTalk in sixteen days was complete, and once again, it was a phenomenal ratings success. His points resonated as intended, and his unwavering delivery was eloquent despite his extreme exhaustion following the EMP blast at Terminus Citadel and the subsequent wholesale destruction of Atlanta.
To honor his successful speech, Cook was currently indulging in yet another post-CookTalk coital celebration. Sensual soft jazz from the previous century cooed softly throughout the dimly lit room as a digital replication of a warm fire crackled on the massive wall screen across from his bed.
Suddenly, a harsh, buzzing crackle echoed throughout the room. The fire on the screen separated into rectangles of varying colors, stuttering and breaking apart as the signal was hijacked once more by the guerilla Sovereign group, who had been responsible for the commandeering of the national Feed satellites for the last few weeks.
“I am Hank Collins, the voice of the Sovereign,” the familiar voice rang out through the speakers in the Presidential bedroom of the New White House.
“Oh, God DAMN it,” President Cook shouted from underneath the silken sheets of his bed and between the legs of one of his lovers. “JAQi! Mute!”
A tone sounded. “My apologies, sir, this Feed has been locked and marked unmute-able and—”
“We have emancipated ourselves from the corporate prison of Imagen Corporation’s societal control, and we come to you with news from the resistance in Terminus Citadel,” Hank Collins continued loudly from the screen. His gaunt face and salt and pepper hair were dotted with the digital glitter of distortion, and his voice skipped and stuttered slightly from the constant band-hopping and node-jumping of the pirated signal, originating from yet another new source.
“MARCUS!” Cook screamed as he slithered downwards and emerged from under the sheets, standing fully nude at the foot of the bed. His lovers, Dominique and Edward Moore, stuck ruffled heads out from under the sheets.
A small window popped up on the wall screen and Marcus’ nervous face appeared. He looked at the President for a split second before averting his eyes in embarrassment and mild disgust as he caught a glimpse of his boss’ fully naked body.
“FUCKING FIX THIS!” President Cook screamed.
“I’m working on— there!” Marcus said, tapping a button on a tablet Pod off-screen. Hank Collins disappeared from the screen and the lilting notes of light jazz once again filled the room.
“Why haven’t you found these assholes yet?!” Cook demanded. “I put you directly in charge of—”
“They keep finding new ways in,” Marcus said, averting his eyes from the screen as President Cook stood furiously with his hands on his bare hips.
“I am growing tired of these interruptions,” Cook insisted. “As much as I hate to, I’m authorizing you to reach out to Chairman Davis if you have to. Certainly he knows something about this.”
“Yes… Yes, sir,” Marcus said, tapping the screen and terminating the call as quickly as he could.
President Cook seethed for a moment. He looked over at the bed, where his two confused but still very aroused bedmates awaited. He shook his head and sighed.
“Okay, then, where were we?” He said briskly before marching back to bed and falling between his lovers.