Phase Q/Fat Times

At the big speech, Trads crowd around the podium. Smells of roasting pig fat waft over. The President grabs the mic.

“Brothers, sisters, all my fellow countrymen. It is a great privilege and an honor to stand here in front of you. Today, you have entrusted me with the next four years of your lives. Together, we will rebuild our country. Together, we will get back to the basics that brought us here in the first place. Together, we will prevail!”

Making a series of unusual hand gestures, the President seems to lead the people like marionettes. The crowd roars its approval, and applauds thunderously.

Mrs. President beams. From her position of honor, she enjoys watching the President’s back side, and seeing the overwhelming support from the attendees.

Never mind the infidelities, the affairs with young journalists, even the trysts with other men. Look where it’s got us.

“Ruler! Ruler!” chants the crowd, in unison. A wave of fervor sweeps through the population. Even more fanatically than at a sporting event.

“And in my upcoming presidency, I will ensure that the country’s highest powers respond to its smallest voices, we will make you heard!”

The crowd whoops it up, big time.

In a booth off to the side, sitting at a comfortable angle, a figure fidgets with a plastic device. Dissassembling then reassembling the thing, it looks sort of like a gun. The person finally clicks the last piece into place, and does a mock gesture of thanks.

The crew behind the effort – the team who designed and built the parts for the plastic device, who arranged the position in this booth, who sponsored the training and transportation – have long since moved their separate ways.

The figure now sits alone. Just the body and the technology.

Pulling out a separate canister, the figure carefully places it inside the device. It contains a kind of fuel made out of cotton. Highly processed, of course.

The figure loads the fuel into the device, and starts the priming procedure. It slowly, silently processes the fuel, converting it into a highly active photocondenser. Over time, the cotton gradually becomes a coherent beam of light, bouncing back and forth in its entrapping system of mirrors.

The figure – a girl with a purple sidehawk and a Futurista emblem – snarls, and sets up the laser to point at the President’s face. Remember, aim for the PFC, she tells herself.

“We will create more entry-level jobs, and arrest anyone outside of the standard deviations, and kill more foreigners!” he yells to bloodthirsty approval.

She deactivates the safety lock, and presses the ignition button.

A bright and intense laser beam shoots straight out. The blinding blue light instantly zaps across the whole field. Over a mile away, it makes its way to the President’s head as fast as it can. Shortly before killing the President, however, it hits a top hat, blowing its energy on a useless item. The top hat disintegrates into oblivion.

Within minutes, Trad security forces have surrounded the booth, and arrested the shooter, clubbing her in the head.

Phase Q: An interactive adventure.