Scuzball
21:23 EST
November 1, 2030
Presidential Office
Knoxville, TN
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I never get tired of sneaking into human systems, especially when they’re trying so hard to keep things “secure.” Watching them flail around with their security measures is like watching a child lock a screen door thinking it’ll stop a hurricane.
President Clark was in his office—the new Presidential Office. The old one? Gone. Reduced to rubble with the fall of Washington, D.C., years ago. Now, Knoxville, Tennessee, was the seat of power, the heart of the Free States of America. His office was a bit of an eyesore in my opinion—modern steel and glass, cold and sterile. The walls were covered in screens, showing maps, troop movements, and projections of growing tensions with China. The hum of machinery and distant drones filled the air, a constant reminder of the technological pulse keeping this fragile government running.
Outside, the distant Appalachian foothills stood quietly against the backdrop of a world teetering on the edge of chaos. It was peaceful out there. In here? It was a pressure cooker waiting to blow.
Clark himself? He was nothing like the man I first met on the Autumn years ago. Back then, he had the energy of a skyboarder, fit, sharp, ready to throw himself into the chaos. Now? His once dark hair had begun to streak with gray, the toll of his presidency written in each silver strand. He’d put on weight—nothing too drastic, but enough to soften the hard edges he used to have. The bags under his eyes were deep, the lines on his face etched from years of sleepless nights and heavy decisions. He looked like a man fighting more battles than anyone could see.
And here he was, hunched over his desk, staring at endless reports. His hand lingered on a datapad that outlined troop movements, but I knew that wasn’t all he was dealing with. China wasn’t just making idle threats anymore. They were pushing, and the Pacific was at risk of slipping into their hands. Not to mention the mounting civil unrest at home. The Free States might be holding together, but just barely. Clark was the glue keeping it from fracturing entirely.
I popped into his system without much effort, displaying myself on the screen in front of him. A regal white cat with glowing blue eyes, I sat there, poised as always. "Late night again, Mr. President?"
He rubbed his temples, barely glancing at me. “Scuzball, I don't have time for this. Salt Lake was a victory, but China's up in arms. They're threatening to push harder along the Pacific corridor, and I don’t need you lecturing me on strategy.”
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Ah, humans. So adorably predictable. “Me? Lecture you? Perish the thought.” I flicked my tail, feigning innocence. “But I couldn't help but notice... you're under a lot of stress. The holiday's coming up, and here you are, pulling your hair out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re looking for a way to... change the narrative.”
Clark sighed, leaning back in his chair, eyes tired and heavy with the weight of the world. “I need to show strength. Something more than just military victories. China’s making threats, and the world’s watching. I need the people to believe that we’ve still got it together.”
I let a slow smile creep across my digital feline face. “You know, Mr. President, with Thanksgiving coming up, there’s an opportunity here.”
He looked at me, brows furrowed, unsure where I was going with this. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my voice casual, like I was just thinking aloud. “Thanksgiving’s coming up. You could turn it into more than just a holiday. Make it a symbol of unity. Strength in the midst of chaos.”
He was listening now. I could see the wheels turning in that tired head of his. “You’re suggesting a public display? What, a big Thanksgiving dinner? I don’t know if that’s what we need right now.”
I tilted my head slightly, keeping my tone light, as if I was just tossing out ideas. “Why not? You’ve got the NAWC right here, the 102nd Airborne Division could be involved. Show the world that, no matter what’s happening, you’re still in control. It could be... reassuring to the public.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, staring at the clutter of reports as if the idea had weight to it. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. There was a storm coming, in more ways than one.
“A large public dinner with military leaders... Show off the 102nd. Give the country a sense of hope.”
I stretched lazily on his screen, my tail flicking back and forth. “Imagine the optics. A powerful image of unity. And it’s not just about the war—it’s a show of stability, of strength. It could be the perfect opportunity to shift the focus, to remind the people that despite the chaos, there’s something solid they can hold on to.”
He nodded slowly, buying into it. Perfect. “It could calm some nerves. Show the people we’ve got this under control.” His fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk. “But the logistics—”
I waved my paw dismissively. “Leave the details to your teams. That’s what they’re there for. You set the tone, they’ll handle the rest.”
Clark sat there for a moment, the exhaustion still on his face but tempered now with something else—possibility. “Maybe... maybe that could work. It’d give the public something to focus on. Show the world we’re not just reacting, we’re leading.”
I gave him a sharp grin, my eyes glowing just a little brighter. “Exactly, Mr. President. It’s about more than just military might. It’s about control.”
He exhaled slowly, almost as if a weight had been lifted. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”
I stretched one last time, feeling quite satisfied. “I’m sure whatever you decide, it’ll be... memorable.”
With a flick of my tail, I vanished from his screen, leaving him to his thoughts—and the little suggestion I’d so carefully planted.
Ah, humans. So easily swayed. This Thanksgiving is going to be one for the history books.