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March 6, 2012
She watched with fascination. The Secretary's mouth moved without sound. Idly she mused; pudding. Other people have brains in their skulls, but she has pudding. How could she have been fooled all this time into believing she had had brains?  Pudding? No, sludge, thick and stinking, the sort one scrapes from a clogged sink drain. The sounds came in again, just a fragment.

"...no matter what you choose we must strike now!"

Reality began to creep in around the edges and through the seams. A crisis. Bombs? Missiles? No, not those. Not aircraft, either.

"The ships, Madame President," the agent spoke softly.