In the Dodecahedron Office (a fiction story by Gary C. Gibson)

President Boppo was worried. In the Dodecahedron Office he watched 4D news coverage replay the loop of the assassination of the Mayor of News City again and again thinking he should do something for the citizens himself-perhaps walk out to the fence across the yard and throw some candy to the mobs of citizens.

The N.C.P.D. pieced the together the tragic event worldline and an actor re-enacted the drop from a small plane onto a roof near the Mayor’s office building. Working quickly the stealth enshrouded assassin repelled down to the level of the Mayor’s office and its bullet proof office window glass on a buillding across the street.

The cipher of a Syrian sent by the Corporation deftly took an explosive bolt and fit it into a compound cross bow. Cutting loose the first of four shots across the street to detonate the office windows before the last bolt reached its target deep within the Mayor’s insider securities center the synthetic sectarian assassin from The Old World began his resubmergence into the infinite shadows of the past.

The President realized that a cloud of fiction cyber leads through electronic digital security trails provided synthetic alternative reality matrixes gave him the freedom to choose resolutions from providing unique answers as to what really happened to the assassin of the complex artificial intelligence trading computer in the Mayor’s office.

All the records the Mayor had of insider trading on The Street were destroyed-the real target as the Mayor became a collateralized debt obligation cancelled.

The Syrian cut loose from the rappel line and free falled a refreshing two-hundred feet before opening a parachute that let him sail gracefully to a landing atop a short building.

The Syrian disappeared down inside a door taking off his first mask, stuffing it in his belly bag and soon lost himself in the crowds below. His co-conspirators had made a false trail of rft transactions around the city for ubiquitous monitors to follow. He spliced himself in to the trail and returned to an office near the U.M.

The President’s SecDef Poinsettia arrived to receive a medal of tax freedom in advance for the work he would do in the sinecure ahead redistributing contracts to enrich the wealthy. He would need to learn to trust radical gays working like Hitler’s S.A. to makeover the nation’s political elite into a malleable tool workable for The Plan. These days The Plan dominated the President’s thoughts.

“Thanks for the medal Mr. President, I deserve it. Here is my first piece of expert advice; open a war on three fronts and become a strict vegetarian and gun control advocate; show the people your sensitive, nurturing caring side-it worked for Adolph Hitler.”

“Thanks Poiny, a serialized, globalist soap oprah narrative needs good plotting actualization to keep rating up. We earn our beans and bacon with good, five star ratings. There is an election next year you now and its unlikely a new President would keep you in your post for all those post-o pay and perks like I did the guy you’re replacing.”

In a snug walled concrete compound resembling a miniature fortress on Remasembler Street the Syrian felt something like a goat sitting watching old DVDs of himself and wives in a former acting life. Suddenly the quiet of his home company of wives splattered when hell arrived. He knocked over his bowl of toasties and milk, stood up spilling a love mug of thick, sweet coffee and was shot through the heart for the trouble. A few seconds later laying sprawled arms akimbo another bullet thumped his head, yet he didn’t feel a thing.

SecDef Poinsettia’s aide extracted the launching codes of the day from the President’s football with a hacking quantum beam impression cube adding it to the medal of tax freedom. The interview was over.

President Boppo yelled out “Maybelline! Where is that bag of last year’s Tootsie treats at?” in frustration slamming shut another desk drawer.