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President’s Son

Allan Onik

    The President’s son felt the strap holding his silver PP7 pistol. Flanking him was a secret service agent with a Desert Eagle magnum and a SEAL with an Armalite assault rifle. In the underground chambers of the White House the entourage reached the door to the top secret interrogation room. “This will be harder than anything you did at Princeton,” the SEAL said, “all-American rower or no.”
    The secret service agent used a red and blue key card to open the door and the three walked in. Bound with zip ties and laying in a pool of piss the North Korean General whimpered.
    The President’s son walked up to him and shoved him with his foot. “You know what we want,” he said, “which palace is your great leader in? It’s only a matter of time before we find out. It can end now.”
    “First just tell me how...how you did it. How am I here? I was doing drills on the beach, and then the blurriness, and the lightness, and dizziness...then I woke up here. I can’t tell you where he is or the pain will get much worse. He has specialists, you know.”
    “I’ll tell you,” the President’s son said, “because you deserve to know before you die.
    It started at Area 51. A physicist named Bob Lazar was doing research on our most promising saucer used by The Grays—The Aurora. He came to realize that there was a special element not found on this planet that allowed The Aurora it’s hover and light speed technology. When Lazar dug deeper he hit a goldmine. The element, which he named Ulconium, had the ability to manipulate the Zero Point Field to allow faster than light travel. Hence, a jaunt. One Ulconium injection and with the proper training Black Ops agents can travel to any point on a map, just by looking. And now I have that capacity, as do a number of other entities. My father initiated a mission to try to topple your leader’s regime through tactical “pulls.” Once Un has been neutralized your people will flow to the southern border like water.”
    “It’s madness,” The General said, “you’ll never find him.”
    “I thought we would reach a road block with you. There will be no more pain. Just Love.”
    The mystic walked through the door. She glowed an intense blue, and was hooded and wrapped in a blue robe.
    “It took us years to find her,” The President’s son said.
    The psychic crouched down and touched The General’s forehead.

    The three materialized in the palace throne room. Un sat on a gold chair inlaid with multicolored diamonds. The room was painted in gold paint and a lion paced in front of the dictator. 30 heavily muscled bodyguards holding a variety of guns paced around him.
    “I knew you would come,” Kim said, “my hackers heard everything. Your pain will be exquisite. It will last months. And then I’ll send the video to your daddy in DC. I severed our private line, you know.”
    “I know you heard me,” The President’s son said, “and I knew it would be impossible to pull you. But there is something you didn’t account for.”
    “And that is?”
    The President’s son took out the PP7, placed the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

    In the Situation Room, The President looked on the monitor. “My son, a martyr,” he said to The Cabinet. “40 million now free. By dropping his body he allowed his soul to do a pull of everyone in the room into The Gap. Now you can do a transfer into our friend’s account.” He nodded to the oracle in the corner of the room, who was now emanating an extra bright shade of blue.

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