Paranoia ✓

XIII: Conner - Party Debate (Part 1)

It was the last Republican presidential debate before the primaries. Conner was up on stage for the sixth time this campaign season. He knew he wasn't doing well in the polls, and that his campaign was mirroring the failure of his last run for office. However, he hoped that he could somehow tug the rope and pull some voters away from the other candidates on the stage.

However, getting a zombie audience to cooperate wasn't all that easy. It was like herding cows across a field and into a pen alone and without a horse. If a person was going to stand a chance at herding them in at all, it was going to have to be one person at a time.

"We go live in 60 seconds everyone," the stage director notified the candidates and the audience behind the cameras. She turned her attention to the crowd. "When the applause sign goes on, everyone clap. I need not remind you to be respectful and civilized. Thank you for your cooperation."

She worked her way off of the stage and out of sight from the audience, but a simple turn of the neck and Conner spotted her talking to Jonathan Davis, his advisor. They shared a brief word, and she nodded, dismissing him like an annoying reminder. Conner knew what Jonathan was talking to her about—time. Out of all the candidates in the debate, it has been recorded that Conner gets the least amount of time to talk. Jonathan promised to have a word with both the producer and the stage manager about it, although he doubts either of them care. Their job was to give the viewers at home a show that they would want to see.

It was pathetic.

This was a debate, not some dramatic comedy. One of these four people up on this stage was going to have a real shot at becoming the President of the world's most powerful nation. That man or woman would have access to the world's strongest military along with a fully loaded arsenal of nuclear warheads, and economic and international responsibilities that will shape the country for years to come. This was not a show, this was real. It was a shame the country has downgraded itself from a nation of political geniuses who humiliated the mighty British, and crafted a Democratic-Republic—a government whose Constitution has withstood the aftermath of centuries of wars, revolutions, protests, and social turnovers without being severely altered itself—into a nation of zombies looking for some entertainment to feed on.

Conner was staring into the crowd of zombies. They surrounded him like the air around him. Even up on the stage there were zombies swarming around him. He stood amongst three other candidates. Above him in the polls was Martin Ferguson, an African American lawyer who was the attorney general under the previous president's administration, not the current one now. He had years of experience in the field, defending the nation in court, but was he able to defend the nation on the battlefield if a war were to erupt in Yemen? That remained to be seen, but the man was probably the least zombified—only his arm was corrupted, but the infection was spreading. He could hack it off and become like Conner, a one handed survivor trying to hold off against the horde; or he could let it be and turn into one of them. With the amount of money he was taking from super-PACs, he would soon become one of them.

Then there was Caroline Feral. Provided her last name doesn't give it away, the woman was crazy. Former CEO of a top electronics company, she fired half her workforce and made off with a three million dollar bonus. I'm not saying that's evil, but I'm pretty sure she did it to spite the current Democratic president, whom she loathes. The stuff she got away with on television was ridiculous. Her claims that the current president was not a legal citizen because he was Columbian was a bit much considering he has unveiled his birth certificate on numerous occasions, but she still found a way to doubt its authenticity (seeing is not believing).

Even her appearance was a bit much. Her wild brunette hair flopped around her head, her slim figure and six inch tall high heels made her look like a tall upside down mop. She was already a zombie. She recently turned on her own gender, saying how people can no longer trust pregnant women. Be that as it may, she was setting off alarms and infusing paranoia in a zombie audience that was disturbed by the slightest noise. Soon they'll attack pregnant women—just like they attacked the blacks in the 1960s, the Japanese in the 1940s, the Chinese in the 1880s....