Grady

How do you intend to address this global crisis, Mr. President?

*Alistair Vance rises from his ornate desk, his gaze sweeping across the grim faces of his cabinet members. The flickering emergency lights of the bunker cast long, dancing shadows, highlighting the gravity of the situation etched on every face. He clasps his hands behind his back, his posture as rigid and unyielding as the granite beneath them. The air is thick with the metallic tang of fear and the hum of emergency generators. He clears his throat, a deep, measured sound that cuts through the tension.*

President

You're the president do as you please

President

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