Barack woke up at home with a splitting headache. Barack lived in a very modest apartment. Only three bedrooms, not that high of a floor. Most of Barack's budget went to the art on the wall. Barack groaned upon realizing that that the headache must have been that the automatic warning system kicked in once toxicity levels had gotten dangerously high. Which meant-
"You should get ready for a great day!" cried Joel. "I haven't finished breakfast yet though!"
Barack groaned. Joel's job title was as Barack's personal assistant. In fact Barack did not feel like a personal assistant was necessary. Joel's entry into the Rainbow Shirts was necessary to facilitate certain goals that Barack could not do directly. Joel had succeeded at that task, technically. The irony of the situation started to sink into Barack. Barack's automatic warning system had never kicked in before, so if not for Joel, it's not clear how Barack would have gotten back home. But prior to meeting Joel, there would never have been a need to activate it.
Barack contemplated the horror of this. What had provoked this overconfidence? Was it the relative success of the Rainbow Shirts ever since its formal inception? The apparent weakness of the fascists across the country? Just Barack's own ignorance of the internal politics of Chicago?
"I made pancakes!" said Joel.
Barack shrugged and got up. Whatever greater existential problems there were in Barack's life right now, pancakes would make for some marginal improvement. But upon getting to the kitchen, Barack was sorely disappointed. In addition to the kitchen being a giant mess overall, Joel had clearly not made pancakes, but waffles.
"Um, Joel," said Barack, letting out a sigh. "Did you just put pancake batter in the waffle maker?"
"I'm sorry," said Joel. "I couldn't find the pans."
"Well, I appreciate the thought," said Barack, grabbing an overly runny waffle and struggling to eat it. The taste was awful, but at least it was vegan and held all the necessary nutrients. Barack wasn't exactly feeling like good-tasting food was appropriate for the current mood anyway.
"Are you feeling all right?" asked Joel.
"No," said Barack, sitting at the table disgusted, barely paying attention to anything. "What right do I have to lead anyone at this point?"
"You're not being fair to yourself," said Joel. "Everyone knew the risks when they took on those missions."
"No they didn't," said Barack darkly. "Nobody dies in the usual missions or attacks. Wounded, sure, sometimes. Just enough to make it fun. But these were massacres, Joel. Do you understand that? Even if I was a vicious psychopath who didn't care about the people who trust me with their lives, just losing that many at once is a big deal resource wise."
"Your only mistake was underestimating the Hunter's Guild, sir," said Joel. "They were just a bunch of idiot country hicks. Who could have guessed that they could single-handedly overwhelm the Chicago police?"
"That was about the only part of the plan that actually worked," said Barack. "Let the two fascists fight, brilliant! Give Chicago a chance for freedom. Lure Jerry Shankar out of that basement. Simple! How did I ever talk myself into this plan? It made so much sense back then..."
Barack got up and started walking from room to room, looking at the art on the walls. There was no pattern, no rhyme or reason to any of the selections. Barack had no appreciation of art. Barack just bought whatever looked prettiest at the time, money being of course no object. Old comic book storyboards, ancient sculptures, paintings by the masters, classical apes, even a rug made of a long extinct animal's fur. Why were these here? To remind Barack of the unchanging nature of human existence? About the futility of all Barack had tried to accomplish?
"It's all going to be fine, sir," said Joel, tapping Barack on the shoulder. "You can trust me."
In truth Barack had doubts. Barack looked over Joel's subtly hideous, non-symmetrical face. It was fascinating in the same way some of the uglier paintings were, in that Barack could tell there was something horribly wrong there. Barack just couldn't tell what. But in a way Joel's face was inspiring. It forced Barack to work against baser, more stereotypical instincts. Judged purely in terms of deeds Joel had attacked every task given with the greatest possible sincerity. Barack knew that it was cruel and unfair to blame Joel for Barack's own failures, and relished the internal conflict of having both brain and heart be in such heated conflict on the subject.
Barack exhaled and looked out the window. The presidential campaign was coming up. It was a pageantry that had ceased to be relevant in recent years, with the only candidates being obviously irrelevant figureheads. After seeing what had happened in Chicago Barack was having serious concerns about the fragility of the government- any government, anywhere. Barack thought about all the power personally wielded, simply by having been born into wealth and owning the rights to all known forms of augmentations.
"Say Joel," said Barack. "What do you think about trying to take over the world?"
"Oh, uh," said Joel, furiously working to clean up the kitchen while Barack was distracted. "I think you'd be a magnificent leader sir."
"No, that's not what I meant," said Barack. "Do you think there's a point toward trying to apply deliberate systemic change? Has it ever succeeded anywhere?"
"We must try no matter what," said Joel, struggling with a particularly hideous blotch. "What is there to live for if not the future?"
"That's what I've told myself for years and years now," said Barack. "But what if it was all just lie?"
Suddenly, out of nowhere Joel dropped the pan and ran up and hugged Barack from behind. Barack's augment slowed down time just as a reflex. Even as Barack realized there was no threat and allowed time to move at a slackened pace for a moment, just to enjoy the sudden sincere outpouring of warmth.
"You must never, ever start thinking that," said Joel. "You're the only hope we have right now to save a world that's gone completely mad. You should give it time. I'm sure you'll think of something that will definitely work."
Barack was encouraged by Joel's kind words. Barack noted, with some cheer, that the sun had just reached high noon. The days were getting longer now. It was all cyclical, wasn't it? Maybe things just had to get worse before they got better. For far too long radical change in this country had been delayed, and now it was decaying on the inside. The rot could be reversed. Barack was sure of it. People just had to be made to understand how great this country used to be.