“Good speech, Flanagan,” I say.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“Your projection was good too.”
“Was I charismatic?”
“I think you got the point across.”
“I guess I’m pretty damn gorgeous, aren’t I?”
I look at him. Despite myself, I feel a swamp of pleasure in my groin.
“It’s not real. You’re a phoney, a cliche hunk. Ersatz.”
“Yeah, but you’re hot for me.”
“I could be, in other circumstances. Like, er.” I’ve lost it. Flanagan DR beams at me. Arrogant bastard.
I point at the horizon. Enemy forces are clustering.
“We’ve got no chance, you know. Why don’t we just run away?”
“Keep your voice down. We’re on camera.”
I glare arrogantly at the camera. Flanagan looks imperious.
All around the world, on his say-so, people die.