THE WATCHFUL eyes of the conspirators were analyzing the aerial satellite video footage of the drone attack that flattened Tombscradle penitentiary to ruins. The magnified micro satellite-video also disclosed convoys of vehicles with the droves of Intersexuals prisoners steering away from the massive explosion that was occurring at their rear. The President was conceited that her mastermind devise was falling into place—but she was flummoxed by Lucinda Gates' enquiry...

"Are you sure it is a good idea—we are letting those inmates to go out into the open?"

"That is the grand plan, Lucinda—let them escape today and we will return to hunt them again another day!"

Cory elucidated with displeasure; she was expecting amenable feedback from her—but Lucinda Gates have been in qualms since Cory's commencement of some of her foremost and extraordinary National Security strategies implemented by stating that it might beneficial for campaigning the party in its next coming election's goals to remain in the Oval Office.

"What happens if it backfires?" Gates affixed again.

"No, it will not!"

The president scoffed, boldly appended more details of her upcoming plans...

"Right now those fuckers are already branded as escaped convicts, who have torn down and razed Tombscradle to ground zero. Next, we as the responsible government will go out and hunt them down; but like any cornered animal they will definitely retaliate—and by them doing so—they will be labelled as terrorists who are a threat to National Security on our very own soil."

Gates was more mystified on how this would end. Agent Wolfe who stood in the background as part of the clandestine also bolstered Cory's initiative by articulating a favourable bootlicking respond. "Madam President's brainchild is actually brilliant, Ms Gates—there is a group of Arabs in there with them," said Wolfe who was an ex-Marine who had a few Iraqi tours in her career before currently becoming the Head of the Whitehouse Secret Service.

Cory intervened, and she took over the control of the autocratic discussion.

"Precisely—the Middle East foreigners demonstrating students whom we rounded up years ago have currently escaped along with that God's Army—and I have authorized the FBI to profile them in the most-wanted list—soon the media will then circulate them as ISIS militant supporters who are aiding those radical Catholic monastery monks with that—the scar-faced Preacher freak—what's his damn name again...?"

"Doran," Wolfe responded her with a knavish grin...

It was the Wolfe's personal inaugural visit over to Tombscradle during her bout of depression that had then pushed the Preacher against the cornered wall—where Agent Agatha Wolfe had then twisted the arm of the man of the cloth's with her death threats that gave Doran a shot to spur his upraise in return; so that the priest-monk can keep his 'monastery lambs' alive from her foreshadowed slaughter coercions.

The turn of events has made the Preacher as President Cory's scapegoat in her future re-election masterplan...

Cory continued. "Yes, that she-fuck will be well-known soon. He will be the most hated freak who will be the blame for all future terrorist events in the country along with his prick waving minions followers."

Madeline Cory cackled and she went on revealing her deeper canard...

"We will create the exact chaos and unrest just like it was 40 years ago during the 9/11 who engineered by the male pricks back then—by replicating that, our present office will soon succeed in halo superiority status; and that it is when we go out in full force and fight those shemales to the last!"

It was an eccentric plot of calumny to digest—and Lucinda Gates broke out from her silence again to proffer the pragmatics...

"If that's our primary focus for now—then what about your election campaigns for your second term?"

"We will continue the participating those fund-raising as scheduled—but in the meantime, we let the federal agencies get busy with the witch-hunting. With our daily victories against this new breed of terrorist—this will raise the public's confidence in our administration, and we will soon have an easy victory in the next coming elections."

At this point, Agent Wolfe as the Head of Secret Service was now equally concerned. "Madame President, is this not a dangerous threat to your own safety; the possibility of the insurgents attacking you during your campaign outside of Washington?" It made the inebriated Cory laugh out valiantly...

"That's what I want now—to walk on the tightrope this time in this election. Let those she-fucks extrude their daring attempts to take me out—but I will be all prepared and, oh yes, I will be waiting for them out there too!"

The older woman spoke audaciously, "yes, let the public see that even the president of the country is not safe and she is in direct imminent danger from the possible threats—but in the end, she will heroically prevail above all—and that will also definitely get us more prevalent support because we have the antidote to the society's panic and fear spots, where the people will be in dire consistent need of my leadership in the Whitehouse to ensure their prerogative of safety.

"Every American household will then want me to take full charge, and to take a frontal assault at their domestic enemies—and oh-yes—when that time comes, there will be no quarter for those rebel freaks when I crush them—yes, we will push them far down into the pits, until the last miserable shemale fucker falls into his obliteration!"

After grokking Cory's cabal strategy for the next quadrennial election campaign, Gates turned to the Secret Service Head beside her...

"Agent Wolfe, give us the room, I want a word in private with the President."

Agent Wolfe stood up and left the room—deep down she was feeling marginalized from the removal from the delectable closed door of the cabal discussions.

When the door closed, Gates took out a file from her leather folder and thrust it to Cory, who opened to glimpse inside.

"Maddie, 'your grandson' survived your attack in Tombscradle—and he is now part of that Preacher's terrorist group."

Cory laughed. "Is that so—but anyway I don't give a damn if the real McCoy is alive or dead because he is insignificant to me. So we let the actor continue to play his role as Samantha's son for now," she picked up, waving the file to warn...

"But I don't want this real fucker near to Samantha at all cost!"

Cory stood up, all haughty and she fixed her next double gin and tonic to celebrate her diabolical blueprint. Lucinda nodded in reverie before she spoke again in remorse...

"I wish we had not lost the other twin—it is still a real baffling mystery to me, on how she went missing hours after birth at the hospital. Samantha's daughter could have been well-groomed and she could have adjusted well onto politics under your guidance."

President Madeline Cory took a sip of her drink to purvey her thoughts of her legacy...

"Knowing for a fact that irresponsibility runs deep in the bloodline of my rake ex-husband's legacy; it is clear that any granddaughter of Richard Cory will be no different from Samantha when she was that age—with all the free sex, booze and cocaine."

The president expressed in bemusement and concluded...

"Fuck her daughter—she would not fit in at all into this administration!"

Gates pointed hesitantly at the file that was on Cory's side of the desk...

"Then, what about the boy?"

"What about him? He is part of a terrorist organization, isn't he? We shoot to kill him then!"

Cory picked the file back and she tossed it nonentity to Lucinda Gates—and an evince mug shot photo slipped out—Joseph Edgar Cory was the name in his birth records; the anathemas step-grandson of the president whom she has never met since the day he was born—he was sent to Tombscradle five years ago and was known over there only as Big Joe from Wesleyan—a nobody figure who thought he was an orphan all his life.

Joe still lived in the dark about any knowledge that he has a family tree with a mother hidden away inside the Whitehouse—and also an unknown twin sister mislaid somewhere in Mississippi Delta.