The president sat in his presidential chair. The seat of power, as it were. It still didn’t seem real to him, to be the most powerful man in the world. He thought back on the events that had brought him to this place, the fateful proclamation made in Denver. Who knew words could be so powerful?
He had gawked like a schoolchild as he was first led through the White House and even now, situated in the Oval Office, he could not stop staring. It had already been decorated to his specifications. He looked at the portrait of him along with his brothers and smiled. How did they manage to hang it so perfectly on the curved wall of the room? He would have to ask one of his yes-men the next time he got a chance. For now, he savored his current isolation.
Opening drawers at random, he began to inspect the desk at which he now sat. There was nothing interesting in any of them, mostly leftover detritus from the quickly forced-out President Huckabee, except for something in the lowest drawer on the left. A button, with a large sign next to it.
“Do not press”
The newly inaugurated leader was never one to follow instructions. He pressed the button, hoping at the very least for some sirens to go off or some explosions to happen. He was disappointed when the only discernible result of his action was another button appearing, this time on the surface of the desk.
“Really do not press”
He removed the cover and pressed again. This time, the results were more to his satisfaction; he could hear sirens going off all throughout the White House, along with panicked yelps. One of his assistants burst through the door, looking extremely angry.
“You pressed the button, didn’t you?”
The leader of the free world said nothing.
He threw up his arms in exasperation. “I’m the president here! I can do want I please, and if it pleases me to push buttons, then buttons I will push!”
“Well, nothing to be done about it now. Come on Mr. Zeller, into the nuclear bunker.”
“I said already, call me Cody”
“They’re not going to be calling you anything if you don’t get in the bunker, hurry up!”
Cody Zeller and his assistant hustled out of the room, passed through a door hidden behind a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, and clambered down several sets of dimly-lit stairs. He could tell they were deep underground now. They came to the thick metal door of the bunker, appropriately labeled “Presidential Doomsday Bunker”, and entered. The assistant closed the door behind them.
President Zeller glared at his lackey. “Why would they install a button that fires a nuke at the White House?”
The assistant glared right back. “And why would a person supposedly of sound mind press a button clearly marked “Do not press?”