"You can pretend I'm already dead."

Caesar inquired, "Have you, perchance, doused your mind with water whilst bathing?"

Lola, with a pitiable expression, implored, "Please, release me. I understand your reluctance, as our liaison is terribly immoral; I fear you may not wish our tryst to be discovered—"

Caesar, at the end of his patience, declared, "Utter another word, and you shall join them."

Submissively, Lola raised the car window, shrinking within the vehicle and resting her face against the glass, peering at the scene through it. Her heart pounded rapidly as the car radio, still on, broadcasted the day's news. A promising candidate with a groundswell of support was speaking.

George Lampard—approachable and humble, hailing from the slums, excelling academically, maintaining a modest and stable image throughout his political career while also exhibiting an extraordinary iron-fisted prowess in governance.

The ideal Prime Ministerial candidate, and an exceedingly obedient puppet.

Lola's fingertips grazed the glass edge