The year is 2026. Gas is cheap again, outrage is expensive --
And every network still opens with the same three words: “In President Strike news…”

NARRATOR/LUNDY (Voice-Over):
Six years since President Jeb Brush packed up his oatmeal and went home.
Six years since Ronald Strike promised to put the fire back in the furnace.
He did.
Now we’re all standing too close to the stove.

MONTAGE — President Strike’s America:

Rallies that never stopped — half pep talk,
half tent revival.
Economy twitching like a slot machine
that sometimes pays out.
Cabinet reshuffled so often the chairs have revolving-door hinges.
Vice-President J. Vivian Dance: flawless hair, flawless denial.
Rumors of investigations, indictments, immunity deals —
each headline erased by the next outrage.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
The pundits call it chaos fatigue.
The faithful call it freedom.
Historians will call it Tuesday.

Cut to — [OVAL OFFICE]
The Oval Office door closes on a shouting match.
We never see who’s inside.
We just hear President Ronald Strike’s voice — hoarse, furious, alive.

RONALD STRIKE (behind door):
Don’t tell me about polls!
The people love me!
They love me so much it hurts!

Door slams.
Silence.
A Secret Service agent checks his watch.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
Whispers about the 25th Amendment float through the halls like ghosts with press passes.
Every morning, Vice-President J. Vivian Dance faces the cameras and smiles that senator-smile that means, “Nothing to see here, folks.”
And every night, he texts his lawyer just in case.

Cut to —
FIX NEWS ANCHOR CARLSON WATTERS (on-air):
President Strike is definitely in strong health and stronger spirits!
Fake rumors from weak sources, folks!
Don’t believe the sweat, America.

CNS ANCHOR RACHEL RUHLE (on-air):
Sources inside the administration describe an unprecedented level of paranoia —
and heartburn.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
So here we are: America’s longest week.
Scandal without details.
Fear without focus.
A president who can’t sleep and a country that won’t wake up.

Quick series of shots:

Air Force One touching down in Florida.

Stage hands raising a banner: “FAITH & FREEDOM REAWAKENING TOUR.”
A teleprompter being tested, then unplugged.
J. Vivian Dance checking his reflection in a flag.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
By Friday, everyone knew something was coming.
They just couldn’t agree on what.
The press called it a rally.
The whispers called it a reckoning.
Either way, tickets sold out in an hour.

Camera: President Strike backstage, bathed in red light. He adjusts his long, red tie.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
Maybe it was ego.
Maybe it was habit.
Maybe it was destiny in a cheap suit.
But the man was gonna give one more speech if it killed him.

[FADE OUT]

[PALM HARBOR, FLA. RALLY — EVENING]
A Florida sky the color of static. A sea of red-to-pink caps.
Wind rattles a half-torn banner: “STRIKE 2026 — KEEP THE FAITH.”

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
They called it the Faith & Freedom Reawakening Tour,
but everyone in the press pen called it the Pre-Autopsy.

Quick cuts:

Secret Service earpieces buzzing.
Reporters exchanging the same look: Is tonight the night?
Vice President J. Vivian Dance rehearsing a smile that won’t quite stay.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
Rumor #417 this month: the cabinet counted heads for the 25th.
Rumor #418: the 25th counted back.
Official word from the White House: All Good Here.
Which in this country usually means Duck.

The crowd chants “STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!”

President Strike strides out — tanned, heavier, defiant.
Voice gravelly. He’s still magnetic — but slower.
Teleprompter flickers. He waves it off, goes off-script.

PRESIDENT RONALD STRIKE:
We don’t need the swamp doctors, the fake stats, the traitors!
We are STILL WINNING—

He stops.
Blinks.
A cough—longer than the others.
Hand to chest.
Aides move.
He waves them off.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
You ever watch history hesitate?
That half-second before the stadium breathes in and never exhales?

Strike buckles.
The mic screeches.
The crowd gasps in stereo.
Medics rush.
J. Vivian Dance steps forward, mouthing ‘Oh God!’ twice, camera-ready both times.

Cut to — [FIX NEWS LIVE CHYRON]:

“BREAKING — PRESIDENT STRIKE FALLS ON STAGE.”

Cut to — CNS LIVE CHYRON:

“CHAOS AT STRIKE RALLY — MEDICAL EMERGENCY OR MELTDOWN?”

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
No bullet. No smoke. Just gravity.
But within thirty seconds, the theories outnumbered the prayers.

Camera: cranes over the panicked crowd.
Sirens … flags … phones … tears … selfies.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
They’ll spend months calling it everything but what it was —
a body remembering it had limits.
And a country pretending it didn’t.

[FADE OUT]

***MUSICAL NUMBER***
”I Don’t Know (and Neither Do You”)

[FADE IN]:
The arena lights still pulse red and white, but the music’s gone.
Emergency crews, phone screens, sirens.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
They said the live feed cut after eight seconds.
Long enough for the country to see a man fall,
short enough for everyone to imagine something worse.

Cut to — Split-screen TV montage.
FIX NEWS chyrons scream: “HEART ATTACK OR HIT JOB?”
CNS scrolls: “CHAOS AT RALLY — QUESTIONS MOUNT.”

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
The first rumor hit in under a minute.
By minute two, three podcasts had sponsors.
By minute six, half the country was sure it was poison,
and the other half blamed prayer.

MONTAGE —
Talk-radio clips, influencers crying on livestreams, candle emojis flooding feeds.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
They called it mourning, but it felt more like marketing.
Every tear had a comment section.

Cut to — [U.S. SENATE ROTUNDA]
Two calm figures step to microphones — one from each party -- gray suits, tired eyes.

SENATOR 1:
We ask everyone to pause. There’s no evidence of wrongdoing.
The President suffered a cardiac event, period.

SENATOR 2:
Before the hashtags outnumber the facts --
let’s remember how to wait for truth.

Jeb Brush watches the TV news from his porch —
one silent tear and a slow head-shake.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (roams into view of camera):
Imagine that—patience, live on television.
Didn’t trend.
That night, every network promised unity.
By morning, they’d booked opposing panels to explain why it was the other side’s fault.
The body wasn’t cold, but the takes were.

* * * * *

Rain on a podium. The seal of the presidency puddles into ink.
Cameras flash through plastic shrouds.
A single microphone hums, feedback like a faint heartbeat.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
The flag’s at half-mast, the country’s at half-truth.
Half call it justice, half call it murder.
Neither half went to work Monday.

Cut to —
FIX NEWS ANCHOR CARLSON WATTERS (in black tie, lips twitching):
Some say stress, others sabotage.
Either way, the ratings are—pardon me—through the roof.

CNS ANCHOR RACHEL RUHLE (in raincoat, whispering over thunder):
America shocked … or is it relieved?

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
You could measure grief in Nielsen points.

MONTAGE — America Mourns Itself:

Cafés full again, but nobody talking.
Grocery lines scrolling news feeds instead of prices.
Candlelight vigils where half the signs spell his name wrong.
Jeb Brush on his porch, TV muted, dog at his feet.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
A brush-fire of kindness flickered. Then fizzled.
Turns out we missed him for the same reason we hated him—
he filled the air time.
And now we have to breathe our own words again.

* * * * *
Cut to — [CAPITOL ROTUNDA]
J. Vivian Dance stands before the Chief Justice, hand raised.
Camera bulbs pop like fireworks under rain.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
Every oath starts with hope, even if it’s borrowed.

PRESIDENT VIVIAN DANCE:
I will faithfully execute the office …

He falters—just one heartbeat too long.
The nation inhales.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
By nightfall the hashtags had turned into teams.
Memes outpaced obituaries by midday.
The only song that made sense played quietly between commercials—

(soft instrumental of “I Don’t Know (and Neither Do You)” filters in—
steel and piano.)

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
It wasn’t a hymn.
Just a reminder that maybe we don’t know much of anything …
and that might be a good place to start.

[FADE OUT]
Camera lingers on rain sliding down the presidential seal.

* * * * *
[FADE IN]:
Black screens. Silence too clean to be real.
Then a push notification chime—one thousand times over.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
The world didn’t stop for grief.
It stopped because nobody knew what was real anymore.

Funeral Week. National Cathedral under lockdown.
Satellite trucks ring the block like food trucks at a wake.
Every network broadcasts its own exclusive angle:

FIX News banner: “PATRIOT FALLS — NATION RALLIES.”

CNS banner: “DIVISIVE ICON LAID TO REST — OR TO BLAME.”

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
They called it a state funeral —
but it played like a halftime show for an empire out of season.

Drone shot: mourners and protesters share the same umbrella line.
Choruses of “USA” and “Justice” collide in the rain, cancel each other out.

NARRATOR/LUNDY (On screen):
He took office like a substitute teacher with perfect attendance.
A caretaker, not a savior.
But after six years of pyrotechnics, the country was ready for a janitor.
(pauses for drag off cigar)
For the first time in years, silence felt possible.
Not comforting — just possible.

[Soft piano thread of “I Don’t Know (and Neither Do You)” slides under.]

NARRATOR/LUNDY:
He didn’t drain the swamp.
He just moved into it.
And now the caretaker sweeps the mud and calls it progress.

Camera: pulls back through rain and railing lights,
settling on the White House at dusk.
A single window glows —
President Dance reading from binder labeled:
“Transition Plan / Mediator Outreach.”

NARRATOR/LUNDY:
Maybe the sane guy showed up too late.
Or maybe that’s how sanity works — quiet, under new management.

[FADE OUT]

Next Episode

Episode 3:
Longest Week
in America

The Year is 2026 — and every news network still opens with the same three words: “In President Strike news…”

I Don’t Know
(and Neither Do You)

(Performed by Cheap Whiskey, in the style of Dire Straits)

I read the news today, oh boy --
It changed while I blinked
Truth took a smoke break, came back in pink
Everybody’s certain, everybody’s scared
I’m just a guy still standin’ here.

Everybody’s sure —
They’ve solved that crime
Every headline’s preachin’ in real time
If you’re guessin’ in the dark, call it what it is
A maybe, a hunch, not gospel fizz.

Chorus:
I don’t know—and neither do you
We’re all hummin’ half a tune we think is true
I’ll trust what I see when the truth shines through
But if I don’t know — I’ll just tell you.

They say the camera never lies
But I’ve seen truth wear a good disguise
Call me blind, call me blue
At least I know when I can’t see through.

You shout “fake news,” I shrug “maybe so,”
We all forget how to say “I don’t know.”

Chorus:
I don’t know—and neither do you
But I can spot a tell in a trembling view
So don’t gaslight my eyes, or rewrite what I knew
If I don’t know — I’ll just tell you true.

Bridge:
Now there’s talk of machines that can mimic the soul
Ghosts with a cursor instead of control
But this problem’s older than silicon truth —
Lies were human long before proof.

Chorus (repeat / bigger):
I don’t know — and neither do you
I just keep hummin’ like the last honest tune
Raise your hand if you’ve ever believed a lie,
Keep it up if you still can’t tell why.

Final Chorus:
I don’t know—and neither do you
Maybe that’s the only honest news
So I’ll vote for kindness, keep watch from afar
Truth’s just a headlight behind my car.
I don’t know — and, no, bro,
Neither do you…

(fade on gentle steel-guitar echo)

RICKLES:
Casket’s empty. Body double. Whole thing’s staged.

KAT:
It’s the first day of mourning for truth itself.

RICKLES:
Yeah, and truth didn’t even get flowers.

LUNDY:
For once, you both make sense.

Rickles (MAGA): “Guy’s got soap opera tears. This ain’t hope, it’s casting.”
Eko: “At least he knows his lines.”
Kat: “Boys, volume down. History’s in session.”

RICKLES:
You don’t collapse mid-speech unless someone dosed the Gatorade.

EKO:
Or unless you ate six years of rage for breakfast.

KAT:
Gentlemen, he’s still on the stretcher.

EKO: Every empire ends with a mic check.

LUNDY: “Sometimes history doesn’t end with a bang or a lie. Sometimes it just stops breathing.”

RICKLES: “Everybody’s rewriting eulogies they never finished writing indictments for.”

LUNDY: “Maybe we weren’t divided after all. We just took turns pretending the other half didn’t exist.”

RICKLES (sarcastic): “Nation united in refreshing their feeds for closure.”

EKO (dry): “At least he died doing what he loved — talking about himself.”

RICKLES: “Heart attack my ass. Deep State latte snipers.”

EKO: “Try cholesterol, not CIA.”

KAT: “Breathe, boys. Even the ghost of democracy needs oxygen.”

LUNDY: “Empires don’t end with explosions anymore. They trend.”

RICKLES: “Cardiac event, my foot. Deep State decaf.”
EKO: “Brother, the only thing that killed him was gravity and gravy.”
KAT: “Gentlemen—moment of silence means silent.”
RICKLES: “I was whispering!”