Leave her be. She seems happy.

It's been a week since your adventure at the bar with Meredith. You've not seen her. You've not heard from her. She's living her new life with her new mindset, courtesy your work here at the retreat. HR has been pressuring you to find a new assistant, but you think you need a little time to get over Meredith - your first great slutification success.

It's a pretty slow Tuesday. The retreat is operating with almost total success. You've accomplished so much in so little and are happy enjoying a mental day off.

When your door cracks open, and a man in a very expensive suit peaks in. "Excuse me." he says politely and formally, "they told me you were between assistants and wouldn't mind if I showed myself in." You smile and nod feeling laid back, feeling agreeable to whatever today. The man walks up to you an extends a hand, which you shake. Then he narrows his eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

You shrug, wondering, should you know who he is? "I'm sorry. I spend so much time focused on things here, I don't follow the news much." Of course, what's to follow? The President is enacting his plans, and the opposition is smearing him. Back and forth, it goes. Dull, really.

The man smiles. "My name is Frank Rydell. I'm our President's Chief of Staff."

Your surprised a little. Uncertain why they'd be sending one of the highest ranking officials to you. But you smile and nod cordially. "I'd ask if my assistant could get you something but, as you said, I don't have an assistant at the moment."

"That's okay." Mr. Rydell "May I sit?" He seems quite polite, just like everyone else in this administration. You nod. He sits. "I'm here because... well, if you've not been following the news, do you have any sense how the President's agenda has been progressing?"

You realize you don't. Again you hate to admit it. It makes you seem like you're disengaged. "Well, they haven't shut us down here. That's a sign." You joke.

Mr. Rydell chuckles. "That's because the President's agenda has been almost uniformly successful. Submissions for our Slut Database website are approaching 90%. Censorship laws are no longer being enforced. Public indecency laws are no longer being enforced. People are just fucking in the streets much of the time now. And why not? Sex is everywhere: TV, billboards, commercials. There's a new one that our President is a particular fan of - two women eating chicken nuggets out of each other's pussies. Have you seen it?" You smile. You've not. So he goes on. "Our President likes to say we're now a 'Fuck-based economy' and the truth is, it's booming. Unemployment is down, GDP share is up. Sex is a great motivator for the economy as much as anything. To think, for so long, people have been afraid of success because of these old puritan standards. Oh well, no more." He looks around.

"Then there are these places, our retreats. An unfortunate necessity. God knows separating women from their families was a public relations nightmare. But we're sending them back better than ever. Approval of the plan started at about 37%, now it's up to 75% and growing. Certainly helps when all the women you know are coming back and spreading their legs and their lips for you, right?" He gives you a big smile.

You nod. Happy to hear that things are going well. Part of you wonders how things are back home. "I'm sorry, I don't think you mentioned why you were here."

He laughs again. He's really quite jovial. "Ah yes. Well, the President is incredibly proud of the work you're doing, my boy. This is the most successful operational retreat in the country, did you know that?"

You suppress a smile. "I've heard."

"Well, the President wants to reward you for it. That's why he sent me."

You're surprised... shocked even. "Reward?" What could that mean, you wonder. "Reward how?"

"With a more fulfilling project." Mr. Rydell explains. "A man of your talent could go far if he applies it. Unless, of course, you've grown attached to this place."