• 128



    As you approach the monument, Mt. Rushmore looks more miniscule than you’d imagined it in your head. It only gains some of that overblown majesty when you’re sneaking around underneath the shadowy parapet of George Washington’s nose. Setting up the ELF amplifiers and wires makes you feel more like a roadie than a secret agent, but then you pretend like you’re bugging the oval offices of these golem presidents.

    “Say, neither of you wouldn’t happen to give me any insights on the meaning of the phrase: Lost Dakota,” you ask before you forget and as a way to fill in some of the silence, “would you?”

    “Lost Dakota,” one of the AIOs stops and says directly back at you, obviously not questioning what you’d just said. He turns to the operative.

    “Alpha is insufficient. Launch the FROGs.”

    Within minutes, four missiles, one for each president, come roaring out of nowhere (or everywhere), and then impact into the stone faces. What happens next you do not observe because you are dead. Water, floods, a fountain with the powerhouse factor of the Mississipi bursts forth out of the newly exposed rock and ground – Atlantis is rising…

    The End.




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