fuckitybye

[Malcolm looks unusually distracted when he comes on screen this morning. It's not immediately obvious, but the background is not his office at the Ministry; it's his home office. He's running late this morning but is determined to get the briefing out at its usual time.]

Right, so. One of the army officers has been murdered, presumably by the fucks from the Barge or the rebels, so redouble that "kill them all" messaging. Other than that—

[In the background, two small childrens' voices can be heard chanting: "We WANT to GO to the aREna! We WANT to GO to the aREna!"]

Fuck... Olivia? Olivia! Can you please—thank you.

Where was I? Oh yeah, other than that, everything remains as it was yesterday, and don't forget the fucking Arena Games tonight. Be. There. Right? Right. Stay on message, and—

["Daddy!"]

Just a minute—! Right, I'll be in the office in two convulsions of a hanged man. Tucker out.

[LATER: All the computers, monitors, TVs, etc. in Propaganda start beeping Red Alert, and Malcolm comes on screen, holding one of Kirk's awesome posters.]

See this fucking infantile piece of turd?

It needs to fucking go. Now.

We need fucking street teams, we need a new run of pro-government posters, and we need to make this shit fucking disappear. [He rips the poster in half, then half again, balls up the bits, and pitches them over his shoulder.]

DO IT. Or I'll rip your fucking legs off and feed them to you!

[And out. Of course, one imagines that no matter how hard the street team works, they'll never keep Kirk's poster down.]