Money, fame, wealth, power. All were sewn together to make the crystal dress that would sweep Prince Charming off his feet and into her arms. To everything came the need for that almighty American dollar. The year was 2008 and Veronica had just finished her senior year at Syracuse. She knew what she wanted to do. With the mischievous wink she always gave, she looked at her friends and said, “I wanna tell the truth. The truth will set you free, right? Everything the CCP says is out of the mouths of babes.”

She was a firm believer in liberalism. Her parents divorced when she was young and for all she knew she had two mothers. She was straight and had a boyfriend, but her job came first, last, and always. She was just another 21-year-old out to make millions and rule the world from her queendom. She knew there was sacrifice to be made, and she would make them, for in the end, the reward would be beyond any sacrifice.

She got her first job with AIS, as a researcher for the local reporter in New York. She was there for the battle of Times Square. She hated the CCP- she cried on election night- but when she was there with AIS that became moot.

“What gets you paid is telling what you see, as you see it.” her boss always told her. And so she did. She saw the planes during the parade, as did her boss, and they followed its path in the AIS newsvan. Veronica steadied the camera herself and took the pictures herself. She knew why they were doing this. Liberty was gone, liberty was lost, and the new America, the one who wanted her parents dead, who wanted to make slaves out of her best friends, had to be destroyed.

When she came back with the footage, AIS ran with it, but the broadcast never reached America, and then it happened.

“We don’t flush Korans down the toilet, Bush was a decorated hero, and John Kerry was a traitor in Vietnam," said the man from Channel 1. “We know you know that. That boss of yours will have you doing nothing but syndicated trash news shows.” She would never believe the government, but she would take the raise in pay and the promotion to editor.

And so she went inside and helped Diane with her assignments. She knew what to say now. She built up America. It meant a new house, a sparkling new car, and higher ratings for her show, and that was what mattered. All else was a small sacrifice. And so Veronica helped Diane with everything, and when she took her 2-week seminar and screening, she saw the first puppets. She wrote it down like a good newswoman, and she showed it to her boss. And she smiled. “You have a nose for news. You know, celebrity reporting may be a good fit for you. You seem to like them, aren’t they adorable?”

She didn’t object, she just giggled and said what they wanted her to say. And so when Diane returned from the seminar, blank smile plastered on her face, a vacant abyss of blue in her eyes, her hair spun to gold from what was once red – she knew what to do. And she got her raise, and her promotion, and she became Diane's writer. They started low but she had a nose for news and for having her Diane add more to it. She’d never forget that night in her hometown of Albany. It was nearing sweeps, and she wanted a raise, a better job so her Diane wouldn’t get so worn out from pounding the pavement. There was a national slot opening up because Larry was going to channel 3; she knew it would take something drastic to make her Diane earn the promotion.

“Don’t you feel worthless, having to raise a child without a father because you couldn’t keep your lust under control?” Diane asked the sullen lesbian who had long since been chained to Britney’s messages.

“Yes!” the woman sobbed. “I was the second mother to my Veronica. She’s so good to herself, she doesn’t deserve me. I cannot be saved, but she saved herself!”

Diane coaxed the lesbian toward salvation. “You can save the next generation. You can show an example that it is never too late to save yourself, that you can be a good woman of the Lord, just like your Veronica escaped her parents' perversion.” Diane handed the woman the gun and then stepped away a safe distance to watch her pull the trigger.

“See, if a hardened and butch sinner could see her sin and give up her perversions to save the world, we all can be saved! God Bless America!” Diane concluded the newscast.

As the newsvan headed home, Veronica smiled and laughed and naturally her doll laughed back. “That was horrible killing a girl like that… that’s an EMMY!”

Diane just squealed in reaction to the tone she heard from her writer.

That was her mother in that interview, not by birth but the other one. She never liked her, but she gave her daughter one of the best gifts she could give: a job with the nightly news, Washington division. The Emmy sat on her desk as Diane stared at it, mesmerized by its golden color, like a mobile to keep a baby from crying when the mother worked. This was basically the same thing, her full-grown child leading her to more wealth.

Years passed and her Diane rose through the ranks and despite everything, she was getting old. Veronica didn’t want to just end up a channel 3 producer, so she handed her Diane off to the old general.

She was proud, she was a major, and now she was looking for more. They said fulfillment came from a husband, but she never got that. She just understood that she was there to make more money, and she did very well at that, the voice and mind responsible for many great victories. But now she wanted to step out from behind the camera. She was beautiful enough, blonde enough, and still only 28. She rose up the ladder fast, and people wouldn’t recognize her now. She hated gays, couldn’t see a black person if they jumped on top of her, and her first story of the fall of liberty never, ever happened.

So she was back in Syracuse, learning to be a reporter again. She was happy, and the happiness moved up her feet, into her ankles, then legs, then warming the innermost centers of pleasure before relaxing her brain, the images making her happier, more accomplished. The knowledge of her reporter’s salary relaxed her further as the caresses disconnected her from the world and into the surreal peace that she could see in Diane when she was her writer. And as it all faded away with each moan and coo, she left the theatre with her new writer awaiting.

“Veronica, you will be a very successful girl,” said the writer, and they rose up the ladder again, Veronica smiling mindlessly through it all. Thoughtless, brainless, empty as she was, she was a great journalist, the voice of the truth, and the truth was what she told as she ended up the morning show hostess by 2020.

“Now… Jim,” Veronica said, always slipping in a heavy breath at her partner and husband’s tight chest. “We will see what it means to break a dyke.” As she steadied her hand on the gun and blew away a lesbian she felt nothing.

She lies in the crib that is her office, and the mobile of an Emmy soothes her. She coos at its blinding shine. It was her first after many snubs. For a split second her memories return and she gives an ad lib- normal actually, not common, but a sign of great accomplishment by a writer to have their charge mutter their own doctrine, because it means they’ve been programmed well.

“The truth about dykes sets free freedom!”

“Out of the mouths of babes…” the writer marvels as Veronica once again coos at the Emmy on the desk.