Author's note: Hello, CV is back and moving forward, I'll try my best to tame and refrain myself from adding content deemed too spicy for Wattpad to handle, which led to the subsequent removal of the first Continental Visitors book without prior warning, that is. I won't bother arguing with Wattpad’s appeal and support system as they'll probably just ignore me, lol, and will most definitely send me an automated middle finger to my email. With that out of the way, enjoy!
- Misfit_9
Special thanks to my loyal slave and co-author, onedumbgamer for helping me write and proofread this chapter.
Continental Visitors' community server for updates and snippets of upcoming chapters and content: https://discord.com/invite/4yMjJqYkDH
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Washington D.C., The White House, The United States of America
May 29th, 2024
6:30 P.M.
The quiet and solemn atmosphere in the room was punctuated by the sound of a ballpoint pen scribbling on paper. The late American President Adam Mitchell Bleakley sat in the Oval Office, the muffled sound of raindrops peppering the windows outside, to the soft fluorescent lighting illuminated every inch of the room, creating a perfect sanctuary for the 68-year-old president. His eyes were fixed on an assortment of documents detailing current and past proposals, as well as security briefings. Suddenly, a series of knocks captured his attention, drawing his gaze towards the door.
"Come in," he announced casually, continuing his work.
"Mr. President?" White House Secretary Nick Prsa's voice gently entered the room, head peering behind the door
"Hey," Bleakley said, breaking focus and looking up. "What's up?"
"NASA, they—" Before he could finish, Bleakley, already aware of where the conversation was going, cuts Prsa off.
"Later. I'll look into it once,” he held up a folder with papers protruding from it. “I'm finished with these," He said before placing it back down. “You can leave it on my desk.”
"No, sir, it's an actual team NASA flew in. They just got here," Prsa clarified, hoping to catch Bleakley's attention, and he did, Bleakley, looking right back at him again.
"A team?" He frowned.
"A group of meteorologists. Staff ushered them in a few minutes ago and they wished to speak with you in person," Prsa explained as he stepped fully inside the Oval Office.
"In person? Christ almighty, do I need to write them my email again?”
Prsa nodded. "From the looks of it, they seem insistent on meeting you. It could be something serious."
"Alright... Just bring them in, dammit. I want to get this over with." Bleakley accepted with a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Oh, um, they're expecting you in the Situation Room," Nick added. "Again, they seem quite serious about it," Prsa said.
“Make yourselves at home, they say.” He muttered to himself.
——
Greeted by the sight of formally dressed NASA employees, President Bleakley scrutinised the men and women in front of him, huddled around the large array of screens at the other end of the room. One of them, older compared to the rest, stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting.
"Mr. Bleakley."
"President," Bleakley corrected, ignoring the meteorologist's gesture. "I want this quick." He sat at the opposite end of the table.
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