It's Farshad, Now

With a heavy heart, the president mounts a dais, and stands behind a lectern. He's about to give a very inspirational speech to an army that's about to deploy into one of the most dangerous workplaces of their careers; one that just might very well make SEAL Team Six's assassination of Osama bin Laden look like the shootout at the OK Corral...does to a millennial...

"Never in my life," Fitz recites, "has my heart relied more on troops that I command. Never has my own love life been in such a pickle. But more importantly, never has Lincoln City been in a pinker tickle...uh, PICKLE...that it always will be, as long as my chiefs of staff withhold my house from me. They've got both of my hearts in their clutches...and not to mention a half-Vietnamese bastard who I'd SO rather leave for dead.

"I had a dream. I was a colonel in the Union Army. I was about to lead a brigade against an Indian village, camped on the Washita River. One of my sidekicks, an insolent Captain whose face I wish I could forget, tried to convince me that every single red man down there was innocent, in the attacks on our westward-expanding nation. But like a fool, I..."

"Mr. President?"

Ophir stands at the head of the phalanx. Behind her, many ranks and files of Afroasian amazons try to fight off their temptations to yawn in vain.

They're all dressed in black amazon one-pieces, and armed with swords and nunchuks. Their nametags are sewn above their right breasts. Some of their tunics are urban battledress.

"I don't know if you've ever been to Afroasia before, Mr. President," Ophir reminds him, "but Netanyahu usually sends new troops to the Iranian border in less time."

Fitz sighs. "Fine. I now deploy you, in the name of Uncle Sam, the Grey House, and Old Glory. I may just be a lowly Bakersfielder who doesn't deserve to be president any more than an infant deserves to drive a car. But I speak with the ego and the certainty of a president of my country. None of you amazons know what it's like to live here...and none of you ever will, without luck. I can't promise you a full-time career in my military, if you succeed." He chuckles. "Owens and Haggard forbid, you'd probably refuse a commission if I gave any of you one on a silver platter..."

Among the phalanx, some of the amazons are tempted to shrug...

"Off into the shadows, I send you all now. One way or another, Cyrus, Novak, and Ambruso WILL end up in a fish fry. I will not stop until their electricity is safe inside the Lincoln City power grid. I will not stop until all of their accursed bodies are on a charcoal grill, with hot charcoals under them, and one of my human servants is squeezing lemon all over their..."

"GET ON WITH IT," they all shout.

"Right. Now that I think about it, elephantfish DO eat tilapia, in the wild... Something to think about. Anyway, you know your orders. If something looks or feels too good to be true, it is. And if you see an object moving by itself, it's PROBABLY not the wind. And if you hear a voice in your head, that's not Yahweh, and you need to think about something that the enemy finds ludicrous, or your mission WILL fail. Am I clear?"

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"Very well." He stands at attention, and salutes all of them. They do the same, back to him. "TO WAR WITH YOU!"

"AYE SIR!" With that, they all abandon Ophir.

Fitz sighs, lumbers down the dais, and addresses the gorgeous amazon president one last time. He orders her to stand at ease for this; she does.

"Whether you succeed or fail," he tells her, "I can't thank you enough. Liv means a lot to me. I may never divorce Mellie while she's still alive...but I sure as HELL will, if she dies because of Cyrus."

"I understand. You know I feel the same way about my Elias."

Fitz surveys her uniform. "I also need to remind you that while you're in that uniform, fighting battles under my command, you are merely on a temporary assignment. As soon as you and your sisterhood have finished the job I've assigned to you, those uniforms are going off, any weapons we've issued will be recalled, your NAU dog tags will be rendered worthless, and whether by my military's transports or your own, you will return to your respective barracks in Afroasia."

"I understand. I would do your men the same courtesy, if they ever had to fight a battle in my country."

"Thanks; but it's already bad enough that we've had to go to Kuwait twice."

She shrugs. "Kuwait's a good people. It's just...the Iraqi States that don't always behave."

"Trust me. I know." He salutes her. "You're dismissed, Commander Ophir."

She salutes back, and scurries off after her sisterhood.

With that, Fitz joins his old enemy Farshad in a dark hall. He smiles, and leads him downstairs.

"I still can't believe I'm calling you Farshad," Fitz tells him. "I've hated you for so long."

"Well, I can't promise the feeling was mutual. At the time, I really meant to do my duty to my country. It's a sad thing, though. Our races were once related."

"Yeah. I have no idea how THAT got screwed up..."

"One word," Farshad reminds him. "Mohammed."

"Of course. So, what is it I have to know, before you're going to help me storm my staff chiefs' High Pink Castle, as they're calling it now?"

"Several things. You might remember some of them."

Farshad leads Fitz into a room. In a long rank, some familiar faces stand at attention. They wear naval battledress.

In no particular order, they bear the likenesses of Christian Slater, Colm Feore, Forest Whitaker, Frank Langella, James Belushi, Jason Statham, John Gallagher Jr, Liam Neeson, Patrick Swayze, Theo James, Thom Mathews, and Timothy Hutton...

"I know you," Fitz tells them, half-smiling. "We were on some of the same ships, in the navy." He takes a moment, to read all of their nametags...

Farshad clears his throat. "There's...something else, too. You might be less comfy with it."

"Okay. What?"

Farshad leads Fitz into another room, where it's dark. He turns on the lights.

Fitz is a bit alarmed. He knows a lot of these men...and not all of them in a good way.

In no particular order, they bear the likenesses of Brad Pitt, Chris Rock, Christoph Waltz, Desmond Harrington, Gary Oldman, James McAvoy, Jamie Bell, Leo DiCaprio, Michael Chiklis, and Patrick Wilson.

"I," Fitz stammers, "was in the same POW camp as you. You've...changed."

"I'm sorry to swamp you like this," Farshad insists. "But I'd stand the best chance of helping you reclaim the Grey House if you had an army behind you. I don't know you very well, so I've assembled some common acquaintances of ours..."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Fitz assures him. "What...exactly did you have in mind, again?"

"Well... It's going to involve a bit of role-playing...and reinvention...and replication."

"Replication? Of what?"

"Not what." Farshad looks around, and smiles. "WHO."